

Miss Janet BrownMiss Janet Brown was a very plain sort of person. Her name was nothing special—nothing like her colleagues with names like Hepzibah and Lyina—just Janet, very simple and clean-cut and basic. Like the rest of her. Miss Janet Brown was a firm believer in kakhi suits. She taught eleventh-grade English at a high school that excelled at being average. She did not have a face that people remembered, which was probably excellent if she were ever to become a criminal that ought to be picked out of a lineup, but Miss Janet Brown had no intention of committing a crime anytime soon. In fact, she had no intention of staying out past eleven o’ clock anMiss Janet Brown


Ad InfinitumThere was a house at the end of McCoy Road. It was a small home, and so old that the very roses within the garden had withered away into a fine powder. Number 87 was a modest house beside the mansions that surrounded it. Nothing special in it at all, people said, just a discarded rag of a house that no one had lived in for years. Nothing special at all. But people did live in that abandoned little home, people no one ever saw. They were The People of Infinity, because only they recalled singing playsongs in the ancient Indus civilization, serving in massive armies, and of eras so long gone that they seemed not to exist. The InfiniAd Infinitum
[link]
click it or DIE
--
"Art is like an orgasm: It's not nearly half as good rushed as it is when it's drawn out." - ~Ramen1
--
- it's like angels crying -
--
"Art is like an orgasm: It's not nearly half as good rushed as it is when it's drawn out." - ~Ramen1
--
uhhh...
YOUR MOM!
AHAHAHAH
--
"Art is like an orgasm: It's not nearly half as good rushed as it is when it's drawn out." - ~Ramen1
Previous PageNext Page