Anne Shirley

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryOld friends fromagreenhill25 years 3 months ago
StoryAnd so winking_tiger17 years 12 months ago
StoryA Musical Interlude Writing the Alphabet hudsonmoon78 years 5 months ago
StoryThe One winking_tiger28 years 8 months ago
StoryCows Toungue. Anne Shirley011 years 9 months ago
StoryBreakfast. Anne Shirley311 years 9 months ago
StoryAlfred and his dreams. Anne Shirley411 years 9 months ago
StoryA very successful day :) Anne Shirley611 years 9 months ago
StoryA Promise of War. Anne Shirley011 years 9 months ago
StoryA prince and his fat horse Anne Shirley011 years 9 months ago
CollectionBest ones. Anne Shirley011 years 9 months ago
StoryVultures Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe day my heart sang. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe rules. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryShyness. Anne Shirley211 years 10 months ago
StoryIt was a worm. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryIn her white dress. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryI live in a perfect world. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryI wont apologise. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryFaith is the answer, when it should be the question. Anne Shirley011 years 10 months ago
StoryAlive alexred312 years 1 month ago
StoryWe Give Up blighters rock1313 years 2 months ago
StoryMelange 2 lenchenelf913 years 3 months ago
StoryMy Mama Said. Anne Shirley213 years 4 months ago
Story " Mamihlapinatapai " ScoZen813 years 5 months ago

My collections

My stories

Cows Toungue.

The children don’t like that meat. Crying, and spluttering that it is not right to eat that part of an animal. Eating cattle tongue has never seemed wrong to us before.

My Mama Said.

I don’t believe in right. My Mama always said there was no such thing. Only different shades of grey, she said. I love my Mama, but she was wrong about grey. There’s colours.

It was a worm.

It was a worm. I walked past. Didn’t stand on it. But I walked past. Well I would have moved it, but to touch that pulsating pink? It swelled, a sad tube on the concrete.

Glory Of Butterflies.

Invited over to yours, sweet tea to drink and biscuits to crunch. Above our heads, across your walls the beautiful body’s of butterflies. Framed, hung, displayed.

In her white dress.

In her white dress she pretends, that she is not the type, for men to win in fights Behind golden curls, although blue her eyes slide quickly, from one to another just like any other slut.

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