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Under the RugHe stepped off the city bus without saying goodbye to the bus driver. He never did anymore; what was the point? She was paid to drive a bus, not to receive tedious pleasantries from passengers. Besides, he wouldn’t be seeing her again after today anyway. She was ugly, too—not like Maureen. But he didn’t want to think about that.Under the Rug
He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget the day he’d come home early from work to surprise her. He wanted to forget how he’d dropped the bouquet of daisies, her favorite, when he saw the familiar brown UPS uniform on the living room floor and heard the sounds coming from the bedroom. He’d wanted to forge
by ~midnightraintoga
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unintentional confessionSo let's pretend you're seven. You're in second grade, and kind of short for your age, and you don't like school too much.unintentional confession
And lets pretend that your parents do things to you that you don't really like, and it happens a lot. And you think about it, but you don't understand why. You think maybe you can ask the girl who comes into your class and helps you read your level thirteen and fourteen books. Maybe she can explain it, and make it make sense.
So you raise your hand and ask, "Are parents supposed to hit you?"
by ~ladyindistress
Ripped "Do you have a band-aid?" he asked, sweetly. I had always admired him, and his ability to mask whatever pain he felt. If he ever felt any, that is. I opened the first aid kit, and fished out the biggest bandage i could find. He ripped it open and made to put it on his bleeding wrist, but placed it over my lips instead.Ripped
"Shh," he said, and walked away.
by ~ladyindistress
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