There was a time(Les Mis) by Katesmile, literature
Literature
There was a time(Les Mis)
There was a time when Paris hadn’t made drunk a group of young people with thoughts of Revolution. There was a time, sunny days, lovely days before the storm. When Courfeyrac sang silly songs and flirted with girls, moments when Combeferre read his books and had time for sitting thoughtfully and thinking about philosophy. Jean Prouvaire – a well spoken romantic, was all of that romantic and lovely, a like young girl during her first love or like a warm spring.
There was a time when Grantaire didn’t drink so much, wasn’t that cynical (okay, this one is probably a lie), when he smiled a little more.
But there was neve
Who is the last that one pays by Katesmile, literature
Literature
Who is the last that one pays
John sighs irrelatively as he looks at Sherlock Holmes, who is sitting on the floor with his closed eyes and crossed legs, back at their fridge. An empty fridge.
"Sherlock! We've run out of food."
"Yes."
John closes his eyes. "Yes??I am hungry!"
"Cook something." The calmness in the detective voice makes John even more angry.
"Why on Earth, it is me, who always cooks??" He shuts the door of the fridge jerkily, making the whole thing shaking slightly. "When was the last time when you've cooked??" John walks to the living-room, his own stomach accompanying him.
Sherlock opens eyes and looks at John from his sitting position. "Remarkable,
Sherlock lies on his bed with widely opened eyes. He cannot sleep. Something is disturbing him. He groans and turns on the other side of the bed. But a moment later he stands up jerkily and rushes to the door, feeling cold floor under his bare feet.
The consulting detective yawns as he walks in the dark to the kitchen. Soft light of the street lamps make this room glitter with dim orange light.
Sherlock stops near the table and rubs his cheek. The lazy thought about a new case crosses his mind, but when his gaze slips to the window and Sherlock notices the disgustful peace and bliss outside - that thought dies.
Sherlock sighs and mak
What does childhood mean?
A family. Christmas dinners and carols and stockings and silly hats together with your Mom and Dad and Brother or Sister. Stories about dragons or little girl Alice before you fall asleep, camping in spring, chatting in kitchen with a glass of hot milk and chocolate cookies.
Childhood means family.
Family means love.
Love is trust.
Trust is when you have special person in your life.
Life is a story.
A story is a history.
People can't not like history. They don't like their history.
Sherlock sits on the floor near the open window on 221b.
The cigarette in the pale hand of the detective slowly dies. He ha