I Believe In Free Education, One That’s Available To Everyone; No Matter Their Race, Gender, Age, Wealth,

The female mosquito is the only one that’s sucks blood. She does this to feed the blood to her babies. Next time you go to smack one on your arm, think about those poor children.

reblog if you're gay, not gay, slightly gay, or if you just want to launch donald trump into a dying star

Writing prompt of the hour: musical flames

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              The yearly ritual began with a simple cup of coffee and the sunrise. Mornings were already feeling a little cooler. The woman breathed the salt air in deep and relaxed, almost meditating. The blue-jays in the nearby sycamore chased each other with a joyous freedom. She wondered if they could feel the change in the air too. Finally ready, she set her mug down and strolled across the deserted street. Her few year round neighbors were all still asleep or already off to work. Leaving her sneakers on the wooden fence, her toes felt sand for the first time in two months. A cool breeze played with her hair. The beach was welcoming her home. She made her way down the worn path that would soon be a memory. Her feet alone weren’t enough to fight off the inevitable build-up of sand. The drooping fence would soon be the only marker to the entrance. Coming over the last dune, she surveyed the unsanctified land. Under the scattered debris, the sand glowed yellow white. The city sent people out to clean the beach but there was always a lot of trash they missed. She didn’t really mind. In fact, there was pride in the growing bag of soda cans and hot dog wrappers she held. Halfway through, she had to shed the light sweater that she’d put on in hopes of it being cooler. It would be soon enough. Her patch of the beach wasn’t large, but it always seemed to attract the messiest people. She made sure to walk the whole thing. Reconsecrating it with her joy alone. It was only after erasing all evidence of the summer people, that she sank onto the warm sand. The ocean sparkled in the sun. Gulls dove into the surf and flew away with the small fish they’d caught. The tide rolled over her bare feet. She accepted the water’s blessing. This moment was what she’d been dreaming of. The ritual complete, she could finally relax. The silence wrapped around her like a blanket. She had only ventured here once during a seasonal siege. The noise had run her off before she could even touch the sand. There was no too loud radios or children playing to break the peace, now. Tomorrow, after the first swim of the season, she would bring her sketchbook and work on her newest masterpiece with her toes buried in the sand. The beach would be her’s until next summer’s invasion.

The Beach               The yearly ritual began with a simple cup of coffee and the sunrise. Mornings were already…

Sometimes there is no darker place than our own thoughts; the moonless midnight of the mind.

Dean Koontz, Fear Nothing (via wordsnquotes)