• 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."
Scrine and I met in the oddest of places - the library - where I was searching for information on Depression era footwear, and this strange, metal bird, with a book on world domination tucked under one wing, was searching for a better way home; we hit it off immediatly and went for pie.
Scott awoke to an overwhelming feeling of relief and cheerful optimism when he realized that he had not murdered his family, burnt the house down and lept to his death off the golden gate bridge.
Just as soon as I finish this beer, I’m going to get out of my hammock, turn on the hose, and put out the fire that seems to have spread from the grill to the house.
I will put the corn on the cob in the fridge, I will put the tomatoes and the new boule of mozzarella on the kitchen table, I will start the water running in the bath, I will say hello to my young man, I will return to the bath, I will…
What does one fill as the declared value on a Fedex package that’s mailed out with the signed deed to one’s house—there’s not enough space to write “years and years of blood, sweat and tears” but I may be able to fit “everything” if I write small.
i just thought i would tell the bird that for once in my life i am so very glad to be home.
As Henry tumbled head over heels, the air rushing by faster and faster as he passed through the clouds—up, down, he couldn’t tell—and their wet, cold dew leapt onto him, clinging to his skin and clothes, he realized just how easy stepping off of the precipice of enlightenment had been, and even though he had not a single clue where he was going or what awaited him at the end of his tumble—if indeed there was an end, or if indeed it was really he that tumbled and not the world around him, although at this point he somehow knew instinctively that it mattered very little—he closed his eyes, smiling, arms folded lightly across his chest as the roar of the universe gradually faded, lower and dimmer until finally all that Henry could hear was the warm silent welcome of his return home.
We noted with trepidation that every model in the new housing development featured nine-foot tall doors, and wondered if KGHomes knew more than we did about how tall our future cyborg masters would be.
Arriving home after 9, Henry couldn’t believe the phone company hadn’t also cut off his Internet service; slackers!
Having just realized that a dream vacacation is hardly the same thing as dreaming of vacation, Henry had no choice but to ban the use of prepositions in his home.
For the first time in more than five years, I have that small sense of security that comes with knowing that I’ll have a place to live at the end of the month; invigorated, I organize my garage!
I knew I had found my happy new home when, after a few minutes of unexpected pirate talk, not one lady or lad blinked an eye, they just laughed at me and forged ahead.
Rosa thought by now that everything would feel ‘normal’ again, but it was all still a world away.
Bertram’s countenance in the privacy of his home looked much like that of his public persona, minus the nervous tic.
It might have been a hovel, but it was hers and it was full of the detritus of words unloved.
Miss Jane and I do not respond well to polite invitations, but we both enjoy a nice cup of tea and a well-aimed threat.
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