Pokemon: The Sign-In System

The bridge spanning a 100-foot gully stood in front of him as the last obstacle blocking him from reaching his destination. While people may have called it a "bridge", the reality was it was nothing more than splintered wooden planks held together by rotting ropes. It was questionable whether it would hold the weight of a child, let alone the weight of a grown man. The problem was there was no other way across the gully, and this played into his calculations of whether or not it was worth the risk of trying to cross it.

She sat deep in thought. The next word that came out o her mouth would likely be the most important word of her life. It had to be exact with no possibility of being misinterpreted. She was ready. She looked deeply into his eyes and said, "Octopus."

He heard the song coming from a distance, lightly floating over the air to his ears. Although it was soft and calming, he was wary. It seemed a little too soft and a little too calming for everything that was going on. He wanted it to be nothing more than beautiful music coming from the innocent and pure joy of singing, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was likely some type of trap.

The towels had been hanging from the rod for years. They were stained and worn, and quite frankly, just plain ugly. Debra didn't want to touch them but she really didn't have a choice. It was important for her to see what was living within them.

Finding the red rose in the mailbox was a pleasant surprise for Sarah. She didn't have a boyfriend or know of anyone who was interested in her as anything more than a friend. There wasn't even a note attached to it. Although it was a complete mystery, it still made her heart jump and race a little more than usual. She wished that she could simply accept the gesture and be content knowing someone had given it to her, but that wasn't the way Sarah did things. Now it was time to do a little detective work and try to figure who had actually left the red rose.

Should he write it down? That was the question running through his mind. He couldn't believe what had just happened and he knew nobody else would believe him as well. Even if he documented what had happened by writing it down, he still didn't believe anyone would still believe it. So the question remained. Was it be worth it to actually write it down?

Stormi is a dog. She is dark grey and has long legs. Her eyes are expressive and are able to let her humans know what she is thinking. Her tongue is long, pink, and wet. Her long legs allow her to sprint after other dogs, people or bunnies. She can be a good dog, but also very bad. Her tail wags when happy or excited and hides between her back legs when she is bad. Stormi is a dog I love.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip of the drink. He had tasted this before, but he couldn't quite remember the time and place it had happened. He desperately searched his mind trying to locate and remember where he had tasted this when the bicycle ran over his foot.

Time is all relative based on age and experience. When you are a child an hour is a long time to wait but a very short time when that's all the time you are allowed on your iPad. As a teenager time goes faster the more deadlines you have and the more you procrastinate. As a young adult, you think you have forever to live and don't appreciate the time you spend with others. As a middle-aged adult, time flies by as you watch your children grow up. And finally, as you get old and you have fewer responsibilities and fewer demands on you, time slows. You appreciate each day and are thankful you are alive. An hour is the same amount of time for everyone yet it can feel so different in how it goes by.

Patrick didn't want to go. The fact that she was insisting they must go made him want to go even less. He had no desire to make small talk with strangers he would never again see just to be polite. But she insisted that Patrick go, and she would soon find out that this would be the biggest mistake she could make in their relationship.

He ordered his regular breakfast. Two eggs sunnyside up, hash browns, and two strips of bacon. He continued to look at the menu wondering if this would be the day he added something new. This was also part of the routine. A few seconds of hesitation to see if something else would be added to the order before demuring and saying that would be all. It was the same exact meal that he had ordered every day for the past two years.

Trees. It was something about the trees. The way they swayed with the wind in unison. The way they shaded the area around them. The sounds of their leaves in the wind and the creaks from the branches as they sway, The trees were making a statement that I just couldn't understand.

Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.

He walked down the steps from the train station in a bit of a hurry knowing the secrets in the briefcase must be secured as quickly as possible. Bounding down the steps, he heard something behind him and quickly turned in a panic. There was nobody there but a pair of old worn-out shoes were placed neatly on the steps he had just come down. Had he past them without seeing them? It didn't seem possible. He was about to turn and be on his way when a deep chill filled his body.

I'm meant to be writing at this moment. What I mean is, I'm meant to be writing something else at this moment. The document I'm meant to be writing is, of course, open in another program on my computer and is patiently awaiting my attention. Yet here I am plonking down senseless sentiments in this paragraph because it's easier to do than to work on anything particularly meaningful. I am grateful for the distraction.

The robot clicked disapprovingly, gurgled briefly inside its cubical interior and extruded a pony glass of brownish liquid. "Sir, you will undoubtedly end up in a drunkard's grave, dead of hepatic cirrhosis," it informed me virtuously as it returned my ID card. I glared as I pushed the glass across the table.

There weren't supposed to be dragons flying in the sky. First and foremost, dragons didn't exist. They were mythical creatures from fantasy books like unicorns. This was something that Pete knew in his heart to be true so he was having a difficult time acknowledging that there were actually fire-breathing dragons flying in the sky above him.

What were the chances? It would have to be a lot more than 100 to 1. It was likely even more than 1,000 to 1. The more he thought about it, the odds of it happening had to be more than 10,000 to 1 and even 100,000 to 1. People often threw around the chances of something happening as being 1,000,000 to 1 as an exaggeration of an unlikely event, but he could see that they may actually be accurate in this situation. Whatever the odds of it happening, he knew they were big. What he didn't know was whether this happening was lucky or unlucky.

The red glow of tail lights indicating another long drive home from work after an even longer 24-hour shift at the hospital. The shift hadn't been horrible but the constant stream of patients entering the ER meant there was no downtime. She had some of the "regulars" in tonight with new ailments they were sure were going to kill them. It's amazing what a couple of Tylenol and a physical exam from the doctor did to eliminate their pain, nausea, headache, or whatever other mild symptoms they had. Sometimes she wondered if all they really needed was some interaction with others and a bit of the individual attention they received from the nurses.

Hopes and dreams were dashed that day. It should have been expected, but it still came as a shock. The warning signs had been ignored in favor of the possibility, however remote, that it could actually happen. That possibility had grown from hope to an undeniable belief it must be destiny. That was until it wasn't and the hopes and dreams came crashing down.

It was always the Monday mornings. It never seemed to happen on Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning, or any other morning during the week. But it happened every Monday morning like clockwork. He mentally prepared himself to once again deal with what was about to happen, but this time he also placed a knife in his pocket just in case.

There were little things that she simply could not stand. The sound of someone tapping their nails on the table. A person chewing with their mouth open. Another human imposing themselves into her space. She couldn't stand any of these things, but none of them compared to the number one thing she couldn't stand which topped all of them combined.

The trees, therefore, must be such old and primitive techniques that they thought nothing of them, deeming them so inconsequential that even savages like us would know of them and not be suspicious. At that, they probably didn't have too much time after they detected us orbiting and intending to land. And if that were true, there could be only one place where their civilization was hidden.

