Endurance Stories
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Endurance
There is a certain gravity in the Beeks living room, the kind that draws eyes upward to the crown molding and out again toward the garden, where late-spring sunlight slants through the glass with surgical precision. Every surface gleams, the air humming faintly with the blend of lemon polish, orchid, and something more expensive: the expectation of perfection. The rug—cream, hand-tufted, no visible stains—seems spun out of air, refusing to acknowledge the row of shoes lined at the threshold, as if the dirt of the world could not possibly invade this room.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
The Lewis living room is exactly as Michael remembers it—faintly lemon-scented from an eternal pledge to Lemon Pledge, the light glancing off honey-oak trim, floorboards shiny from half a century of determined foot traffic. The walls are lined with family photos in matching frames: Michael at nine, chin smudged with baseball dirt; Marsha with her arms around a toddler version of him; Mitchell in a yellowed tuxedo, cradling a blushing bride. All the moments that counted, preserved under glass. Even the couch, brown corduroy and still faintly ridged with the memory of childhood naps, feels like it’s been waiting for this day.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
If Michael’s apartment were any warmer, the wine would be sweating through the glass before you got it to your mouth. Everyone is already seated, pressed shoulder to shoulder around the battered walnut dining table that doubles as his only real piece of grown-up furniture. A lazy ceiling fan rotates overhead, struggling against the stubborn June heat. Michael stands at the head of the table in a charcoal blazer crisp enough to reflect light, the cuffs of his shirt peeking out at the wrists, his jaw squared like he’s bracing for a finish line.
By Endurance Stories6 months ago in Fiction
Endurance. AI-Generated.
It's the summer of 2022. The air in Lincoln Park feels just a little bit lighter than the rest of Chicago. Maybe it’s the way the breeze carries the scent of cut grass over the brick paths, or the way the late-afternoon sunlight smears itself gold on everything west of the conservatory. The trees are older here, gnarled and content to watch the city surge and recede from a safe, leafy distance. Kids shriek in the playground by the pond. Somewhere, a group of fraternity alums are shouting over a bags game and half-warm IPAs, the yelps and the slaps of beanbags punctuating their debates over which Cubs team really should have gone all the way. The picnic lawns, as always, are dotted with blankets and bare knees and cheap wine. Summer lives in Lincoln Park.
By Endurance Stories6 months ago in Fiction
