Thirteen Nothing could be heard save for the occasional car hurtling down the small-town highway and the sound of owls in the stillness between. Nothing could be seen but the flickering street lights and the retreating tail lights of cars. On the left side of the icy black road was a snow covered cornfield stretching along the length of the road, and on the right was a smooth ditch.
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She should have seen it coming. Her son. He was always gone, sometimes for days at a time. He talked to her less and less, and when he did, it would be in an angry fit. She'd found some b
Jane She was one of those people that was impossible to hate, that Jane girl. She did nothing to draw attention to herself, yet my eyes were drawn to her as quickly if she were dancing La Boheme in the middle of Times Square. But of course she wasn't.
I see her every day on my way to school; she's always on that busy corner of 42nd Street and Broadway. She just stands there, a small hint of a smile playing across her lips. I say she's the Mona Lisa. My sister begs to differ; she says that she's nothing but a girl without a home. I disagree.
I'm one of those people who notices the intricate details of life that are invisible to everyone else. My sister says I have no life; my mother calls me an artist. I can see the gold flecks in this girl's deep, soulful green eyes. She has a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks that somehow in her poor health, always manage to be rosy. Her lips are
Promises Spencer was a quiet town. It rested in a valley in between two hills, large hills that took over two days to hike just one way. Spencer had the residency of only 2,000 people. It was one of those places where everyone knows everyone and everything about them.
All the homes in Spencer were simple town houses and cottages, nothing too fancy. The homes lined the cobblestone streets in neat rows, trees planted strategically and symmetrically between every house. One such home was also a grocery store-one of three that existed in Spencer. This one had a wooden sign over the threshold of the door that read: Marguerite's Goods. This particular store was always well stocked and thrived with good business.
Marguerite, the owner of the small store, was the most well known and well loved person in the small town. Marguerite married her high school sweethe