I inadvertently went to See's Candy last week (I was in the mall looking for phone repair), and as it turns out, See's Candy now charges a dollar -- a full dollar -- for even the simplest of their wee confection offerings. I bought two chocolate lollipops and two chocolate-caramel-almond things. The total cost was four-something. I mean, the candies were tasty and all, but let's be real: A Snickers bar is fifty cents. After this dollar-per-candy revelation, I may not find myself wandering dreamily back into a See's Candy any time soon.

Sometimes it's simply better to ignore the haters. That's the lesson that Tom's dad had been trying to teach him, but Tom still couldn't let it go. He latched onto them and their hate and couldn't let it go, but he also realized that this wasn't healthy. That's when he came up with his devious plan.

Brock would have never dared to do it on his own he thought to himself. That is why Kenneth and he had become such good friends. Kenneth forced Brock out of his comfort zone and made him try new things he'd never imagine doing otherwise. Up to this point, this had been a good thing. It had expanded Brock's experiences and given him a new appreciation for life. Now that both of them were in the back of a police car, all Brock could think was that he would have never dared do it except for the influence of Kenneth.

The words hadn't flowed from his fingers for the past few weeks. He never imagined he'd find himself with writer's block, but here he sat with a blank screen in front of him. That blank screen taunting him day after day had started to play with his mind. He didn't understand why he couldn't even type a single word, just one to begin the process and build from there. And yet, he already knew that the eight hours he was prepared to sit in front of his computer today would end with the screen remaining blank.

The tree missed the days the kids used to come by and play. It still wore the tire swing the kids had put up in its branches years ago although both the tire and the rope had seen better days. The tree had watched all the kids in the neighborhood grow up and leave, and it wondered if there would ever be a time when another child played and laughed again under its branches. That was the hope that the tree wished every day as the swing gently swung empty in the wind.

The bush began to shake. Brad couldn't see what was causing it to shake, but he didn't care. he had a pretty good idea about what was going on and what was happening. He was so confident that he approached the bush carefree and with a smile on his face. That all changed the instant he realized what was actually behind the bush.

The song came from the bathroom belting over the sound of the shower's running water. It was the same way each day began since he could remember. It listened intently and concluded that the singing today was as terrible as it had ever been.

He was an expert but not in a discipline that anyone could fully appreciate. He knew how to hold the cone just right so that the soft server ice-cream fell into it at the precise angle to form a perfect cone each and every time. It had taken years to perfect and he could now do it without even putting any thought behind it. Nobody seemed to fully understand the beauty of this accomplishment except for the new worker who watched in amazement.

He couldn't remember exactly where he had read it, but he was sure that he had. The fact that she didn't believe him was quite frustrating as he began to search the Internet to find the article. It wasn't as if it was something that seemed impossible. Yet she insisted on always seeing the source whenever he stated a fact.

The choice was red, green, or blue. It didn't seem like an important choice when he was making it, but it was a choice nonetheless. Had he known the consequences at that time, he would likely have considered the choice a bit longer. In the end, he didn't and ended up choosing blue.

She tried to explain that love wasn't like pie. There wasn't a set number of slices to be given out. There wasn't less to be given to one person if you wanted to give more to another. That after a set amount was given out it would all disappear. She tried to explain this, but it fell on deaf ears.

I guess we could discuss the implications of the phrase "meant to be." That is if we wanted to drown ourselves in a sea of backwardly referential semantics and other mumbo-jumbo. Maybe such a discussion would result in the determination that "meant to be" is exactly as meaningless a phrase as it seems to be, and that none of us is actually meant to be doing anything at all. But that's my existential underpants underpinnings showing. It's the way the cookie crumbles. And now I want a cookie.

The opened package of potato chips held the answer to the mystery. Both detectives looked at it but failed to realize it was the key to solve the crime. They passed by it assuming it was random trash ensuring that the case would never be solved.

What were they eating? It didn't taste like anything she had ever eaten before and although she was famished, she didn't dare ask. She knew the answer would be one she didn't want to hear.

Her mom had warned her. She had been warned time and again, but she had refused to believe her. She had done everything right and she knew she would be rewarded for doing so with the promotion. So when the promotion was given to her main rival, it not only stung, it threw her belief system into disarray. It was her first big lesson in life, but not the last.

There are different types of secrets. She had held onto plenty of them during her life, but this one was different. She found herself holding onto the worst type. It was the type of secret that could gnaw away at your insides if you didn't tell someone about it, but it could end up getting you killed if you did.

Cake or pie? I can tell a lot about you by which one you pick. It may seem silly, but cake people and pie people are really different. I know which one I hope you are, but that's not for me to decide. So, what is it? Cake or pie?

Here's the thing. She doesn't have anything to prove, but she is going to anyway. That's just her character. She knows she doesn't have to, but she still will just to show you that she can. Doubt her more and she'll prove she can again. We all already know this and you will too.

The piano sat silently in the corner of the room. Nobody could remember the last time it had been played. The little girl walked up to it and hit a few of the keys. The sound of the piano rang throughout the house for the first time in years. In the upstairs room, confined to her bed, the owner of the house had tears in her eyes.

Betty was a creature of habit and she thought she liked it that way. That was until Dave showed up in her life. She now had a choice to make and it would determine whether her lie remained the same or if it would change forever.

She glanced up into the sky to watch the clouds taking shape. First, she saw a dog. Next, it was an elephant. Finally, she saw a giant umbrella and at that moment the rain began to pour.

It's an unfortunate reality that we don't teach people how to make money (beyond getting a 9 to 5 job) as part of our education system. The truth is there are a lot of different, legitimate ways to make money. That doesn't mean they are easy and that you won't have to work hard to succeed, but it does mean that if you're willing to open your mind a bit you don't have to be stuck in an office from 9 to 5 for the next fifty years o your life.

It wasn't that he hated her. It was simply that he didn't like her much. It was difficult for him to explain this to her, and even more difficult for her to truly understand. She was in love and wanted him to feel the same way. He didn't, and no matter how he tried to explain to her she refused to listen or to understand.

It was supposed to be a dream vacation. They had planned it over a year in advance so that it would be perfect in every way. It had been what they had been looking forward to through all the turmoil and negativity around them. It had been the light at the end of both their tunnels. Now that the dream vacation was only a week away, the virus had stopped all air travel.

Finding the truth wouldn't be easy, that's for sure. Then there was the question of whether or not Jane really wanted to know the truth. That's the thing that bothered her most. It wasn't the difficulty of actually finding out what happened that was the obstacle, but having to live with that information once it was found.

According to the caption on the bronze marker placed by the Multnomah Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution on May 12, 1939, "College Hall (is) the oldest building in continuous use for Educational purposes west of the Rocky Mountains. Here were educated men and women who have won recognition throughout the world in all the learned professions."

He read about a hike called the incline in the guidebook. It said it was a strenuous hike and to bring plenty of water. "A beautiful hike to the clouds" described one review. "Not for the faint-hearted," said another. "Not too bad of a workout", bragged a third review. I thought I'd hike it when I fly in from Maryland on my day off from the senior citizen's wellness conference. I hiked 2 miles a day around the neighborhood so I could handle a 1.1-mile hike. What a foolish mistake that was for a 70-year-old low-lander.The bridge spanning a 100-foot gully stood in front of him as the last obstacle blocking him from reaching his destination. While people may have called it a "bridge", the reality was it was nothing more than splintered wooden planks held together by rotting ropes. It was questionable whether it would hold the weight of a child, let alone the weight of a grown man. The problem was there was no other way across the gully, and this played into his calculations of whether or not it was worth the risk of trying to cross it.

