• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
two with bellies skyward, and my own is twisting around slowly towards the end of the year; now that Jo is no more, I sure hope the Hypothetical Porch will still be available and not moved to martha’s vineyard or some such with its new owner?
My favourite number is 8 and there’s a sentence of mine lower down that has 8 comments and it looks so nice that I couldn’t help but comment on it - although commenting on it below would have made the number of comments 9, so, instead, here I am wasting valuable Scrine-bird space with this odd little comment-come-sentence.
Please, ma’am, after you.
The countdown begins…
I’d like to post a sentence saying how nice it is that I’m on sentence 838, but by the end of this sentence it will no longer be true.
Let me describe it this way; you know that inexplicably satisfying feeling you get as you watch the tripometer click over to (for you) a nice, neat ‘000, well take that feeling, expand it a thousand-fold, coat it in sherbert and that’s a little bit how it felt (except, not really).
Bert rolled the ball around in his hands - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, (geez, how many sides can one ball have) - as he turned it around and around in his hands he kept counting, each bit of light that glinted off the surface, in his minds eye, became a surface - two-hundred-and-one, two-hundred-and-two…
Some mornings you just have to think to yourself, “man, it’s a lovely day to take a walk, and fight resistant republicans who listen to talk radio.”
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