Daniel Schwartz
Stories (3)
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The Intruder
June 3rd They call me psychopath. I don’t care. I’ve heard that term many times. They tell me that I show no feeling for other humans. In that, actually, they’re correct; I see the people around me, but I don’t feel part of them, or one of them. I’m aware that I look like them; I’m told I look like other sixteen-year-old boys.
By Daniel Schwartz5 years ago in Fiction
Pushups in the Rain
“Eat mud, Donaldson!” The other recruits and I were in the middle of morning PT. Every day, it seems, the drill instructors find some new way to make our training more hellish. Today it was pushups and situps in the rain, in the mud, no doubt followed by a morning run in the rain and the mud… all before breakfast. Not that I was especially looking forward to breakfast anyway. Our cook never seemed to graduate beyond mud pies.
By Daniel Schwartz5 years ago in Fiction
The Cause
“Come on!” she shouted, running into the rubble-filled street of the ruined city, her blonde hair trailing behind her and her trademark heart-shaped locket bouncing as she ran. My feet and my heart pounded as I struggled to keep up with her. She was young, and always seemed to have boundless energy. We dodged sniper fire as we ran from cover to cover, finally falling behind the ruins of a bank building.
By Daniel Schwartz5 years ago in Fiction