She sat deep in thought. The next word that came out o her mouth would likely be the most important word of her life. It had to be exact with no possibility of being misinterpreted. She was ready. She looked deeply into his eyes and said, "Octopus."

He heard the song coming from a distance, lightly floating over the air to his ears. Although it was soft and calming, he was wary. It seemed a little too soft and a little too calming for everything that was going on. He wanted it to be nothing more than beautiful music coming from the innocent and pure joy of singing, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was likely some type of trap.

The towels had been hanging from the rod for years. They were stained and worn, and quite frankly, just plain ugly. Debra didn't want to touch them but she really didn't have a choice. It was important for her to see what was living within them.

Finding the red rose in the mailbox was a pleasant surprise for Sarah. She didn't have a boyfriend or know of anyone who was interested in her as anything more than a friend. There wasn't even a note attached to it. Although it was a complete mystery, it still made her heart jump and race a little more than usual. She wished that she could simply accept the gesture and be content knowing someone had given it to her, but that wasn't the way Sarah did things. Now it was time to do a little detective work and try to figure who had actually left the red rose.

Should he write it down? That was the question running through his mind. He couldn't believe what had just happened and he knew nobody else would believe him as well. Even if he documented what had happened by writing it down, he still didn't believe anyone would still believe it. So the question remained. Was it be worth it to actually write it down?

Stormi is a dog. She is dark grey and has long legs. Her eyes are expressive and are able to let her humans know what she is thinking. Her tongue is long, pink, and wet. Her long legs allow her to sprint after other dogs, people or bunnies. She can be a good dog, but also very bad. Her tail wags when happy or excited and hides between her back legs when she is bad. Stormi is a dog I love.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip of the drink. He had tasted this before, but he couldn't quite remember the time and place it had happened. He desperately searched his mind trying to locate and remember where he had tasted this when the bicycle ran over his foot.

Time is all relative based on age and experience. When you are a child an hour is a long time to wait but a very short time when that's all the time you are allowed on your iPad. As a teenager time goes faster the more deadlines you have and the more you procrastinate. As a young adult, you think you have forever to live and don't appreciate the time you spend with others. As a middle-aged adult, time flies by as you watch your children grow up. And finally, as you get old and you have fewer responsibilities and fewer demands on you, time slows. You appreciate each day and are thankful you are alive. An hour is the same amount of time for everyone yet it can feel so different in how it goes by.

Patrick didn't want to go. The fact that she was insisting they must go made him want to go even less. He had no desire to make small talk with strangers he would never again see just to be polite. But she insisted that Patrick go, and she would soon find out that this would be the biggest mistake she could make in their relationship.

He ordered his regular breakfast. Two eggs sunnyside up, hash browns, and two strips of bacon. He continued to look at the menu wondering if this would be the day he added something new. This was also part of the routine. A few seconds of hesitation to see if something else would be added to the order before demuring and saying that would be all. It was the same exact meal that he had ordered every day for the past two years.

Trees. It was something about the trees. The way they swayed with the wind in unison. The way they shaded the area around them. The sounds of their leaves in the wind and the creaks from the branches as they sway, The trees were making a statement that I just couldn't understand.

Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.

He walked down the steps from the train station in a bit of a hurry knowing the secrets in the briefcase must be secured as quickly as possible. Bounding down the steps, he heard something behind him and quickly turned in a panic. There was nobody there but a pair of old worn-out shoes were placed neatly on the steps he had just come down. Had he past them without seeing them? It didn't seem possible. He was about to turn and be on his way when a deep chill filled his body.

I'm meant to be writing at this moment. What I mean is, I'm meant to be writing something else at this moment. The document I'm meant to be writing is, of course, open in another program on my computer and is patiently awaiting my attention. Yet here I am plonking down senseless sentiments in this paragraph because it's easier to do than to work on anything particularly meaningful. I am grateful for the distraction.

The robot clicked disapprovingly, gurgled briefly inside its cubical interior and extruded a pony glass of brownish liquid. "Sir, you will undoubtedly end up in a drunkard's grave, dead of hepatic cirrhosis," it informed me virtuously as it returned my ID card. I glared as I pushed the glass across the table.

There weren't supposed to be dragons flying in the sky. First and foremost, dragons didn't exist. They were mythical creatures from fantasy books like unicorns. This was something that Pete knew in his heart to be true so he was having a difficult time acknowledging that there were actually fire-breathing dragons flying in the sky above him.

What were the chances? It would have to be a lot more than 100 to 1. It was likely even more than 1,000 to 1. The more he thought about it, the odds of it happening had to be more than 10,000 to 1 and even 100,000 to 1. People often threw around the chances of something happening as being 1,000,000 to 1 as an exaggeration of an unlikely event, but he could see that they may actually be accurate in this situation. Whatever the odds of it happening, he knew they were big. What he didn't know was whether this happening was lucky or unlucky.

The red glow of tail lights indicating another long drive home from work after an even longer 24-hour shift at the hospital. The shift hadn't been horrible but the constant stream of patients entering the ER meant there was no downtime. She had some of the "regulars" in tonight with new ailments they were sure were going to kill them. It's amazing what a couple of Tylenol and a physical exam from the doctor did to eliminate their pain, nausea, headache, or whatever other mild symptoms they had. Sometimes she wondered if all they really needed was some interaction with others and a bit of the individual attention they received from the nurses.

Hopes and dreams were dashed that day. It should have been expected, but it still came as a shock. The warning signs had been ignored in favor of the possibility, however remote, that it could actually happen. That possibility had grown from hope to an undeniable belief it must be destiny. That was until it wasn't and the hopes and dreams came crashing down.

It was always the Monday mornings. It never seemed to happen on Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning, or any other morning during the week. But it happened every Monday morning like clockwork. He mentally prepared himself to once again deal with what was about to happen, but this time he also placed a knife in his pocket just in case.

There were little things that she simply could not stand. The sound of someone tapping their nails on the table. A person chewing with their mouth open. Another human imposing themselves into her space. She couldn't stand any of these things, but none of them compared to the number one thing she couldn't stand which topped all of them combined.

The trees, therefore, must be such old and primitive techniques that they thought nothing of them, deeming them so inconsequential that even savages like us would know of them and not be suspicious. At that, they probably didn't have too much time after they detected us orbiting and intending to land. And if that were true, there could be only one place where their civilization was hidden.

I inadvertently went to See's Candy last week (I was in the mall looking for phone repair), and as it turns out, See's Candy now charges a dollar -- a full dollar -- for even the simplest of their wee confection offerings. I bought two chocolate lollipops and two chocolate-caramel-almond things. The total cost was four-something. I mean, the candies were tasty and all, but let's be real: A Snickers bar is fifty cents. After this dollar-per-candy revelation, I may not find myself wandering dreamily back into a See's Candy any time soon.

