aglining

As a child, Joy Clark lived a fairly normal life. Sure, there were some strange happenings and the other children never seemed to like her, but she chalked it up to the fact that her clothes were never the right kind, she refused to worship Queen Bee Veronica Woolensby, and that she was adopted. Of course, none of that seemed to matter once she received that letter, elegant green ink on stiff parchment from a stranger named Minerva McGonagall who was Deputy Headmistress of a school named Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yes, the young witch was thrilled to discover that she had magic and that a train departing from platform 9¾

To Elsie, the house was a prison. With her “condition,” she could not go outside. She was not free to frolic and laugh with the other children her age. Instead, she was shown to a room filled with dolls and told to amuse herself. Because of her lack of social activity, and her complete separation from the sun and fresh air, she was a small child and very pale. Everyone attributed it to her condition as an invalid and did not realize that her little heart was aching for the world outside. And so it came to be that at two o’clock Thursday afternoon, Patty went down to the kitchen to gossip with the new maid, and Elsie slipped out

Blank canvas. That’s how I see us: infinite possibilities. We could become a tragedy or a comedy. Typed out in neat font. Black letters clustered on a white plain. We could become a sketch: yellow daffodils grown from oil in this barren place. White field. We are the strokes of a charcoal pen, the rough sketch transforming into something wonderful. To me, you are the way you are. Perhaps a photograph then. But how to capture in one shot the spirit that is you. How can I capture the way you eagerly leap into discussion with me about nothing at all? How can I represent the playful way in which you take back your stolen writing implement? H

I see you as a beam of light, My shining star in the darkest night. I know that I couldn’t carry on without you Because you are the one that keeps me right, And helps my greatest dreams take flight. You are the spring in my step, My knight, my fan, my safety net; And when I’m falling to the ground, You always seem to be around To catch me.

Lisa ran into the kitchen, slamming the heavy door behind her and kicking her sneakers into the closet. She ignored her mother’s calls and dashed up the stairs, yanking at the pony-tail holder so that her long chocolate-colored locks cascaded down her back. She yanked off her socks, emptied her pockets onto her dresser, and dashed into the shower, making sure that her legs were smooth and her hair free of any embarrassing globs of conditioner. Coming out of the shower, she rubbed her hair with a towel to dry it faster. Flicking off the fan, she carefully wrapped her towel around her, preparing to dash across the hall to her room. Faintly

Dear Mr. John Doe, I saw the psychiatrist. Thank you for your time, but your services will no longer be necessary. I will forward your final check. A new woman, Rori P.S. Screw destiny; I got myself an eHarmony.

Dear Mr. John Doe, I am thrilled to hear about your progress. I also took up your suggestion that I get a psychiatrist. I feel that this could really help me with getting over my guilt about leaving him and dig up more information that could potentially assist you in this case. My first appointment is in a week, at which time I will contact you again and tell yoiu what she has managed to uncover in my memories. Eager, Rori

Dear Mr. John Doe, I am thrilled to hear that you have a potential subject. What are you going to do to confirm it? When will I know? Maybe this time things will be better. Last time, I left because I found him with our kitchen maid in the stables. Really, I overreacted. I shouldn't have left him. All relationships have their setbacks, right? Besides, we have destiny. I know that despite his hair dying, his cheating, his selfishness, his arrogance, his whiny tone of voice, his lack of respect, his biting horse, his gambling, his smoking, his odd hours, his sneaking off, his chapped lips, his lack of romance, his inability to lift a finger, h

Dear Mr. John Doe, Thank you for your last letter. I'm sorry I was not able to provide any more of a description; it's been 100 years since I've last seen him. You asked about our past; I can tell you to read the old biography because it's the most accurate. What really stinks is what comes after the happily ever after. Well, after Phillip carried me away into the clouds, he complained that his back hurt. So, he put me down and made me walk twenty miles to his bachelor pad while he rode on his horse because apparently the horse could not carry both of us. His horse was white, so he probably drives a white mustang. I know it's cliche, but som