Brown Bag #2

We reached into the brown paper bag, all anxcious to see what we got. Slowly, a hand pulled out a small glass lightbulb. Ideas instantly started flying into my mind, a majority of them, making no sense. One of the first thing I thought of was on cartoons, how a lightbulb light up when ever someone had an idea. If you think about it now, it really makes no sense, but I guess it does to a six year old watching with a bowl of cereal on their laps. I really don't understand what the lightbulb meant, I don't think I ever will. Maybe some things should be kept a mystery.

Brown Bag #1

   The white balls of cotton flowed out of the clear plastic bag as they were dumped onto the counter. I picked one up and dipped it into my foundation, it was soft on my finger tips. It might seem odd, but I hated cotton balls with a burning passion. They might be soft and beautiful in an awkward way, but no matter what, they always reminded me of hostpitals. I don't know why, maybe because of how clean and bright they are, or maybe because they use them to put cold stuff on your arm right before you get a needle. Who knows. What ever reason it might be, I hate cotton balls. Always have, always will.