Novel & Cerita Jar Of Dirt

I just step up to the altar, place the clay jars on its bumpy surface, then pick one up, gently tugging its lid free. It’s time to send these spirits home.

"Come with me." He led me through a door behind the altar, down narrow stairs into a basement that smelled of earth and old paper. It was part root cellar, part study. He went to a shelf of home-canned preserves—peaches, pickles, jam—and removed a single, unlabeled jar of what looked like honey. He unscrewed the lid. Instead of honey, it was filled with fine, grey ash.

The relief was immediate and physical, so clear it almost made her angry that no one had studied this place properly. She crouched down and touched the dirt with her fingers. It did not feel poisoned. Beneath the top layer of ash, grit, and broken waste, the soil was dense, dark, and strangely rich, like all the years of rot, food scraps, organic waste, and forgotten matter had sunk down and turned into something useful.

"What the fuck, Jordan?" "What?" I asked, surprised that he was suddenly angry at me. I couldn't recall doing anything disrespectful to him. "Where did you get this? Don't tell me you were about to drop it there. I don't want to have to kill you." "K-kill me?" I stuttered. "Why would you kill me?" "Where did you get this?" He demanded, reiterating his words. "I saw it on the flowerbed!" I cried out when I realized he thought I wanted to plant it there. "I was admiring the flowers and I saw a paper, so I decided to check it out."

Good. Ever since Santa Monica and, more importantly, ever since Jen caught her mother lying right to her face, I had no choice but to go into damage control. The ring had originally been hidden in what I have confidently labelled my “safe place.” Or as Jen calls it, my junk basket. Which, in hindsight, is probably not the smartest hiding place for something that costs more than my first dirt bike.

The rest of us took her lead and seated ourselves around the basement, Jonie and Mitch together on the couch with the rest of us finding chairs. “I’m not exactly sure. Whatever it was had to do with their personal dirt.” “Personal dirt?” “When the Dirt blows in, it brings with it everybody’s personal dirt.” “What do you mean?” “Those things in our lives that we’d like to stay buried, forgotten, in other words, our personal dirt. Here’s mine.” She went over to the computer and jiggled the mouse, dismissing the screensaver. Underneath the screensaver was the F******k page of a man in his late forties.

My fridge had a half-empty jar of pickles and a yogurt that had already expired. I took my shower and dressed up, heading to Bar Solace. * * * The bar was in the nice part of town. I stood outside for a full minute just looking at the sign. It was in gold letters on black, classy as fuck, and I tried not to think about how Cole once made me clean a vomit puddle with my bare hands because "rags are for pussies." I walked in with one mindset. Avoid Sebastian, talk to the manager, apply, and leave. Simple.

That's when I got dirty. I stuck my middle finger, slicken by her juice, into her puckered ass, and began working it. In. Out. In. Add a second finger. In. Out. In. Out. Add a third finger. In. Out. In. Spit on the fingers. In. Out. In. Out. The effect was immediate.

Small rocks and chunks of dirt from the soil were also scattered throughout the chamber, making it a hazardous place to walk. The smell of the soil was overpowering, filling the room with the earthy aroma of moist dirt and decayed organic matter. The room reeked of the stench of upturned soil, and the scent of crushed and broken plants lingered in the air. As the soil mixed with the broken pieces of the pots, it formed a muddy mixture that spread across the room. The soil stuck to anything it touched, including the furniture and the walls, making it almost impossible to clean up.

If anyone wanted to pay their respects, then they could use this clay jar to grab a random one, put it in, and bring it back for a thought. If he didn't even bother to burn, then he would throw the body there and let wild animal bite and rot. Caspian and Yvonne Johnson were both from the mortal world, and they had experienced wars, so they were very familiar with this kind of pottery jar. Therefore, at this moment, when the others saw Journey Doney take out a handful of black powder from the jar, which was neither black nor gray, and showed a look of interest, Caspian and Yvonne Johnson already knew what the powder was-it was ashes.