| Epix Writing 8D |


The TalkIt was a rainy New York day, and the game had just ended. The Yankees had lost, and fans walked home with disappointed faces. A man had just entered the second stall of a washroom. He entered the second stall because the first one already had an occupant. He sat down on the toilet seat covered with piss, and began to read the Times. "Hey you in stall number two, can you spare me a sheet of toilet paper?" The man in the number one stall said. "Why don't you have your own?" He asked in an annoyed tone. It had been a long day, especially after he lost his winninThe Talk


The Early Days of SnowThe door opened, letting in the frigid blast of the winter air flow into the house like an icy storm, chilling my body until Paul, my brother, slammed the door shut with a long sigh. This was the first sign of winter, I thought. Winter for us always crawled into the city with a slow pace. The leaves fell in early fall, then the rain came and poured during November, causing our house to leak, and in December, the snow came and touched my nose like a cold hand. I remember when I was young; all I ever looked forward to was the snow. We build snowmen with oddly shaped noses and disproportionate bodies, and then we laughed iThe Early Days of Snow


Metropolis If God created man in His image, what image were we made in? I thought, looking down at the bottomless stream of traffic that rushed into the dark heart of the city. If the heart of the city was dark, the blood that flowed into it was just as tainted. The arteries were black, diseased. The tall skyscrapers were covered in a thin veil of mystery: a black cape. It was a cape that was only visible to some, and completely non-existent to most. The people came through the city's veins, returning to their homes filled with oxygen, forgetting for a moment that they themseMetropolis


Chapter 04: NightLily felt a nudge from the soldier behind her. The militiaman was a tall, grim figure, unkempt and stubbly; his wavy, dirty-blond hair flowed to his shoulders, making it appear as if a murky aura surrounded his head. "If you don't hurry up, they're surely going to whip you later. You must hasten...I'm sorry," he said, forcing a smile. He said his name was Charles, and he had a grin that could vie with the devil himself. Underneath that smile though, she could see an unmistakable sadness, the glimmer of teary eyes that just caught the slight reflection of the Sun-then disappeared with an eChapter 04: Night
| Epix Writing 8D |
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At least you'll never be a vegetable--even artichokes have hearts.
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The power of imagination is the ability to create your own future.
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The power of imagination is the ability to create your own future.
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