Sarah Danaher
Bio
I enjoy writing for fun. I like to write for several genres including fantasy, poetry, and dystopian, but I am open to trying other genres too. It has been a source of stress relief from my busy life.
Stories (247)
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The Unwitting Witness
The noise rattled me awake as I ran to my panel. I could just turn on the camera and press record. The men in the fine suits had dragged my neighbor out of his home, bound. I could just watch as they beat him as he struggled. His bloody face was smashed against the cold street in the early hours. His groans could be heard as the men in suits and masks said nothing. They stood around him as he struggled in his restraints. Then a black van came down the road, and he was thrown in the back. It sped off as fast as it came, with blacked-out plates. I could only watch as nothing stopped the whole incident. My doorbell camera was the only witness to the event, but what if the same men came after me? I turned off the camera just as the man's wife came screaming out of her house. Her face was beaten too, and her hands had been tied. She fell onto the pavement as the other neighbors went to check out the scene. Mr. Ben Oxley's blood was on the street, and so was his wife's. The whole place was starting to be surrounded by police lights. An ambulance was dispatched to send Mrs. Ruth Oxley to the hospital. The entire place was alive as every neighbor left their houses in disbelief.
By Sarah Danaher2 months ago in Fiction
More To Life
The bell chimed, its sound echoing throughout the factory. The busy place of lost faces is ready to be finished. Dan could only wait to stand in line to leave. The clock ticked as the weary place, once meaningful, stood still. The lost dreams that Dan had were diminishing by the day. The rest had the same look as the money was not good enough, and the place was continually getting worse. Finally, at the clock, the last swipe for the day. His dreary eyes were excited as if another long day had been finished. Each day was like the previous one; during the same long trip home, Dan was silent. The rusty old lock held his very few belongings as he rustled his wallet, phone, and keys. The new shift had started where they all left off, but there was always plenty of work to go around. Dragging his weary feet to his beat-up old car in its lack of glory. It was what he could afford, and the dents gave the car a unique character. Dan opened the door and just sat there between the rush at work and the rush at home. The engine roared as he prepared to go home to the chaos of his children. He wanted so much more when he dreamed of being in management, but those dreams quickly faded as he was passed over time and again.
By Sarah Danaher3 months ago in Fiction