Sometimes it's simply better to ignore the haters. That's the lesson that Tom's dad had been trying to teach him, but Tom still couldn't let it go. He latched onto them and their hate and couldn't let it go, but he also realized that this wasn't healthy. That's when he came up with his devious plan.

Brock would have never dared to do it on his own he thought to himself. That is why Kenneth and he had become such good friends. Kenneth forced Brock out of his comfort zone and made him try new things he'd never imagine doing otherwise. Up to this point, this had been a good thing. It had expanded Brock's experiences and given him a new appreciation for life. Now that both of them were in the back of a police car, all Brock could think was that he would have never dared do it except for the influence of Kenneth.

The words hadn't flowed from his fingers for the past few weeks. He never imagined he'd find himself with writer's block, but here he sat with a blank screen in front of him. That blank screen taunting him day after day had started to play with his mind. He didn't understand why he couldn't even type a single word, just one to begin the process and build from there. And yet, he already knew that the eight hours he was prepared to sit in front of his computer today would end with the screen remaining blank.

The tree missed the days the kids used to come by and play. It still wore the tire swing the kids had put up in its branches years ago although both the tire and the rope had seen better days. The tree had watched all the kids in the neighborhood grow up and leave, and it wondered if there would ever be a time when another child played and laughed again under its branches. That was the hope that the tree wished every day as the swing gently swung empty in the wind.

The bush began to shake. Brad couldn't see what was causing it to shake, but he didn't care. he had a pretty good idea about what was going on and what was happening. He was so confident that he approached the bush carefree and with a smile on his face. That all changed the instant he realized what was actually behind the bush.

The song came from the bathroom belting over the sound of the shower's running water. It was the same way each day began since he could remember. It listened intently and concluded that the singing today was as terrible as it had ever been.

He was an expert but not in a discipline that anyone could fully appreciate. He knew how to hold the cone just right so that the soft server ice-cream fell into it at the precise angle to form a perfect cone each and every time. It had taken years to perfect and he could now do it without even putting any thought behind it. Nobody seemed to fully understand the beauty of this accomplishment except for the new worker who watched in amazement.

He couldn't remember exactly where he had read it, but he was sure that he had. The fact that she didn't believe him was quite frustrating as he began to search the Internet to find the article. It wasn't as if it was something that seemed impossible. Yet she insisted on always seeing the source whenever he stated a fact.

The choice was red, green, or blue. It didn't seem like an important choice when he was making it, but it was a choice nonetheless. Had he known the consequences at that time, he would likely have considered the choice a bit longer. In the end, he didn't and ended up choosing blue.

She tried to explain that love wasn't like pie. There wasn't a set number of slices to be given out. There wasn't less to be given to one person if you wanted to give more to another. That after a set amount was given out it would all disappear. She tried to explain this, but it fell on deaf ears.

I guess we could discuss the implications of the phrase "meant to be." That is if we wanted to drown ourselves in a sea of backwardly referential semantics and other mumbo-jumbo. Maybe such a discussion would result in the determination that "meant to be" is exactly as meaningless a phrase as it seems to be, and that none of us is actually meant to be doing anything at all. But that's my existential underpants underpinnings showing. It's the way the cookie crumbles. And now I want a cookie.

The opened package of potato chips held the answer to the mystery. Both detectives looked at it but failed to realize it was the key to solve the crime. They passed by it assuming it was random trash ensuring that the case would never be solved.

What were they eating? It didn't taste like anything she had ever eaten before and although she was famished, she didn't dare ask. She knew the answer would be one she didn't want to hear.

Her mom had warned her. She had been warned time and again, but she had refused to believe her. She had done everything right and she knew she would be rewarded for doing so with the promotion. So when the promotion was given to her main rival, it not only stung, it threw her belief system into disarray. It was her first big lesson in life, but not the last.

There are different types of secrets. She had held onto plenty of them during her life, but this one was different. She found herself holding onto the worst type. It was the type of secret that could gnaw away at your insides if you didn't tell someone about it, but it could end up getting you killed if you did.

Cake or pie? I can tell a lot about you by which one you pick. It may seem silly, but cake people and pie people are really different. I know which one I hope you are, but that's not for me to decide. So, what is it? Cake or pie?

Here's the thing. She doesn't have anything to prove, but she is going to anyway. That's just her character. She knows she doesn't have to, but she still will just to show you that she can. Doubt her more and she'll prove she can again. We all already know this and you will too.

The piano sat silently in the corner of the room. Nobody could remember the last time it had been played. The little girl walked up to it and hit a few of the keys. The sound of the piano rang throughout the house for the first time in years. In the upstairs room, confined to her bed, the owner of the house had tears in her eyes.

Betty was a creature of habit and she thought she liked it that way. That was until Dave showed up in her life. She now had a choice to make and it would determine whether her lie remained the same or if it would change forever.

She glanced up into the sky to watch the clouds taking shape. First, she saw a dog. Next, it was an elephant. Finally, she saw a giant umbrella and at that moment the rain began to pour.

It's an unfortunate reality that we don't teach people how to make money (beyond getting a 9 to 5 job) as part of our education system. The truth is there are a lot of different, legitimate ways to make money. That doesn't mean they are easy and that you won't have to work hard to succeed, but it does mean that if you're willing to open your mind a bit you don't have to be stuck in an office from 9 to 5 for the next fifty years o your life.

It wasn't that he hated her. It was simply that he didn't like her much. It was difficult for him to explain this to her, and even more difficult for her to truly understand. She was in love and wanted him to feel the same way. He didn't, and no matter how he tried to explain to her she refused to listen or to understand.

It was supposed to be a dream vacation. They had planned it over a year in advance so that it would be perfect in every way. It had been what they had been looking forward to through all the turmoil and negativity around them. It had been the light at the end of both their tunnels. Now that the dream vacation was only a week away, the virus had stopped all air travel.

Finding the truth wouldn't be easy, that's for sure. Then there was the question of whether or not Jane really wanted to know the truth. That's the thing that bothered her most. It wasn't the difficulty of actually finding out what happened that was the obstacle, but having to live with that information once it was found.

According to the caption on the bronze marker placed by the Multnomah Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution on May 12, 1939, "College Hall (is) the oldest building in continuous use for Educational purposes west of the Rocky Mountains. Here were educated men and women who have won recognition throughout the world in all the learned professions."

He read about a hike called the incline in the guidebook. It said it was a strenuous hike and to bring plenty of water. "A beautiful hike to the clouds" described one review. "Not for the faint-hearted," said another. "Not too bad of a workout", bragged a third review. I thought I'd hike it when I fly in from Maryland on my day off from the senior citizen's wellness conference. I hiked 2 miles a day around the neighborhood so I could handle a 1.1-mile hike. What a foolish mistake that was for a 70-year-old low-lander.The bridge spanning a 100-foot gully stood in front of him as the last obstacle blocking him from reaching his destination. While people may have called it a "bridge", the reality was it was nothing more than splintered wooden planks held together by rotting ropes. It was questionable whether it would hold the weight of a child, let alone the weight of a grown man. The problem was there was no other way across the gully, and this played into his calculations of whether or not it was worth the risk of trying to cross it.

