Kent Brindley
Bio
Smalltown guy from Southwest Michigan
Lifelong aspiring author here; complete with a few self-published works always looking for more.
https://www.instagram.com/kmoney_gv08/
Stories (221)
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On Stained Shores
The earth beneath the beach remained spread between the soft sandy shores or the sharp and roughness of rock. The rock may have represented strength; it was the sand that was slippery enough to conceal a potential trap or slip hazard; amplified even more so by the water's caress of the shore to advance the threat.
By Kent Brindley5 months ago in Fiction
LAKE
The Ford Escape, packed with four high school students and their luggage, crossed the Kentucky Stateline. Direct sunlight greeted us through the window across the first of several States separating us from our final destination. From the front passenger seat, I blinked my eyes open and took in my surroundings. A 5:30 wake-up call resulted in the experience of a brief catnap. The clock radio now read 7:45 and I knew that I had shirked copilot duties. I glanced over to apologize to John Lake for my failure at the role entrusted to me. However, the senior’s eyes remained fixed on the road and he shrugged nonchalantly before I could get a word in. John never said much and the silence could be intimidating. I restored the position of trust granted to me by taking a sip of soda to remain alert and adjusted the volume on the MP3 player. The vehicle’s thermometer indicated that the midmorning outdoor temperature was 65 degrees; the air conditioner made the vehicle cabin substantially crisper. We sat in the vehicle as four friends (three guys and one girl; one sophomore, two juniors, and a senior) leaving Ohio for the ritual Summer Week. John’s family owned beachfront property in South Carolina (affectionately referred to as “The Lakehouse”) and the episode awaiting us at our final destination would be well worth the early morning departure. Such an experience might have even been worth the seven months of schooling that brought us to today.
By Kent Brindley5 months ago in Fiction
Gemini
"...But what about cancer victims?" Derek Huntsman sat across from John Price in their favorite local watering hole. Sports highlighted the television screens. The mostly female staff scrambled about the floor as a treat for the eyes. Most of the elderly regulars were already so comfortable in their "regular" status and so tipsy that they thought that they had a chance with the young staff. Meanwhile, John Price wanted to pretend to care about the human experience and debate politics with a guy who, at all times, was on duty. Nevertheless, this was the conversation occurring in the middle of a tavern on Spring Friday night. Finally, Huntsman heaved a sigh and threw his arms up in mock surrender. Price saw the show of submission and gave a smile of knowing victory.
By Kent Brindley10 months ago in Fiction
