《A Collection》 Miniature: I Dont Know The green applein the boy''s palms shone like the Sun, making it look all the juicier and sweeterin my salacious, greedy, and corrupted mind than it ought to be in this time of the year. And now that I look at the slight smile playing in the corners of his lips and the mischievous glint in his stormy grey eyes, I feel myself sruggling to breath.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I don''t know, when was the first time thatI realized -the reality itself was transformed by my treacherous mind whenever I was in his proximity, but I wanted for it to never end. As I reached for theunripened apple like the sick would reach for a cure, my warm fingers touched his cool ones, and I realized I was sick. Sick and maddened for his proximity. Miniature: The Voices Of Grasshoppers When the night came all thatt could be heard were the insistent voices of the grasshoppers - they were trying to find their place in my mind, trying to replace the cool, rough, but pleasant touch to my skin. Their voices were thundering like the blood in my veins - never allowing me to close my eyes, making me wish that this moment would last all night long, that the goosebumps created by this touch would never disappear, that there would always be more. I didn''t want it to end, but... This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Oh, I let out one last moan. It was disappearing like last of charcoal in a bonfire that was about to go out. But, no matter the shortness of this moment, I will remember it every time I hear the voices of grasshoppers. Miniature: Shoe box Shoes - every single one of them had a unique story of their own, every single pair of them had lived a life of their own; however, their fate was one and the same - shoes were destined to be outworn, they were never going to witness the whole life of their owners. You go past them every single day, but after their story is finished all they do is collect dust on their surfaces instead of new adventures, all the while pleading to their owner to not throw them out, to keep them for the memories they represent.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. However, it is useless to try, useless to try to propitiate, there is no such thing as a irreplecible story, and in the end all that is left is hust the frame, just the lonely shoe box. Miniature: Gold & Moss I never thought about it before - whether or not gold was influenced by the passing of time, however, now when I looked at the little, green tarnished, that reminds my of moss in which I loved to sleep in as a young girl, on the surface of my golden ring, I finally understood that nothing lasts forever.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. And certainly not the man who once wore the counterpart to my golden ring, no, not him, none of his smiles, wrincles around his eyes, or the gentle hands that were, oh, so used to picking thoses little, red cranberries bought him eternity. He was resting there now, under the green, soft moss that I now loathed more that anything. Miniature: The Sea Winds When was the last time she had gotten out? When was the last time she could see more than just these four walls? Oh, don''t bother. She knew when; just didn''t want to admit it. It was only when he came that she could get out of this cursed place and see the reeds on the coast, to feel the violent winds of the sea on her face and playing with her hair, to feel the cold rays of the autmn sun kissing her cheeks. To see the world, even if it is just a glimpse.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His fingers were warm and soft as they delicately took a hold of her chin, as they lifted her face and forced an eye-contact. Her blue to his, oh, so warm brown, so full of lies. - If you were the sea, I would sink in you, - he said as he planted a kiss on her lips. Short Story: The Cat Short Story: The Cat June 6, aka, Day 1 This seems like a good day to start to write a diary, I mean, I have never done it before, so... have to try it at least once in my life, you know? Well, not really you, since I this is a diary and no one is supposed to read it. Doesn''t matter. I kinda always thought that people who write diaries are begging to have them read. What made me decide to write this? The cat. Not just any cat, but The Cat. Or Blackie. (I have never claimed to be good at naming things.) Anyway, why would a cat from all that is fluffy, pink, and holy I would start to write a diary because of a cat? Well, mostly because the diary would have only the events of one day. My last day, to be more precise, because, and I''m not kidding here, everytime that cat starts to fallow someone, they die the next day. Don''t believe me? Ok. Let''s count: 1) The Girl With The Small Red Dress (or Little Red Riding Hood, heh) - the next day after Blackie started to fallow her, she was run over by a truck, making her white dress red, 2) The Granny - she liked to watch the streets from her balcony, and one day Blackie decided to offer her some company, next day - the Granny fell off the balcony and broke her neck, 3) The Owner Of The Candy Shop - gave the cat some milk, it fallowed him around for the rest of the day, and the next day - well, he was killed during a robbery. You know what they say - twice a coincidence, thrice a pattern. Yeah, but it doesn''t end with just three times. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Died. And so will I. Blackie has started to fallow me, so I decided to take out my bucket list. Mum, dad, I love you. Sis, you can take the blue dress you like so much. Oh, and, sis, delete my browser history. To my ex-boyfriend - you are an asshole. June 7, aka, Day 2 I''m well rested. I''m ready to rock. I''m not ready to day today. But, well, beggars can''t be choosers. Ok, I lied. I''m not well rested and I feel awful - yesterday, I decided to go out with a bang. Lots and lots of alchohol. Hell, I kinda wanted to try drugs for the first time in my life just know what it feels like... after all, health doesn''t matter anymore. Anyway, this morning I had a massive hangover. My head hurt more than I thought it was possible. It also turned out I came back home with company in form of a rather handsome bloke. Blackie actually kinda looked at me disapprovingly as I gave him some scraps of sausage. I mean, really! Cat! You are prophetising death left and right, you have no right to judge how I spend my last hours!If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I want to go bungee jumping. June 8, aka, Day 3 Woke up with another hangover. (Bungee jumping was fun.) And with the same bloke in my bed. Jerry, as it turns out. Really decent guy. I kinda like him. ...but the thing is, The Cat has been fallowing me for more thaht 24h, so... why am I still alive and nursing hangover??? This doesn''t make sense! June 9, aka, Day 4 Went on a date with Jerry. It''s kinda backwards, I know, but - still. Blackie''s still fallowing with me. Waiting. Looking at me with those eyes that say - you''re going to die today, your luck is running out. June 14 So, to recap, I have done a lot of weird shit during these past few days. I mean, I have never been much of a party-animal, but I might actually start to like all this clubbing. Sure, the next morning is always kinda awful, but Jerry (Remember Jerry? The Guy from Day 1?) and I have been having a bit of fling and it''s been fun. Makes me forget the messy break-up I had with my ex. Also, drugs make you see weird things. (And what the hell, Blackie? I was supposed to be dead a week ago! You are losing your touch!) June 16 I think I might be eating too much lately. I''m totally starting to look kinda rounder... June 17 Jerry and I went on a fishing trip. Blackie had a lot of fishes. It was nice. Still having fun, drinks, and lots of physical activities. June 22 Told Jerry about Blackie''s habit of fallowing around people day before they die. He laughed and said that it was stupid, just a coincidence. Seriously. ...maybe it really is? I mean, it''s been two weeks... and I''m still alive. June 24 Buiseness as usual. Back to my job, working my ass off for the time I took off - my boss certainly didn''t look so pleased that I just one day called and said ''''hey, I''m taking a vocation''''. In my defence, I didn''t expect to live trough it. Also - I kinda have started to think that Blackie just wanted to have a little more stability in his life, that it just had the bad luck of choosing owners who are about to die. It''s just silly. So, I have started to live with Blackie as a permanent part of my life - my fridge is now full of cat food. On a side note - Jerry and I have come to a conclusion that we are an awful couple, but great drinking buddies, so we have decided to be just friends (with oft benefits, tho) instead. July 6 Woke up during the night - Blackie was being awfully loud. Hell, did I feel awful. My stomach hurt a lot, and, and... when I looked at it... when I looked at my sheets... blood. I wasn''t getting fatter. Hell, how didn''t I notice? And by the time I realised I had lost a child, Blackie was nowhere to be seen. I wonder if this is why Blackie always looked so disappointed in me...?