She sat deep in thought. The next word that came out o her mouth would likely be the most important word of her life. It had to be exact with no possibility of being misinterpreted. She was ready. She looked deeply into his eyes and said, "Octopus."

He heard the song coming from a distance, lightly floating over the air to his ears. Although it was soft and calming, he was wary. It seemed a little too soft and a little too calming for everything that was going on. He wanted it to be nothing more than beautiful music coming from the innocent and pure joy of singing, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was likely some type of trap.

The towels had been hanging from the rod for years. They were stained and worn, and quite frankly, just plain ugly. Debra didn't want to touch them but she really didn't have a choice. It was important for her to see what was living within them.

Finding the red rose in the mailbox was a pleasant surprise for Sarah. She didn't have a boyfriend or know of anyone who was interested in her as anything more than a friend. There wasn't even a note attached to it. Although it was a complete mystery, it still made her heart jump and race a little more than usual. She wished that she could simply accept the gesture and be content knowing someone had given it to her, but that wasn't the way Sarah did things. Now it was time to do a little detective work and try to figure who had actually left the red rose.

Should he write it down? That was the question running through his mind. He couldn't believe what had just happened and he knew nobody else would believe him as well. Even if he documented what had happened by writing it down, he still didn't believe anyone would still believe it. So the question remained. Was it be worth it to actually write it down?

Stormi is a dog. She is dark grey and has long legs. Her eyes are expressive and are able to let her humans know what she is thinking. Her tongue is long, pink, and wet. Her long legs allow her to sprint after other dogs, people or bunnies. She can be a good dog, but also very bad. Her tail wags when happy or excited and hides between her back legs when she is bad. Stormi is a dog I love.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip of the drink. He had tasted this before, but he couldn't quite remember the time and place it had happened. He desperately searched his mind trying to locate and remember where he had tasted this when the bicycle ran over his foot.

Time is all relative based on age and experience. When you are a child an hour is a long time to wait but a very short time when that's all the time you are allowed on your iPad. As a teenager time goes faster the more deadlines you have and the more you procrastinate. As a young adult, you think you have forever to live and don't appreciate the time you spend with others. As a middle-aged adult, time flies by as you watch your children grow up. And finally, as you get old and you have fewer responsibilities and fewer demands on you, time slows. You appreciate each day and are thankful you are alive. An hour is the same amount of time for everyone yet it can feel so different in how it goes by.

Patrick didn't want to go. The fact that she was insisting they must go made him want to go even less. He had no desire to make small talk with strangers he would never again see just to be polite. But she insisted that Patrick go, and she would soon find out that this would be the biggest mistake she could make in their relationship.

He ordered his regular breakfast. Two eggs sunnyside up, hash browns, and two strips of bacon. He continued to look at the menu wondering if this would be the day he added something new. This was also part of the routine. A few seconds of hesitation to see if something else would be added to the order before demuring and saying that would be all. It was the same exact meal that he had ordered every day for the past two years.

Trees. It was something about the trees. The way they swayed with the wind in unison. The way they shaded the area around them. The sounds of their leaves in the wind and the creaks from the branches as they sway, The trees were making a statement that I just couldn't understand.

Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.

He walked down the steps from the train station in a bit of a hurry knowing the secrets in the briefcase must be secured as quickly as possible. Bounding down the steps, he heard something behind him and quickly turned in a panic. There was nobody there but a pair of old worn-out shoes were placed neatly on the steps he had just come down. Had he past them without seeing them? It didn't seem possible. He was about to turn and be on his way when a deep chill filled his body.

I'm meant to be writing at this moment. What I mean is, I'm meant to be writing something else at this moment. The document I'm meant to be writing is, of course, open in another program on my computer and is patiently awaiting my attention. Yet here I am plonking down senseless sentiments in this paragraph because it's easier to do than to work on anything particularly meaningful. I am grateful for the distraction.

The robot clicked disapprovingly, gurgled briefly inside its cubical interior and extruded a pony glass of brownish liquid. "Sir, you will undoubtedly end up in a drunkard's grave, dead of hepatic cirrhosis," it informed me virtuously as it returned my ID card. I glared as I pushed the glass across the table.

There weren't supposed to be dragons flying in the sky. First and foremost, dragons didn't exist. They were mythical creatures from fantasy books like unicorns. This was something that Pete knew in his heart to be true so he was having a difficult time acknowledging that there were actually fire-breathing dragons flying in the sky above him.

What were the chances? It would have to be a lot more than 100 to 1. It was likely even more than 1,000 to 1. The more he thought about it, the odds of it happening had to be more than 10,000 to 1 and even 100,000 to 1. People often threw around the chances of something happening as being 1,000,000 to 1 as an exaggeration of an unlikely event, but he could see that they may actually be accurate in this situation. Whatever the odds of it happening, he knew they were big. What he didn't know was whether this happening was lucky or unlucky.

The red glow of tail lights indicating another long drive home from work after an even longer 24-hour shift at the hospital. The shift hadn't been horrible but the constant stream of patients entering the ER meant there was no downtime. She had some of the "regulars" in tonight with new ailments they were sure were going to kill them. It's amazing what a couple of Tylenol and a physical exam from the doctor did to eliminate their pain, nausea, headache, or whatever other mild symptoms they had. Sometimes she wondered if all they really needed was some interaction with others and a bit of the individual attention they received from the nurses.

Hopes and dreams were dashed that day. It should have been expected, but it still came as a shock. The warning signs had been ignored in favor of the possibility, however remote, that it could actually happen. That possibility had grown from hope to an undeniable belief it must be destiny. That was until it wasn't and the hopes and dreams came crashing down.

It was always the Monday mornings. It never seemed to happen on Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning, or any other morning during the week. But it happened every Monday morning like clockwork. He mentally prepared himself to once again deal with what was about to happen, but this time he also placed a knife in his pocket just in case.

There were little things that she simply could not stand. The sound of someone tapping their nails on the table. A person chewing with their mouth open. Another human imposing themselves into her space. She couldn't stand any of these things, but none of them compared to the number one thing she couldn't stand which topped all of them combined.

The trees, therefore, must be such old and primitive techniques that they thought nothing of them, deeming them so inconsequential that even savages like us would know of them and not be suspicious. At that, they probably didn't have too much time after they detected us orbiting and intending to land. And if that were true, there could be only one place where their civilization was hidden.

I inadvertently went to See's Candy last week (I was in the mall looking for phone repair), and as it turns out, See's Candy now charges a dollar -- a full dollar -- for even the simplest of their wee confection offerings. I bought two chocolate lollipops and two chocolate-caramel-almond things. The total cost was four-something. I mean, the candies were tasty and all, but let's be real: A Snickers bar is fifty cents. After this dollar-per-candy revelation, I may not find myself wandering dreamily back into a See's Candy any time soon.

