In My Eyes

I close my eyes, letting a shot of cognac burn on the way down. One benefit of hanging out with older men–no one cards you. Sitting on a barstool next to Mr. Sexy Pants, at least that’s what all the secretaries call him; I move his hand to my thigh. His thumb strokes the exposed inner skin. Goosebumps. I’m wearing a navy/tan block blazer with a matching, short tailored skirt. His fingers reach up between the fabric and my skin. I silently thank the person that created business casual. My outfit…

for you after all.” “You saw?” The mardoc shrunk into a ball. It would not kill Scar. Never, please never. “Of course I saw.” Scar tapped a claw between its eyes. “I do not have white-eyes. I am not a shaman. I still have enough of their influence in my head to hear and see what they send to another slave. You did not act on those images, my friend. That is another victory.” Scar purred again. Warmth spread through the mardoc’s chest, a rare feeling. It…

No name Wit“The disease had sharpened my senses-not destroyed-not dulled them.” (p.265) “The Tell-Tale Heart” is a story told by, and only by the narrator, whom is the main character. In the story the narrator appears to have lost his/her mind, despite the constant and ever-present assurances that he/she is perfectly and infallibly sane. Although to contradict what the narrator says the narrator has a strong vibe of insanity around himself/herself, this is due to the brutal murder of the old…

from another. It could be someone from your family, a counsellor, a priest or a close friend. If people can limit the reliance to smartphones by just taking the good part of it and distancing from the bad, smartphones can be a good companion to anyone. My belief is that smartphone users should self-discipline and self-educate themselves on the proper usage of smartphones and be well informed about the harmful aspects of life both physical and…

on the patio. I felt as if my blood stood still for a moment, everything was quiet except for the sound of my racing heart beat as I turned the knob and let myself in. Cold. Dark. Haunted. The feelings the room gave off were uncanny and eerie. Old victorian styled wallpaper was shedding off the wall, the floors creaking softly and then loudly, rhythmically. Barely anything was visible, except for a flickering light in the distance. As I kept pacing towards the light, my view became more clear,…

face. Wow, someone took the Kylie Lip Challenge too far. “ARGHHHH!” yelled Hermione the princess as she head-butted Dragon Kylie with her pointy crown. “I bought your lip kits yesterday and they blew up my lips!”…

"C-7625, can you hear me?" The blackness vanished as I opened my eyes. My scanners immediately survey the warehouse I'm in and my system starts. Progress bars load and data are shown in my central CPU. Big blue and black robotic arms are moving about, adding plates and connecting wires on me. I stand on a cold, smooth, and metallic cylinder raised a few feet off the dark-gray ground while the robotic arms rotate around the cylinder. I look around the warehouse, painted dark-blue with…

The Effects of My Corneal Ulcer I was a contact wearer and I wore contacts for about four to five months until something execrable occurred. I thought it was just a common pink eye but, later found out that I had contacted a corneal ulcer which I knew would probably change my life forever. The use of contact lenses resulted in a corneal ulcer that contributed to the loss of my eyesight. I have regained my eyesight but I still have trouble seeing. If I didn’t go to the…

Opening the once lonely door, there was a hallway that seemed to have just rejoiced with a once depriven necessity. As striking as the first rose in spring, her silky, soft, shiny hair combined with her enticingly exquisite eyes produced a sublime look; it instantly ejected any pressure in the room. Her presence would’ve even made an angry person hopeful. Withered by time, the plethora of thin liable cracks scattered across the olive-dyed floors and indigo walls with an antique circular…

I was sitting there in lobby of her office building, my hands fidgeting, my legs shaking in the chair, my eyes wandering back and forth, people calmly passing by, smiling at me as if they could see the anxiety rushing through my veins. “Francesca?” “Yes?” “I’m Kat. It’s very nice to meet you.” This marks the first time I met my mentor, Mrs. Kat Price. In my junior year of high school, I was accepted into my school’s Independent Study mentorship (ISM) program. A program where students have the…