curtis memorial graphic novel

I was recuperating at my family's lake house in the Catskill Mountains when a sudden storm knocked out all communication and power. I slipped on the slick terrace stairs and took a nasty fall. Lying in a pool of my own blood, I fumbled for my phone. With the last bar of signal, I called my husband, Cillian Fitzpatrick—the man who was supposed to be handling family business—and begged him for help. "Today is the anniversary of Liliana's father's death, and she's a wreck. I'm just keeping her company. Can't you stop being so damn paranoid? You're due any day now. I'll be back, alright? Stop being so dramatic." On the other end of the line, I heard Liliana's tearful, aggrieved voice. "Cillian, it's all my fault. Am I bothering the Principessa?" Without another word, Cillian hung up. My best friend and sister-in-law, Cassidy Donnelly, found me. She held me, sobbing, as she frantically called her husband, Ronan Fitzpatrick, for help. "Are all pregnant women this fucking crazy?" Ronan snapped. "Don't you start with the same manipulative bullshit as Alessia. Cillian and I are with Liliana. We don't have time for this." Then, he blocked her. My injuries were too severe. The family's rescue team was trapped down the mountain by the floodwaters and couldn't possibly reach me in time. Even though she was heavily pregnant herself, Cassidy managed to get me into a bulletproof car and navigate the washed-out mountain roads to get me to the family's private doctor. I miraculously survived. My baby did not. The grief and physical strain were too much; Cassidy lost her baby, too. "I want a divorce," I whispered, my eyes swollen from crying. "Me too. I'm done with Ronan." Together, we submitted our request to the family. And that was when Cillian and Ronan completely snapped.

With Thanksgiving approaching, I planned a private island trip for my family's inner circle. The private jet was ready, all for a few precious moments of family time. But on the day of our departure, my husband and son were nowhere to be found. I contacted my husband Caspian's assistant. On the other end of the line, his voice was strained. "The Don is handling an urgent family matter." Then he hung up abruptly. The next day, a gossip rag headline gave me my answer. In the photo, Caspian—the Don of the Serrano family, the king of the Chicago underworld—had one arm wrapped around his late brother's widow, Miley. His other hand was holding our son Adrian’s. The background was a luxurious ski resort in Aspen, their bodies intimately close. The family spokesman's official explanation, printed below the photo, was that "the Donna has taken ill and is resting at the estate." The now-useless flight plan lay on the table. Ten years of marriage, ten years of loyalty. An elaborately orchestrated scam. It was time to bring the curtain down.

Irfan belum pernah mengalami mimpi senyata ini, dia bahkan bisa merasakan darah dari seseorang yang telah dia bunuh dari mimpinya. Setelah dia telurusi lebih dalam, ternyata mimpi tersebut adalah sisa-sisa dari ingatan pendahulunya ketika peristiwa Jumat Kelabu berlangsung.

Eu estava me recuperando na casa de lago da minha família nas Montanhas Catskill quando uma tempestade repentina cortou toda comunicação e energia. Escorreguei nas escadas escorregadias do terraço e sofri uma queda feia. Deitada em uma poça do meu próprio sangue, tateei em busca do meu telefone. Com a última barra de sinal, liguei para meu marido, Cillian Fitzpatrick—o homem que deveria estar cuidando dos negócios da família—e implorei por ajuda. "Hoje é o aniversário da morte do pai de Liliana, e ela está arrasada. Estou apenas fazendo companhia a ela. Você não pode parar de ser tão paranoica? Você está prestes a dar à luz. Eu voltarei, certo? Pare de ser tão dramática." Do outro lado da linha, ouvi a voz chorosa e angustiada de Liliana. "Cillian, é tudo culpa minha. Estou incomodando a Principessa?" Sem dizer mais nada, Cillian desligou. Minha melhor amiga e cunhada, Cassidy Donnelly, me encontrou. Ela me segurou, soluçando, enquanto ligava freneticamente para seu marido, Ronan Fitzpatrick, pedindo ajuda. "Todas as mulheres grávidas são tão malucas assim?" Ronan respondeu bruscamente. "Não comece com a mesma merda manipuladora da Alessia. Cillian e eu estamos com Liliana. Não temos tempo para isso." Então, ele a bloqueou. Meus ferimentos eram graves demais. A equipe de resgate da família estava presa na montanha abaixo devido às inundações e não conseguiria me alcançar a tempo. Embora também estivesse grávida, Cassidy conseguiu me colocar em um carro blindado e navegar pelas estradas da montanha inundadas para me levar ao médico particular da família. Sobrevivi milagrosamente. Meu bebê não. O luto e o esforço físico foram demais; Cassidy também perdeu seu bebê. "Quero o divórcio", sussurrei, com os olhos inchados de tanto chorar. "Eu também. Estou farta do Ronan." Juntas, submetemos nosso pedido à família. E foi quando Cillian e Ronan enlouqueceram completamente.

He lowers his right arm to grasp the outer lip of the old clawfoot tub his opposite arm girdles his heft gingerly into the sun soaked basin After bracing himself in he slowly arches his head back and lets out a beleaguered sigh There's a deep peace that washes over him the tranquil stream of the faucet lowers his guard as he eases the beer can helmet off his dome then once again fades into the night… —————————————————————— A Gus A McHaliburton Augustus McHaliburton Botched Medical records H’s to M’s 1950’s typewriters A distant father Shame, embarrassment A Jack Daniels helmet Innocent bystanders An aloof obedient wife Religious grief, undue reverence A deacon A Pastor A McMaliburton A Pastor McMaliburton A beer can helmet The stench of spilled beer Stained sepia Family Polaroids, memories The good times, the bad times All times A beer can helmet Capping the moments The light, the dark The lager, the stout Flowing, spewing In and out

Orang selalu punya permintaan dan permintaan itu selalu bermacam macam dan juga berbeda beda, namun......... ada satu permintaan dari sekian banyaknya orang yang sama yaitu " aku ingin kembali ke masa muda ku ...." dan dari sekian banyak orang aku adalah orang yang paling bertentangan karena aku selalu tau kalo itu tuh ga mungkin tapi.......... kenyataanya gua balik lagi kemasa yang gua tau ga bakal bisa gua dapetin lagi

poemas de minha juventude que achei em um caderno caindo aos pedaços, esse é um memorial a poeta adolescente que um dia fui

The friend of the past The truth beneath the seed The future among the untold Within lies and mysery Eirian Reverie, I bestow you among the greatest. May your happiness are found among the storm.

A story compilation of the love journey of an Accountant and a Graphic Designer

Before marrying Silas, Joyce had only met him three times. A marriage of convenience, a secret agreement, for a term of three years. She's fresh off a heartbreak — the man she chased for years told her they "weren't a good match." Silas has his own baggage: rumor says he's still hung up on a white moonlight who happens to look just like Joyce. So that's all she is. A substitute. ** In the second year of their marriage, on Joyce's birthday, she drank too much and, in front of everyone, tugged on his tie, pinning him underneath her: "You look... a lot like my husband." The Thorne family's second master, known for being rational and unfeeling, was flustered by her that night. He leaned in close to her ear and coaxed in a low voice, "Be good." The next day Joyce woke up to find her lips were swollen. This… Who did this! When she went to question him, she discovered Silas's lip was bitten. He stared at her and said slowly, "You crossed the line first." ** The scandal leaked. At a party, her ex-boyfriend stepped in: "She's mine. Who dares talk?" Then Silas walked in. The room went silent. "Yours? Since when?" "Joyce, tell me. Whose are you?" So much for the secret marriage. So much for being a substitute. This was supposed to be fake… wasn't it?