Sometimes it's simply better to ignore the haters. That's the lesson that Tom's dad had been trying to teach him, but Tom still couldn't let it go. He latched onto them and their hate and couldn't let it go, but he also realized that this wasn't healthy. That's when he came up with his devious plan.

Brock would have never dared to do it on his own he thought to himself. That is why Kenneth and he had become such good friends. Kenneth forced Brock out of his comfort zone and made him try new things he'd never imagine doing otherwise. Up to this point, this had been a good thing. It had expanded Brock's experiences and given him a new appreciation for life. Now that both of them were in the back of a police car, all Brock could think was that he would have never dared do it except for the influence of Kenneth.

The words hadn't flowed from his fingers for the past few weeks. He never imagined he'd find himself with writer's block, but here he sat with a blank screen in front of him. That blank screen taunting him day after day had started to play with his mind. He didn't understand why he couldn't even type a single word, just one to begin the process and build from there. And yet, he already knew that the eight hours he was prepared to sit in front of his computer today would end with the screen remaining blank.

The tree missed the days the kids used to come by and play. It still wore the tire swing the kids had put up in its branches years ago although both the tire and the rope had seen better days. The tree had watched all the kids in the neighborhood grow up and leave, and it wondered if there would ever be a time when another child played and laughed again under its branches. That was the hope that the tree wished every day as the swing gently swung empty in the wind.

The bush began to shake. Brad couldn't see what was causing it to shake, but he didn't care. he had a pretty good idea about what was going on and what was happening. He was so confident that he approached the bush carefree and with a smile on his face. That all changed the instant he realized what was actually behind the bush.

The song came from the bathroom belting over the sound of the shower's running water. It was the same way each day began since he could remember. It listened intently and concluded that the singing today was as terrible as it had ever been.

He was an expert but not in a discipline that anyone could fully appreciate. He knew how to hold the cone just right so that the soft server ice-cream fell into it at the precise angle to form a perfect cone each and every time. It had taken years to perfect and he could now do it without even putting any thought behind it. Nobody seemed to fully understand the beauty of this accomplishment except for the new worker who watched in amazement.

He couldn't remember exactly where he had read it, but he was sure that he had. The fact that she didn't believe him was quite frustrating as he began to search the Internet to find the article. It wasn't as if it was something that seemed impossible. Yet she insisted on always seeing the source whenever he stated a fact.

The choice was red, green, or blue. It didn't seem like an important choice when he was making it, but it was a choice nonetheless. Had he known the consequences at that time, he would likely have considered the choice a bit longer. In the end, he didn't and ended up choosing blue.

She tried to explain that love wasn't like pie. There wasn't a set number of slices to be given out. There wasn't less to be given to one person if you wanted to give more to another. That after a set amount was given out it would all disappear. She tried to explain this, but it fell on deaf ears.

I guess we could discuss the implications of the phrase "meant to be." That is if we wanted to drown ourselves in a sea of backwardly referential semantics and other mumbo-jumbo. Maybe such a discussion would result in the determination that "meant to be" is exactly as meaningless a phrase as it seems to be, and that none of us is actually meant to be doing anything at all. But that's my existential underpants underpinnings showing. It's the way the cookie crumbles. And now I want a cookie.

The opened package of potato chips held the answer to the mystery. Both detectives looked at it but failed to realize it was the key to solve the crime. They passed by it assuming it was random trash ensuring that the case would never be solved.

What were they eating? It didn't taste like anything she had ever eaten before and although she was famished, she didn't dare ask. She knew the answer would be one she didn't want to hear.

Her mom had warned her. She had been warned time and again, but she had refused to believe her. She had done everything right and she knew she would be rewarded for doing so with the promotion. So when the promotion was given to her main rival, it not only stung, it threw her belief system into disarray. It was her first big lesson in life, but not the last.

There are different types of secrets. She had held onto plenty of them during her life, but this one was different. She found herself holding onto the worst type. It was the type of secret that could gnaw away at your insides if you didn't tell someone about it, but it could end up getting you killed if you did.

Cake or pie? I can tell a lot about you by which one you pick. It may seem silly, but cake people and pie people are really different. I know which one I hope you are, but that's not for me to decide. So, what is it? Cake or pie?

Here's the thing. She doesn't have anything to prove, but she is going to anyway. That's just her character. She knows she doesn't have to, but she still will just to show you that she can. Doubt her more and she'll prove she can again. We all already know this and you will too.

The piano sat silently in the corner of the room. Nobody could remember the last time it had been played. The little girl walked up to it and hit a few of the keys. The sound of the piano rang throughout the house for the first time in years. In the upstairs room, confined to her bed, the owner of the house had tears in her eyes.

Betty was a creature of habit and she thought she liked it that way. That was until Dave showed up in her life. She now had a choice to make and it would determine whether her lie remained the same or if it would change forever.

She glanced up into the sky to watch the clouds taking shape. First, she saw a dog. Next, it was an elephant. Finally, she saw a giant umbrella and at that moment the rain began to pour.

It's an unfortunate reality that we don't teach people how to make money (beyond getting a 9 to 5 job) as part of our education system. The truth is there are a lot of different, legitimate ways to make money. That doesn't mean they are easy and that you won't have to work hard to succeed, but it does mean that if you're willing to open your mind a bit you don't have to be stuck in an office from 9 to 5 for the next fifty years o your life.

It wasn't that he hated her. It was simply that he didn't like her much. It was difficult for him to explain this to her, and even more difficult for her to truly understand. She was in love and wanted him to feel the same way. He didn't, and no matter how he tried to explain to her she refused to listen or to understand.

It was supposed to be a dream vacation. They had planned it over a year in advance so that it would be perfect in every way. It had been what they had been looking forward to through all the turmoil and negativity around them. It had been the light at the end of both their tunnels. Now that the dream vacation was only a week away, the virus had stopped all air travel.

Finding the truth wouldn't be easy, that's for sure. Then there was the question of whether or not Jane really wanted to know the truth. That's the thing that bothered her most. It wasn't the difficulty of actually finding out what happened that was the obstacle, but having to live with that information once it was found.

According to the caption on the bronze marker placed by the Multnomah Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution on May 12, 1939, "College Hall (is) the oldest building in continuous use for Educational purposes west of the Rocky Mountains. Here were educated men and women who have won recognition throughout the world in all the learned professions."

He read about a hike called the incline in the guidebook. It said it was a strenuous hike and to bring plenty of water. "A beautiful hike to the clouds" described one review. "Not for the faint-hearted," said another. "Not too bad of a workout", bragged a third review. I thought I'd hike it when I fly in from Maryland on my day off from the senior citizen's wellness conference. I hiked 2 miles a day around the neighborhood so I could handle a 1.1-mile hike. What a foolish mistake that was for a 70-year-old low-lander.The bridge spanning a 100-foot gully stood in front of him as the last obstacle blocking him from reaching his destination. While people may have called it a "bridge", the reality was it was nothing more than splintered wooden planks held together by rotting ropes. It was questionable whether it would hold the weight of a child, let alone the weight of a grown man. The problem was there was no other way across the gully, and this played into his calculations of whether or not it was worth the risk of trying to cross it.

