The Imp has found an excellent way to spend quarantine.
(He actually likes to cuddle up and listen to a good book!)
seen from Mexico
seen from TĂĽrkiye
seen from Vietnam
seen from Philippines
seen from Yemen
seen from TĂĽrkiye
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from South Africa
seen from Canada
seen from Colombia

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from China

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
The Imp has found an excellent way to spend quarantine.
(He actually likes to cuddle up and listen to a good book!)

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A. A. MacConnell
I didn’t believe in ghost stories until a week after my best friend’s death. Showing up at my door, wanting to talk, changed my mind about quite a few things.
“You’re a ghost,” I told her, the second time she tried to steal a sip from my teacup.
She bit her lower lip. “Oh, I hate this. I’m so thirsty.”
It made me a bit sick. “You drowned, you know.”
The window was open. Salma knew she had not left it open. Today she remembered shutting it, locking it, right before she made breakfast. She had not slept well, but at least her hunger remained. Sh…
She had not slept well, but at least her hunger remained. She wanted to have eggs on toast, garlic and jam, everything that would assuage her hunger when she heard the sound in the other room.
It wasn’t the first time that a sound meant nothing. This house made a lot of sounds. Salma checked anyway, unable to stop herself. In her old place, an apartment in the city, one could assume that if a sound came from the other room something had actually moved, fallen over, for some reason. Here? Certainly something could have fallen, but it would have been replaced by the time she arrived. The cottage wanted her to move from the kitchen and had tricked her once more.
I was told that I would feel something the last time When there was nothing the first time But no one mentioned that they didn’t know Everyone said that they knew everything
I was told that it would only hurt a little When it was meant to hurt a lot But no one mentioned that they had hurt too That it only hurt less in retrospect
I was told that I would understand when I was older When I actually understood it better when I was younger But no one mentioned they had forgot it too Everyone though they were telling the truth
I was told I would be one thing When I was really another But no one actually knew Everyone thought they were better
I said I would feel more the first time And decide where I stood on the last No one else could speak for me Everyone could just listen I know me
Her grandfather had lived in this cottage most of his life. That much she knew. This cottage was much older than he ever was and he had added the limited wiring there was by himself. The shack near…
Her grandfather had lived in this cottage most of his life. That much she knew. This cottage was much older than he ever was and he had added the limited wiring there was by himself. The shack nearby (no errant personality) with a generator helped with things like clothes washing, the stove, and giving her warm baths. He had managed to live all on his own until he reached ninety nine years old...

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When the rain fell, he fell too. Not as prettily, mind you, with more a splat than a drip, but if anyone had said that to him he would have been appalled. Right now he was more appalled because of …
...It wasn’t too long before the other man arrived. His voice almost sounded panicked, until he reached his side. “Wha… you’re all right?”
“What sort of festival is this?” Zale asked. Vidvan wrapped his cloak around himself. “A celebration of the tide. This time of year it ebbs very low and they believe making offers to the gods will …
...The older man nodded. “Yes, it is odd. Not the same as the surrounding areas. It certainly does make it seem as though the gods are focused on this particular spot to draw the waters away.”
drawn for a friend who is suffering NaNoWriMo