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Picking up the pieces by ~SOPHIADEPP:iconSOPHIADEPP:



Only after she had painfully stooped to pick up the pieces of the shattered plates did she allow herself to cry. She always was the one to pick up the pieces. The shards of pottery shifted in her palms like pebbles moved by the tugging tide, gently drawing blood from her broken veins. This pulling sensation was also evident internally as it tempted her to follow; to run after him. She quivered slightly as the sadness welled up inside her; the bottled up emotions of the past ten years. Time seemed to have stopped. The door still stood open, allowing sunlight to create a shimmering path down the hallway. She could almost still smell the car exhaust fumes.
©2007-2009 ~SOPHIADEPP
:iconsophiadepp:

Author's Comments

Just a short creative writing task at school.

Comments


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:iconphoenixsparrow:
Hey hey, it's the little thingy!
Well if you've submitted yours I'll submit mine :P

--
:bump:
STAY IN YOUR BOX! EAT YOUR FUDGE!
...but of course beauty is transient and one day you and I will both die... and there will be nought but dust!
Not today though, today's gonna be lovely!
:iconsylverstrike:
Very nice! It's short, of course, but every word seems carefully thought out. I love the sentance beginning 'the shards of pottery...'. It's very poetic.

--
:strip:
I WILL NOT TALK RUBBISH. (Except on Wednesdays.)
Walter- Shut the fuck up, Donny.
Are the fires of hell a'glowing? Is the grisly reaper mowing?

Details

October 8, 2007
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