She sat deep in thought. The next word that came out o her mouth would likely be the most important word of her life. It had to be exact with no possibility of being misinterpreted. She was ready. She looked deeply into his eyes and said, "Octopus."

He heard the song coming from a distance, lightly floating over the air to his ears. Although it was soft and calming, he was wary. It seemed a little too soft and a little too calming for everything that was going on. He wanted it to be nothing more than beautiful music coming from the innocent and pure joy of singing, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was likely some type of trap.

The towels had been hanging from the rod for years. They were stained and worn, and quite frankly, just plain ugly. Debra didn't want to touch them but she really didn't have a choice. It was important for her to see what was living within them.

Finding the red rose in the mailbox was a pleasant surprise for Sarah. She didn't have a boyfriend or know of anyone who was interested in her as anything more than a friend. There wasn't even a note attached to it. Although it was a complete mystery, it still made her heart jump and race a little more than usual. She wished that she could simply accept the gesture and be content knowing someone had given it to her, but that wasn't the way Sarah did things. Now it was time to do a little detective work and try to figure who had actually left the red rose.

Should he write it down? That was the question running through his mind. He couldn't believe what had just happened and he knew nobody else would believe him as well. Even if he documented what had happened by writing it down, he still didn't believe anyone would still believe it. So the question remained. Was it be worth it to actually write it down?

Stormi is a dog. She is dark grey and has long legs. Her eyes are expressive and are able to let her humans know what she is thinking. Her tongue is long, pink, and wet. Her long legs allow her to sprint after other dogs, people or bunnies. She can be a good dog, but also very bad. Her tail wags when happy or excited and hides between her back legs when she is bad. Stormi is a dog I love.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip of the drink. He had tasted this before, but he couldn't quite remember the time and place it had happened. He desperately searched his mind trying to locate and remember where he had tasted this when the bicycle ran over his foot.

Time is all relative based on age and experience. When you are a child an hour is a long time to wait but a very short time when that's all the time you are allowed on your iPad. As a teenager time goes faster the more deadlines you have and the more you procrastinate. As a young adult, you think you have forever to live and don't appreciate the time you spend with others. As a middle-aged adult, time flies by as you watch your children grow up. And finally, as you get old and you have fewer responsibilities and fewer demands on you, time slows. You appreciate each day and are thankful you are alive. An hour is the same amount of time for everyone yet it can feel so different in how it goes by.

Patrick didn't want to go. The fact that she was insisting they must go made him want to go even less. He had no desire to make small talk with strangers he would never again see just to be polite. But she insisted that Patrick go, and she would soon find out that this would be the biggest mistake she could make in their relationship.

He ordered his regular breakfast. Two eggs sunnyside up, hash browns, and two strips of bacon. He continued to look at the menu wondering if this would be the day he added something new. This was also part of the routine. A few seconds of hesitation to see if something else would be added to the order before demuring and saying that would be all. It was the same exact meal that he had ordered every day for the past two years.

Trees. It was something about the trees. The way they swayed with the wind in unison. The way they shaded the area around them. The sounds of their leaves in the wind and the creaks from the branches as they sway, The trees were making a statement that I just couldn't understand.

Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.

He walked down the steps from the train station in a bit of a hurry knowing the secrets in the briefcase must be secured as quickly as possible. Bounding down the steps, he heard something behind him and quickly turned in a panic. There was nobody there but a pair of old worn-out shoes were placed neatly on the steps he had just come down. Had he past them without seeing them? It didn't seem possible. He was about to turn and be on his way when a deep chill filled his body.

I'm meant to be writing at this moment. What I mean is, I'm meant to be writing something else at this moment. The document I'm meant to be writing is, of course, open in another program on my computer and is patiently awaiting my attention. Yet here I am plonking down senseless sentiments in this paragraph because it's easier to do than to work on anything particularly meaningful. I am grateful for the distraction.

The robot clicked disapprovingly, gurgled briefly inside its cubical interior and extruded a pony glass of brownish liquid. "Sir, you will undoubtedly end up in a drunkard's grave, dead of hepatic cirrhosis," it informed me virtuously as it returned my ID card. I glared as I pushed the glass across the table.

There weren't supposed to be dragons flying in the sky. First and foremost, dragons didn't exist. They were mythical creatures from fantasy books like unicorns. This was something that Pete knew in his heart to be true so he was having a difficult time acknowledging that there were actually fire-breathing dragons flying in the sky above him.

What were the chances? It would have to be a lot more than 100 to 1. It was likely even more than 1,000 to 1. The more he thought about it, the odds of it happening had to be more than 10,000 to 1 and even 100,000 to 1. People often threw around the chances of something happening as being 1,000,000 to 1 as an exaggeration of an unlikely event, but he could see that they may actually be accurate in this situation. Whatever the odds of it happening, he knew they were big. What he didn't know was whether this happening was lucky or unlucky.

The red glow of tail lights indicating another long drive home from work after an even longer 24-hour shift at the hospital. The shift hadn't been horrible but the constant stream of patients entering the ER meant there was no downtime. She had some of the "regulars" in tonight with new ailments they were sure were going to kill them. It's amazing what a couple of Tylenol and a physical exam from the doctor did to eliminate their pain, nausea, headache, or whatever other mild symptoms they had. Sometimes she wondered if all they really needed was some interaction with others and a bit of the individual attention they received from the nurses.

Hopes and dreams were dashed that day. It should have been expected, but it still came as a shock. The warning signs had been ignored in favor of the possibility, however remote, that it could actually happen. That possibility had grown from hope to an undeniable belief it must be destiny. That was until it wasn't and the hopes and dreams came crashing down.

It was always the Monday mornings. It never seemed to happen on Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning, or any other morning during the week. But it happened every Monday morning like clockwork. He mentally prepared himself to once again deal with what was about to happen, but this time he also placed a knife in his pocket just in case.

There were little things that she simply could not stand. The sound of someone tapping their nails on the table. A person chewing with their mouth open. Another human imposing themselves into her space. She couldn't stand any of these things, but none of them compared to the number one thing she couldn't stand which topped all of them combined.

The trees, therefore, must be such old and primitive techniques that they thought nothing of them, deeming them so inconsequential that even savages like us would know of them and not be suspicious. At that, they probably didn't have too much time after they detected us orbiting and intending to land. And if that were true, there could be only one place where their civilization was hidden.

I inadvertently went to See's Candy last week (I was in the mall looking for phone repair), and as it turns out, See's Candy now charges a dollar -- a full dollar -- for even the simplest of their wee confection offerings. I bought two chocolate lollipops and two chocolate-caramel-almond things. The total cost was four-something. I mean, the candies were tasty and all, but let's be real: A Snickers bar is fifty cents. After this dollar-per-candy revelation, I may not find myself wandering dreamily back into a See's Candy any time soon.

