• 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."
The sky was exploding in delightful waves of daisies and sherbets, each wave rolling out the oppressive heat, the dots of cool ladybugs were peppering down and reflecting off the diamond eyes of the young girl and as each wave bounced away they hit the striped circle of sugar overhead and the colours slowly melted away into pots of rose-petals, ochre, yolks, grapes, buttons, ice-cream, and violets.
The ladybug vroomed and vroomed as she awaited her spectral princess.
Unfolding her hands gently, Rosie hoped the little ladybug had survived, but it wasn’t there and in its place was a young girl, not unlike herself, but so spindly and sparkly that she couldn’t help but laugh.
As the less regular Scriners rolled up to Scrine, they were perplexed to find a bevy of ladybugs, a giant number 8, bursting rainbows and a bloodied machete or two.
Explaining how she’d spent all their money on ladybug stuff was going to require some nifty work, but at the end of the day Boot didn’t care, ‘cause she had ladybugs (ladybug hats, ladybug pens, ladybug toerings, ladybug tongue-scrapers, ladybug toilet cleaners…).
The ladybug soared over the field of little yellow flowers, the young girl laughing uncontrollably, leaving a trail of bewildered book worms in her wake.
Some days, I’m not sure that there’s anything more beautiful.
Ladybugs have never received a Nobel prize.
I choose to take the ladybug crawling on the outside of my office window as a good omen.
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