Mirsha was happy little seven-year old girl. To most, she was considered quite normal. She enjoyed playing with her dolls, running around outside, and pretending to be a princess. She often wore a pink tutu and a tiara, simply because she could, and when she couldn’t, she pouted in an adorable and heart crushing manner. When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she would smile real big, showing off her missing front teeth, and reply enthusiastically, “A Unicorn!” then run away giggling. She looked just like her mother; golden blonde hair and eyes of hazel—which some people would tell her were the eyes that fairies had—porcelain skin and dimples straight from a cartoon.
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AUTHOR’S CHOICE
TABLE OF CONTENTES
- A Corollary Day
- be
- Castles Turn
- Dandruff
- dr3am_log1c
- Empty Vase
- Flapp (The 2016 Fuck US Politics Version)
- Fog
- Gangrene Finger
- Gavin Goes Swimming
- Malcolm
- metaphoricalame
- Meteors and Ice
- mind.space
- Mirsha and the Mountains of Miracles
- The Morning of the Fog
- The Morning of the Fog (Part 2)
- movement and ice
- Nap Gnomes
- Onward History
- over overachievers
- Real Day
- Returned Envelope
- Single Shapes
- sl33p
- Something Warm to Wear
- Spinning Tick
- Spreading Bread
- Spring Daisies
- Spring Stretches
- Stella’s Rainbow
- Stutter
- Succumbs the Date
- Tame Train
- Twice Fallen
- Twinkle Toes
- Ultimately_chemistrY
- Wallowed Creativity
- The Welcome Note to the Journal
- wheRe yoU beloNg
- wrong•donk•song
- Yellow Heart Balloon
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