I’m not a perfect person.
You know that, but I thought I’d
tell you what it’s like to be
the girl I am.
And yet, I really do not want
to tell you everything because
I am not who you think
I am—
that's just the way
I am.
And right now, I am
struggling with telling you
what’s most important, yet
I’m really dying to tell you
all about myself.
And now, I think that
I will stop
with pen and ink this
scratching on my
paper, for I do not want to
bore you any longer.

I held the flowing bouquet of woodland flowers in both my hands and walked down the aisle at a measured pace. Once I had reached my designated spot, I turned and met the eyes of—no, not my groom. Sheesh. I’m single. I have yet to find a man that is willing to put up with this much sarcasm on a daily basis. Not that I’m looking for a man. Anyways, back to my story. I looked up and met the smiling gaze of my baby sister. Caitlyn looked ethereal in her shimmering white gown, with a cathedral veil trailing yards behind her.

As the glowing sun set behind Knight Manor. Isabella Knight a beautiful 21-year-old girl was finishing the last few touches on a surprise birthday party for her mom and uncle her mom’s twin brother. Bella scribbled on a piece of paper the last couple of items she needed to grab from the store.
‘Cake, candles, and balloons.’ thought Bella as she ran out the door to her black truck and rushed to the store. As Bella picked up the last few things on her list her phone rang.
“Hello” “Bella honey, it’s dad is everything ready for your mom and uncle?”

A crowd noisily gathers in the auditorium, sometimes in large groups, occasionally trickling in one by one. Little do they know what goes on back stage. But if you open the door…

A pinch of this, a dab of that
Into the mixing bowl,
Then stir until you cain’t no more,
With all your heart and soul.

This recipe to good success
To many lives has bring’d
A sense of hope with smells o’ joy—
When baking tunes is sing’d.

The scent o’ sweet fresh bread, homemade
A loner’s heart can cheer
It saves him from the pit of gloom
And from the shame of beer.

So here’s to yous a message plain
To all who burn and bake
Keep up your work and think to put
Some love in what you make.

Captain Aurelius Cassian held his breath. He prayed to Juno for a son for months after he was told of the pregnancy, and he sent incense to Jupiter for a princely fellow, Venus and Cupid for a boy of comely appearance, and Mars for a suitable warrior of Rome. He begged the gods for an heir.
Now, he waited for the result of his prayers.

It was snowing again.

Setting: long feasting hall. Characters: Æsirs, Æsirs, Æsirs everywhere.

Thor: Hark, ye, good Æsirs! Might we entertain ourselves with a game?

(All agree heartily [who can’t? They’re all drunk])

Thor: Shan’t we be merry as we burn calories strolling and gallivanting ‘round our good table in a match of Musical Chairs?

Baldr: Here, here!

Hodr: Minstrels! Strike up a tune!

(Playing music)

(Loki enters feasting hall)

Loki: Did I hear a game?

(Music stops, all run for a seat. Loki teleports into Sif’s seat, leaving her standing.)

Essays, papers, tons of ‘em!
Quizzes, tests due, loads of ‘em!
A Punnett Square to fill-
A new formula to find.
Got no time to kill-
Am I officially losing my mind?

Crammed in my bedroom,
I battle procrastination.
Lunch break should be soon,
But I’m held back with frustration.

Finish eating, ‘cause Algebra is next!
My stomach stops, drops, and rolls,
And my mind is very vexed!

In rolls co-op, where I get to see my friends
Bent hastily over worksheets,
How I wish school would end!

Joe Hardy grouchily tumbled out of bed, slamming his hand down on his screeching alarm clock to shut it up.

It had been a rather bad week for him; for one thing, his parents and aunt Gertrude were away for the week, leaving him and Frank to do all the cooking.
And Frank was a terrible cook. Joe wasn’t sure how much longer he could survive on his brother’s cooking.

For another, when Joe had looked in the mirror, his beautiful blond hair had turned white. Not to mention, he was turning eighty-nine tomorrow, which meant he was getting old.
Just like Frank.