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Literature Text
There is a Christmas tree in my hallway, decorated with globes and gold and lithium words. I pass it everyday on my way to the metro, to catch the 9 o'clock train heading out of town, out of state, out of life. The holidays have long since passed, but you insist on leaving it up, believing in the off chance that they might return someday. I know they won't, though, for the empty boxes are all unwrapped and the holly wreathes have withered from prolonged exposure to desolate, teardrop snow.
Every morning you wake me up, bells on your wrists and a red hat dangling from your head, your voice an enthused whisper as you tell me Christmas is here. I pretend to believe you, pretend to have hope and stumble out of the room after you, and pretend to be disappointed when I find the tree's needles have all trickled to the ground. It's dying and I try to avoid your broken-hearted face as you crumble in defeat, lay in the December dust and become a beautiful ornament broken by a careless lover, the bare tree marking your grave.
You always loved Christmas, but dreaded the days after, when the magic songs ended and the lights were taken down and reality finally returned, tasting like day-old hot chocolate. Those were the mornings spent staring at the leftover wrapping paper, smiling Santas and red and green stripes all blurring together in your tearstained eyes. Whenever I tried to comfort you, you'd push me away, gripping one last bow-topped box tighter, too afraid to open it and let the last of the sacred day escape from your grasp.
Every morning you wake me up, bells on your wrists and a red hat dangling from your head, your voice an enthused whisper as you tell me Christmas is here. I pretend to believe you, pretend to have hope and stumble out of the room after you, and pretend to be disappointed when I find the tree's needles have all trickled to the ground. It's dying and I try to avoid your broken-hearted face as you crumble in defeat, lay in the December dust and become a beautiful ornament broken by a careless lover, the bare tree marking your grave.
You always loved Christmas, but dreaded the days after, when the magic songs ended and the lights were taken down and reality finally returned, tasting like day-old hot chocolate. Those were the mornings spent staring at the leftover wrapping paper, smiling Santas and red and green stripes all blurring together in your tearstained eyes. Whenever I tried to comfort you, you'd push me away, gripping one last bow-topped box tighter, too afraid to open it and let the last of the sacred day escape from your grasp.
Literature
Selfish
I have no right to cry...
When a disabled 18-year-old boy with the mentality of a six year old doesn't ever shed a tear about the struggles that await him each and every day
I have no right to complain over a delayed meal...
When an ashamed mother desperately searches the streets for food to feed her two young children
I have no right to complain over schoolwork...
When a little girl's family cannot afford to give her basic schooling and the opportunities it provides
I have no right to complain over being bored...
When a father works three jobs and attends night courses to barely pay his mortgage on time
I have no right to be sel
Literature
Running Away
"What are you afraid of?" He had asked her as they lay there, under a bay window that showed a velvet black sky, sprinkled with sparkling diamonds. After a few minutes, a hand reached out and took his. He looked down at the soft hand, paper white with rivulets of sapphire under the skin. It had never occurred to him just how much he loved her hands until now.
"Would you like the truth? Or will a lie suffice?" A dulcet voice whispered. She had still not turned to look at him, but her hand in his remained strong.
"The truth." He always asked her for the truth. He didn't want rubies of falsehood, of lies, to ruin what they had taken so long to
Literature
Online
"I have a problem."
"You always were a worrier."
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
"Not if it's going to worry me as well."
"That's precisely why you should know it."
"I really think I'll pass."
"But-"
"No."
"
"
"Thank you."
"But
this time it's a really big deal."
"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"
"What did you think the first time you met me?"
"That's not a problem, that's a question."
"I know."
"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"
"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"
"Shut it, smart ass."
"Then answer the q
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Comments4
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The detail and vulnerability here, especially "I pretend to be disappointed" is striking. Great job.