The house was located at the top of the hill at the end of a winding road.

It wasn't obvious that the

house was there, but everyone in town knew that it existed. They were just all too afraid to ever go
and see it in person.
He looked at the sand. Picking up a handful, he wondered how many grains were in his hand.
Hundreds of thousands? "Not enough," the said under his breath. I need more.
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.
The water rush down the wash and into the slot canyon below. Two hikers had started the day to
sunny weather without a cloud in the sky, but they hadn't thought to check the weather north of the
canyon. Huge thunderstorms had brought a deluge o rain and produced flash floods heading their
way. The two hikers had no idea what was coming.
There was a time when this wouldn't have bothered her. The fact that it did actually bother her
bothered her even more. What had changed in her life that such a small thing could annoy her so
much for the entire day? She knew it was ridiculous that she even took notice of it, yet she was still
obsessing over it as she tried to fall asleep.
There once lived an old man and an old woman who were peasants and had to work hard to earn their
daily bread. The old man used to go to fix fences and do other odd jobs for the farmers around, and
while he was gone the old woman, his wife, did the work of the house and worked in their own little
plot of land.
It wasn't quite yet time to panic. There was still time to salvage the situation. At least that is what she
was telling himself. The reality was that it was time to panic and there wasn't time to salvage the
situation, but he continued to delude himself into believing there was.
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?
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.
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.
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.
Things aren't going well at all with mom today. She is just a limp noodle and wants to sleep all the
time. I sure hope that things get better soon.
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.
The shoes had been there for as long as anyone could remember. In fact, it was difficult for anyone to
come up with a date they had first appeared. It had seemed they'd always been there and yet they
seemed so out of place. Why nobody had removed them was a question that had been asked time and
again, but while they all thought it, nobody had ever found the energy to actually do it. So, the shoes
remained on the steps, out of place in one sense, but perfectly normal in another.
Dave watched as the forest burned up on the hill, only a few miles from her house. The car had been
hastily packed and Marta was inside trying to round up the last of the pets. Dave went through his
mental list of the most important papers and documents that they couldn't leave behind. He scolded
himself for not having prepared these better in advance and hoped that he had remembered
everything that was needed. He continued to wait for Marta to appear with the pets, but she still was
nowhere to be seen.