Khushboo Kumari-1

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By his reliable story, it's one of a kind.Guaranteed to bring happiness and wealth to whoever usesit." Ken didn't care about the story, but the offer wasdefinitely tempting. He wouldn't have to worry anymore."I'll take it!" The man reached into a nag that Ken hadn'tnoticed before and produced a shower head. It looked to besolid gold."Two dollars." Ken pulled out his wallet and handed thecash to the old man."Thank you, old timer. You need a lift somewheres?" No, no. Thanks, but no thanks. I prefer walking." Kennodded and shook the man's hand. Ken walked over to histruck and climbed in. Eerily, the man was gone. Kenshrugged and pulled out of the parking lot.***When Ken arrived at his house, he pulled off his clothes ashe ran for the shower. He'd never been so anxious to take ashower. Ken quickly installed the showerhead and jumpedinto the shower. He noticed that the when the water hithim, it seemed to wash all his cares away. It was the bestshower ever.Now, we all know that something. The bus belonged to Billie and I, we had bought it just for this reason, that's why I was driving. Our school wasn't wealthy and they couldn't afford to send the guys to the State and Regional competitions and only the closest regular meets. So a few years ago we had a chance to get our hands on this bus and the boys helped us trick it out for our needs. We kept the first 8 seats in each row and took out the rest. This gave the guys a place to lay down if they were tired or to stow their blankets and pillows and such. Anyway, like I said they were completely stoked. This was the first time any school in our district had the entire varsity team going to Regionals! They had a right to be proud! It was well after dark when we pulled down my driveway. I felt a momentary twinge of pity for Billie. I had called her on our way back and told her the good news so she had some idea of how nuts everything was going to be but I still pitied her this mad hoard of victorious, hormonal and VERY.
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The child glanced at him, then returned her attention to the sheet. His stomach curled into a painful knot. The child hadn’t glanced the way Evelin glanced, and she wasn’t holding the crayon the way Evelin would. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘My name is Kuruma,’ it was an old woman’s voice. ‘Your daughter’s spirit came to me in my dying moments.’ ‘Get out of her,’ he ordered. ‘There is still time,’ said the old woman, pointing to the glass. ‘Evelin, evict her,’ he ordered. ‘Evelin is sleeping,’ said the old woman, still scribbling. ‘Have no fear. I will leave before the last sand hits the bottom of that time-glass.’ ‘What do you want?’ ‘Evelin has done something bad and it is tearing her apart.’ ‘She is just a little girl,’ objected the worn out man. ‘Just a little girl who sees far too much,’ agreed the old woman in his daughter’s body, laid down the crayon, and inspected the sheet. ‘Please don’t hurt her.’ ‘I haven’t come to hurt her, and I haven’t come to undo what she did. It is too.

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