What’s an idea if creator don’t execute them ?
What’s a creator if he doesn’t evolve into better form?
seen from Brazil

seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China

seen from T1

seen from Singapore
seen from T1
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Mexico

seen from United States
seen from Taiwan
seen from Mexico

seen from United States

seen from Mexico
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Mexico

seen from Switzerland
What’s an idea if creator don’t execute them ?
What’s a creator if he doesn’t evolve into better form?

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What good is a person, if his morals are broken?
Ollie (Part 2)
This part of Ollie is told from Danny’s point of view. In the flashback he is five, but present tense he’s six. Part one can be found here.
When will mommy get better?
It’s been a long time since I saw mommy smile. Dad says it’s only been three weeks so we gotta give mommy time to get better. He says her heart is sad because Ollie went to heaven, but I don’t get why she can’t read to me before bed like she used to or tickle me to wake up in the morning. I miss mommy being mommy, and so does Jason. He cries some times to get mommy’s attention. She picks him up and gives him a kiss, but that’s all. She doesn’t blow raspberries on his tummy to make him laugh or give him an uncountable amount of kisses that she says show how much she loves us.
Most of all I miss the bed time stories and the routine kisses we got before bed. Dad went back to work so he only tucks us in sometimes, he reads us bedtime stories and gives kisses, but not mommy. She just tucks us in, kisses our forehead and walks back to Ollie’s room to cry. I miss Ollie, I wish he was here so mommy wasn’t sad anymore.
“Mommy what’s the surprise!” I yell, bouncing up and down on my spot on the couch.
She laughs a little and then slides Jason onto her lap, only for him to ask the same question. “Wait for daddy to get home in like two seconds so we can tell you together.” She does her excited mommy voice that makes you know how awesome the surprise is and tells you that it’s worth the wait.
Ollie (Part 1)
This is the next installment of my Question Series. It’s going to be multiple parts and written from different point of views of my Question Series Hunt family.
When will mommy get better?
The question that feels like someone has taken a dagger to my heart. The question I’m asked repeatedly and have no answer to give. The question the two little blonde hair boys look up at me with sad eyes and ask on a day to day basis.
I stand in the kitchen five days after getting home from the hospital. I’m watching my boys play aimlessly on the floor in the family room. Their lego tower increasing in height by the second. Their round blue eyes scan over to their mother on the couch, curious as to why she hasn’t warned them not to build by the glass vase filled with flowers yet. She’s staring straight ahead at the blank television and it’s like I’m in her head because I know what she’s reliving over and over again.
I think the blood circulation in my hand is officially gone as she takes her last push. I’m without a doubt questioning my future surgical career because her touch has turned from delicate to unbearable, but I don’t say anything because the pain she is enduring is in an another galaxy compared to mine. I place a kiss on her forehead milliseconds before the doctors show us our new baby boy Oliver, milliseconds before our world goes up in flames.
Hand Through The Hair
Another installment in my Question Series!
Why are you staring at me?
He’s asked me this question before, each time in a slightly different way and for a slightly different reason. I don’t mean to stare, but sometimes what he’s doing and the way he’s doing it just consumes my every thought and I can’t help but stare.
I was cleaning up from the dinner he had just cooked for us, drying the now clean pot that once held pasta when he captivated me from across the room. He was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, papers upon papers scattered across the finished oak. Every now and then he would take his eyes away from the journal he was reading and jot down a few notes on one of the many patient files in front of him. I continued to watch as he would get frustrated and clamp his hands into a fist making his biceps grow even tighter against the already fitted navy t-shirt he was wearing.
Shockingly enough that’s not what had me captivated. Though it was a nice bonus watching his muscles grow tense with frustration, the real motion that kept my attention was the way he calmed himself down. It was simple and plain and no one would even notice it, but I did. His fist uncurled and the red color drained and returned to normal. His hand instinctively found its way to his hair, slowly brushing each finger through his strawberry blonde locks. Before his hand could find it’s way out of his curly mess of hair it would stop half way, trapping itself around his curls, then escaping.

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The Ceiling
This is the second installment of my Question Series, enjoy!
What are you doing?
She’s always doing something to unwind from her hectic days, and there’s this certain question I ask her every time I see her doing it. I know why she’s doing it, I know as soon as the question leaves my mouth she’s going to let out a huff and an answer I already know, but I ask it anyway.
I’m in the bathroom connected to our bedroom, rinsing my face after the sport that was picking my oldest up from kindergarten when I here a body flop onto the bed. Given the amount of noise I heard in the room I assume it’s Amelia back from work with our youngest. I turn off the faucet and cautiously venture into our bedroom. I know I’m going to find her in the same position she collapses into after one of her long days and what do I know, there she is. Laying on her back, hands by her side, her feet the only things dangling off of the bed as she lays there staring back at the white ceiling.
I smile to myself as I open my drawer to our joint dresser and throw the first plain t-shirt I see over my head. That’s when I ask the question I already know the answer to and see the annoyance in her face as she stares blankly at the ceiling. “What are you doing?”
Smiling
This is the first story of my new series. It’s going to be called The Question Series. Each story is going to start off with a question that either Amelia, Owen, or one of their kids ask. If you have question recommendations keep the questions simple and send them in. Hope you enjoy :)
Why are you smiling?
She’s asked me this question or a form of it, too many times to count. I like to think it’s her way at gaining insight to why I love her without having to come off as sappy or insecure. Correction, I don’t think, I know. My wife has this way of wording things to warp you into admitting how you feel or what you really mean without you realizing it was her that had in fact prompted the question. And without hesitation, each time I fall deeper into the subtle trap she sets. I never notice it at first, but usually half way through my answer I realize what she’s done and how she’s done it.
We were laying in bed after a long night of passion, post putting our boys to bed. Her head was in its usual place resting on my bare chest, her chestnut locks tickling me slightly as she shifted. My left arm was wrapped around her, pulling her in as close as I could. My hand had slid under the arm of my t-shirt she was now wearing, tracing circles on her shoulder, when I placed a soft kiss against her forehead. I allowed myself to linger there briefly as my lips curled into a smile against her hair line. She decided to flip over onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands that were laying flat on my chest when she asked, “What’s got you smiling like that?”