This inspirational short stories app is under active development, so please if you like or don't like anything, let us know before you give us a bad review. We promise we will get back to you at the earliest. If you have a feature to request or a bug to report ,please drop a mail at mala. Also you can send inspirational short stories on this mail and we'll publish them in next release along with your name. We respond to every email. Thank you for trying out this beautiful short stories app. This app is free, and always will be.
Thank you :. This app has been updated by Apple to display the Apple Watch app icon. The developer, Mala M , has not provided details about its privacy practices and handling of data to Apple. The developer will be required to provide privacy details when they submit their next app update.
I'm not really very artistic. Allie was. I was surprised by how well she could color, for her age, I mean. She didn't just scribble, she chose her colors carefully, she stayed in the lines, she even shaded, sometimes. She wasn't a savant but her pictures were better than other four-year-old kids'.
Oh, how I loved her pictures. Making this picture of my own is neither cre Content Warning: Mental illness, gore, allusions to sexual abuse and violence I gots a demon in me; that's what Mama used to say. Mama would always be telling me that demons are all over this world, that they sneak up on little boys and girls and plant evil seeds in their heads that sprout and grow, spreading around their souls like an infection.
It kinda be like when you don't wash a part of open, scabby skin; the spot around it starts to turn an ugly shade of yellow, then it gets sticky, and then you gots to CW: Strong languageI forgot the word lightbulb today.
I was trying to tell Michael how the laundry room went dark. I think we need a new… do we have any of those The word had been redacted from my vocabulary. I tried to listen for it, to hear the word in my voice. All I got was static, like the old televisions used to have. Would you change that thing in the ceiling?
We used t TW: suicideDr. It goes like this: she knocks three times, in succession, but with no particular rhythm; she calls out our name through the door, softly, and only once; she leaves. Though she intrudes on our treasured evenings together, we admire her persistence, her punctuality. Still, we cannot comply with her wishes—even if we begin to listen for the staccato of her feet outside the door. Tonight is no different. She arrives, she knocks, she waits, and s He comes to me in pieces as I watch the stillness of space, envisioning new constellations in the array of unrecognized stars.
I trace the sparks of light with my finger, connecting the dots and smudging the glass as a result. How many stars do you think there are in space? I imagine him asking. Can there really be other ones out there as big as or even bigger than the sun? I always admired his genuine curiosity, how he viewed things with a particular interest It was something so ephemeral that it seemed to have lost its meaning.
It was unlikely that one of the children would somehow become infected with the virus. Life with the Bishop was simple: mornings with prayers and a plate of fried bananas; afternoons with Jesus and rosaries and seashells; evenings with stories and hymns. There was no way a child living with Bishop would end up being contaminated I saw a tree and thought of you, or rather, thought of the way you see trees.
I remembered when we walked through the Ramble in Central Park, a wild place in the center of a place wilder still, resplendent and emerald in the early summer sun. You stopped suddenly when you saw it. I remember how you cocked your head in appreciation, a tendril of hair escaped from behind your ear. You brushed it back with an unconscious ha Colleen is packing to leave for university. She folds her clothes into neat piles, her fair hair arranged in an artfully messy bun, with gold strands curling around her face.
She packs her rolled up socks into the maze of groves left by the clothes piles. Her movements are thoughtful and tender, like she is tucking them into bed. By Eva Williams 2 days ago, Apps and Software. If you are interested in literature, namely its creative part, you probably want to have the best free novel writing software.
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The unnamed narrator is brought to trial before sinister judges of the Spanish Inquisition. He is condemned to death, whereupon he faints and later awakens to find himself in a totally dark room.
He explores the cell and soon finds a pit. The story is especially effective at inspiring fear in the reader because of its heavy focus on the senses, such as sound, emphasizing its reality, unlike many of Poe's stories which are aided by the supernatural. In order to save her father's life, Belle has no choice but to go the Beast's palace and live with him. But will she learn there's more to this monster than first meets the eye?
That charming 18th-century tale of the transforming power of love has enchanted generations of readers and listeners down to the present day. Scott Fitzgerald's readers had come to expect by the end of the Jazz Age. At fifty, Tom is attracted as much to Annie Lorry's age as to her beauty or social status.
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