Sometimes it's simply better to ignore the haters. That's the lesson that Tom's dad had been trying to teach him, but Tom still couldn't let it go. He latched onto them and their hate and couldn't let it go, but he also realized that this wasn't healthy. That's when he came up with his devious plan.

Brock would have never dared to do it on his own he thought to himself. That is why Kenneth and he had become such good friends. Kenneth forced Brock out of his comfort zone and made him try new things he'd never imagine doing otherwise. Up to this point, this had been a good thing. It had expanded Brock's experiences and given him a new appreciation for life. Now that both of them were in the back of a police car, all Brock could think was that he would have never dared do it except for the influence of Kenneth.

The words hadn't flowed from his fingers for the past few weeks. He never imagined he'd find himself with writer's block, but here he sat with a blank screen in front of him. That blank screen taunting him day after day had started to play with his mind. He didn't understand why he couldn't even type a single word, just one to begin the process and build from there. And yet, he already knew that the eight hours he was prepared to sit in front of his computer today would end with the screen remaining blank.

The tree missed the days the kids used to come by and play. It still wore the tire swing the kids had put up in its branches years ago although both the tire and the rope had seen better days. The tree had watched all the kids in the neighborhood grow up and leave, and it wondered if there would ever be a time when another child played and laughed again under its branches. That was the hope that the tree wished every day as the swing gently swung empty in the wind.

The bush began to shake. Brad couldn't see what was causing it to shake, but he didn't care. he had a pretty good idea about what was going on and what was happening. He was so confident that he approached the bush carefree and with a smile on his face. That all changed the instant he realized what was actually behind the bush.

The song came from the bathroom belting over the sound of the shower's running water. It was the same way each day began since he could remember. It listened intently and concluded that the singing today was as terrible as it had ever been.

He was an expert but not in a discipline that anyone could fully appreciate. He knew how to hold the cone just right so that the soft server ice-cream fell into it at the precise angle to form a perfect cone each and every time. It had taken years to perfect and he could now do it without even putting any thought behind it. Nobody seemed to fully understand the beauty of this accomplishment except for the new worker who watched in amazement.

He couldn't remember exactly where he had read it, but he was sure that he had. The fact that she didn't believe him was quite frustrating as he began to search the Internet to find the article. It wasn't as if it was something that seemed impossible. Yet she insisted on always seeing the source whenever he stated a fact.

The choice was red, green, or blue. It didn't seem like an important choice when he was making it, but it was a choice nonetheless. Had he known the consequences at that time, he would likely have considered the choice a bit longer. In the end, he didn't and ended up choosing blue.

She tried to explain that love wasn't like pie. There wasn't a set number of slices to be given out. There wasn't less to be given to one person if you wanted to give more to another. That after a set amount was given out it would all disappear. She tried to explain this, but it fell on deaf ears.

I guess we could discuss the implications of the phrase "meant to be." That is if we wanted to drown ourselves in a sea of backwardly referential semantics and other mumbo-jumbo. Maybe such a discussion would result in the determination that "meant to be" is exactly as meaningless a phrase as it seems to be, and that none of us is actually meant to be doing anything at all. But that's my existential underpants underpinnings showing. It's the way the cookie crumbles. And now I want a cookie.

The opened package of potato chips held the answer to the mystery. Both detectives looked at it but failed to realize it was the key to solve the crime. They passed by it assuming it was random trash ensuring that the case would never be solved.

What were they eating? It didn't taste like anything she had ever eaten before and although she was famished, she didn't dare ask. She knew the answer would be one she didn't want to hear.

Her mom had warned her. She had been warned time and again, but she had refused to believe her. She had done everything right and she knew she would be rewarded for doing so with the promotion. So when the promotion was given to her main rival, it not only stung, it threw her belief system into disarray. It was her first big lesson in life, but not the last.

There are different types of secrets. She had held onto plenty of them during her life, but this one was different. She found herself holding onto the worst type. It was the type of secret that could gnaw away at your insides if you didn't tell someone about it, but it could end up getting you killed if you did.

Cake or pie? I can tell a lot about you by which one you pick. It may seem silly, but cake people and pie people are really different. I know which one I hope you are, but that's not for me to decide. So, what is it? Cake or pie?

Here's the thing. She doesn't have anything to prove, but she is going to anyway. That's just her character. She knows she doesn't have to, but she still will just to show you that she can. Doubt her more and she'll prove she can again. We all already know this and you will too.

The piano sat silently in the corner of the room. Nobody could remember the last time it had been played. The little girl walked up to it and hit a few of the keys. The sound of the piano rang throughout the house for the first time in years. In the upstairs room, confined to her bed, the owner of the house had tears in her eyes.

Betty was a creature of habit and she thought she liked it that way. That was until Dave showed up in her life. She now had a choice to make and it would determine whether her lie remained the same or if it would change forever.

She glanced up into the sky to watch the clouds taking shape. First, she saw a dog. Next, it was an elephant. Finally, she saw a giant umbrella and at that moment the rain began to pour.

It's an unfortunate reality that we don't teach people how to make money (beyond getting a 9 to 5 job) as part of our education system. The truth is there are a lot of different, legitimate ways to make money. That doesn't mean they are easy and that you won't have to work hard to succeed, but it does mean that if you're willing to open your mind a bit you don't have to be stuck in an office from 9 to 5 for the next fifty years o your life.

It wasn't that he hated her. It was simply that he didn't like her much. It was difficult for him to explain this to her, and even more difficult for her to truly understand. She was in love and wanted him to feel the same way. He didn't, and no matter how he tried to explain to her she refused to listen or to understand.

It was supposed to be a dream vacation. They had planned it over a year in advance so that it would be perfect in every way. It had been what they had been looking forward to through all the turmoil and negativity around them. It had been the light at the end of both their tunnels. Now that the dream vacation was only a week away, the virus had stopped all air travel.

Finding the truth wouldn't be easy, that's for sure. Then there was the question of whether or not Jane really wanted to know the truth. That's the thing that bothered her most. It wasn't the difficulty of actually finding out what happened that was the obstacle, but having to live with that information once it was found.

According to the caption on the bronze marker placed by the Multnomah Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution on May 12, 1939, "College Hall (is) the oldest building in continuous use for Educational purposes west of the Rocky Mountains. Here were educated men and women who have won recognition throughout the world in all the learned professions."

He read about a hike called the incline in the guidebook. It said it was a strenuous hike and to bring plenty of water. "A beautiful hike to the clouds" described one review. "Not for the faint-hearted," said another. "Not too bad of a workout", bragged a third review. I thought I'd hike it when I fly in from Maryland on my day off from the senior citizen's wellness conference. I hiked 2 miles a day around the neighborhood so I could handle a 1.1-mile hike. What a foolish mistake that was for a 70-year-old low-lander.