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2 am Marissa's arm flailed out from under her covers. Her hand searched for the ringing noise, pushing aside tissues, a water glass, and a radio clock. Her hand grabbed the musical contraption, bringing it back under the warm sheets.
"H-hello," she said heavy with sleep.
"Marissa, you awake," wondered someone on the other end.
"Candice?"
"Were you asleep? Sorry, didn't know who to call."
"What time," Marissa uttered, looking at the phone with blurry eyes, making out a 2 and am.
Candice continued on, "are you listening?"
"Sorry, say again."
She sighed. "Don't worry about it."
"Hey, you called me, now say again."
"Amanda left me

LetterPersonal entry
and place holder

Insanity He often compared us to insanity. I could see it: make up, break up, make up, break up. Always said we (meaning I) would do the same thing expecting different results, the definition of insanity apparently.
There was a wasp in the office. No one bothered with it, probably too scared to upset it. I watched it, from my desk, climb up and down the window. It was futile. At the top was a spider web. Every time it reached the top, it would get trapped. It would then try to fly away, to flail away from the sticky trap. The wasp would break free, crash land onto the sill, and try all over again.
Stupid bug, you're not going to get anywhere.

Morning Glory Alicia ran across her father's golden wheat field. She had defied him and pledged her love to the young, handsome farm aide. Her sight caught a hold of him, her feet dashed in his direction. He glanced up from his work, his eyes engorged on the graceful beauty.
"Alicia," he cried out.
"Lawrence," she cooed, falling into his arms. "I have fled from mine father. Pray tell, speak unto me your thoughts."
"My dearest Alicia," he leaned in to kiss her sweet lips.
Alicia leaned in.
"Don't stop believing," he said.
"Pardon," she politely stammered.
"Hold onto that feeling."
"What?"
"Streetlights, people, oooh!"
Alicia closed her

Truth "Well, what's most important?" Xana asked me.
"Hell if I know." I answered with a kick to a crumpled Pepsi can.
"Come on Craig," she looked at me. "Honestly."
I looked away from her, at the street lamp, the curb, her bare shoulder, her spaghetti strap falling askew.
"Come on, your life depends on it." She cocked her fingers into a gun shape, pointing it at my head.
"Truth," I asked.
"Always," she nodded, lowered the gun, but still keeping it pointed at me.
"You."
She giggled. "Am I?"
I shrugged. "You tell me."

Bert It had been a rough a year. I had tried to pick up any job that would take me. Funny thing, before all this, people would line up to get a piece of my time. Now no one will even look at me.
A local restaurant picked me up as a table busser. It's honest work. Got mouths to feed and all. I just don't know what happened. One day life was grand, steady income and now I'm fighting to put gas in the tank.
The people are nice. The wait staff even more so. I do what I need to and always get praise. It's gonna be tough to leave this place when they no longer need me.

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Submitted: January 30, 2012
Image Size: 2.0 MB
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Make:Canon
Model:Canon PowerShot SX130 IS
Shutter Speed:1/20 second
Aperture:F/3.4
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Date Taken:Jan 30, 2012, 9:33:57 AM
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Secretary for a Dayby ~MegumiTierana

Cartoons & Comics / Traditional Media / Cartoons / Drawings

©2012-2013 ~MegumiTierana

SA Brony Drawing Event

Day (I've lost count) - Pony at Work

Last job I had was substituting for clerical. I did some secretary work, namely answering phones and what not.

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