He grabs my hand like he did last week—it might even be at the same time if I remembered— and pulls me across the hallway stained with the cafeteria's red sauce that students have been spilling for ages, and into what he calls "our place
I jump in my friend's car.
It's filled basically to the brim.
The area is small and compact.
How did she fit this many people in her tiny car?
In the year 3050, the terrifying disease called Covid19 wasn’t something of the past. It was still the future, the present. Efforts to alleviate the virus hadn’t worked at all.
—---------------------------------------------------
“Detective Holm.”
“Sergeant.” Shirley greeted him with her usual monotone voice.
Sergeant Greg didn’t appreciate over-energetic beings; Shirley saw someone getting fired for so much as laughing.
The scribe set down his quill, noticing that the feather was translucent. In the Between, quills changed colors depending on the amount of ink left in the writing utensil. The quill was almost unusable, when it turned that color.
A frail professor paced back and forth across the classroom, waiting for the class to file in and sit in their respective seats. He was excited; an interesting lesson was coming up.
Start Scene
Future Della, a girl with black hair cut short, looks up. She does a double take when she realizes that she isn’t in her bedroom.
“Hi, Viktor! I didn’t think that I’d see you here!”
Dear Diary,
It was burning.
The temperature had to be at least 100 degrees.
It was so hot that it muddled my mind, coating my thoughts in molasses.
It’s close to the holiday time. Everyone is festive, joyful.
In my Gram's kitchen,
behind the table,
there is a butter barrel.
One of those big wooden ones you would use in the 1950's.
5 summers ago,
my brother made butter in that barrel.
The last time I saw Her. It feels so much more final to say it that way, but I guess it’s the same outcome either way. When I think about it logically, I can understand that She’s never coming