LucilleAgatha

@lucilleagatha

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The day had begun on a bright note. The sun finally peeked through the rain for the first time in a week, and the birds were sinf=ging in its warmth. There was no way to anticipate what was about to happen. It was a worst-case scenario and there was no way out of it.

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Another option you have is choosing the number of syllables in the words you speak. You probably have never considered this option before, but you have it every time you open your mouth and speak. You make so many choices like this that you never even think about, but you have the choice with each one. What are you going to do with this knowledge?

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Breastfeeding is good for babies and moms. Infants that are breastfed get antibodies from their mothers against common illnesses. Breastfed babies have less chance of being obese as an adult. Breastfeeding a baby lets the infant-mother pair bond in a very unique way. Mother’s who breastfeed lower their chances of developing breast cancer. Usually, mothers who breastfeed lose their pregnancy weight more quickly and easily. The benefits of breastfeeding are numerous.

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Terrance knew that sometimes it was simply best to stay out of it. He kept repeating this to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He knew that nothing good would come of him getting involved. It was far better for him to stay on the sidelines and observe. He kept yelling this to himself inside his head as he walked over to the couple and punched the man in the face.

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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.

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She never liked cleaning the sink. It was beyond her comprehension how it got so dirty so quickly. It seemed that she was forced to clean it every other day. Even when she was extra careful to keep things clean and orderly, it still ended up looking like a mess in a couple of days. What she didn't know was there was a tiny creature living in it that didn't like things neat.

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Puppies are soft, cute, funny, and make a big mess. Every month or two our family fosters 6-12 week old puppies for a puppy rescue nonprofit organization. We all enjoy cuddling their furry bodies after a clean bath. Fresh puppy smell is great. The puppies play with each other and our adult dog. They look so funny when they lay on top of each other and sleep. While puppies can be great fun, they also can make big messes. 4-6 puppies can make a lot of puppy pee and poop. It's a challenge to keep the puppies and the puppy pen clean.

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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.

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There were two things that were important to Tracey. The first was her dog. Anyone that had ever met Tracey knew how much she loved her dog. Most would say that she treated it as her child. The dog went everywhere with her and it had been her best friend for the past five years. The second thing that was important to Tracey, however, would be a lot more surprising to most people.

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I recollect that my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes.

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"Do Not Enter." The sign made it clear that they didn't want anyone around. That wasn't going to stop Jack. Jack always lived with the notion that signs were mere suggestions, not actually absolute rules. That's why the moment Jack looked at the "Do Not Enter" sign, he walked past it and onto their property.

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She was in a hurry. Not the standard hurry when you're in a rush to get someplace, but a frantic hurry. The type of hurry where a few seconds could mean life or death. She raced down the road ignoring speed limits and weaving between cars. She was only a few minutes away when traffic came to a dead standstill on the road ahead.

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There was nothing else to do. The deed had already been done and there was no going back. It now had been become a question of how they were going to be able to get out of this situation and escape.

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It's always good to bring a slower friend with you on a hike. If you happen to come across bears, the whole group doesn't have to worry. Only the slowest in the group do. That was the lesson they were about to learn that day.

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The words hadn't flowed from his fingers for the past few weeks. He never imagined he'd find himself with writer's block, but here he sat with a blank screen in front of him. That blank screen taunting him day after day had started to play with his mind. He didn't understand why he couldn't even type a single word, just one to begin the process and build from there. And yet, he already knew that the eight hours he was prepared to sit in front of his computer today would end with the screen remaining blank.

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It had been a late night. To be more correct, it had been an early morning. It was now 3:00 AM and George was just getting home. He wasn't sure if it had been worth it. He was supposed to have been finished by 10:00 PM, but his boss had implored him to stay and help when it was clear they weren't going to meet the 10:00 PM target time. So, he had stayed an extra 5 hours and lost a good night's sleep for something he didn't really believe in, but he did anyway because he was afraid if he refused he might lose his job.

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There was a leak in the boat. Nobody had yet noticed it, and nobody would for the next couple of hours. This was a problem since the boat was heading out to sea and while the leak was quite small at the moment, it would be much larger when it was ultimately discovered. John had planned it exactly this way.

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Debbie had taken George for granted for more than fifteen years now. He wasn't sure what exactly had made him choose this time and place to address the issue, but he decided that now was the time. He looked straight into her eyes and just as she was about to speak, turned away and walked out the door.

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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.

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Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.

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