Miranda Moore
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Stories (3)
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Sweet Layers
Henry was a middle aged mildly attractive man. What he lacked in looks he made up for with words. He loved getting the attention from the ladies. It didn't really matter how they looked, just as long as they tuned into what he said and believed him.
By Miranda Moore4 years ago in Fiction
Simple Moments
The evening began to drift into the music of night. A gentle breeze blew through the slats of the barn, inviting Emmie into the field of wheat to dance. She heard the song of the trees beckoning her to join them as the sun began its decent. She held onto a yellowing paper with a short poem written upon it.
By Miranda Moore5 years ago in Poets
Buried in the Book
We weren't even friends. However, I found myself sitting in the fifth row, third person from the isle, thinking about how I would rather be playing Halo Ifinite with the insufferable jerk, than listening to his eulogy. The surreal vision of Jim lying in the casket accompanied by the muffled sniffles and hushed crying drowned the sermon like recanting of Jim Helmsman's great endeavors and his untimely death. It was getting unbearable.
By Miranda Moore5 years ago in Humans
