Timothy E Jones
Bio
What is there to say: I live in Philadelphia, but wish I lived somewhere else, anywhere else. I write as a means to escape the harsh realities of the city and share my stories here on Vocal, even if I don't get anything for my efforts.
Stories (124)
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Angels in the Snow
Melissa sipped at her coffee on that particular Saturday morning, she went home from college for the weekend, and had gotten there early enough to make a large breakfast, which she completed just in time to see Dawn (her younger sister by 2 years) make her way into the kitchen.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
Preacher's Daughter
Jon, the head Paramedic was done with his preliminary investigation, and the body of Doris Johnson was placed inside the body bag. As the two ambulance attendants carried the body down the flight of steps in their usual manner, he stepped up to Clark with some paperwork, but he noticed he was video chatting on the computer.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
Welcome to my Parlor!
It was a warm enough fall day, and the giant fly buzzed around the spider with a raging fury as if it were asking for trouble to come upon it. The spider saw the value of eating the fly almost as a last meal in her old age. The spider quickly constructed the tiny web in hopes of getting one last meal before she succumbed to the death that she knew was coming to her. It took just under an hour to construct the web, but it was a job done, but too little, too late, for the fly, well it was possible that something else got to eat it first, as it was no longer a bother to the spider.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
The Lonely Playground
Just a few months ago, the playground was the go-to place for kids to go to and play, but that was before the snow covered everything from the merry-go-round to the swings and all the things that lie in between. For they were all the same, lonely for the attention that comes with the warmer weather, yes again they'll have their day.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
The Spare Key
There's a reason as to why we are called "spare keys", because you rarely ever need us. Obviously, they're not you "main set of keys" that you use for yourself, nor are they the "duplicate" keys you give to that special someone. The "spare keys" are the ones you intentionally hide away in some secret spot outside your place of residence. You know, under the dirt in a spot near your door, somewhere along the ledge of the door frame or some special place that seems extremely logical at the time.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
The Fire Escape
I occupy an apartment on the second floor of a three-story apartment building, with a convenience store taking up the first floor. My apartment can be gotten into both the traditional way, and through the usually more convenient fire escape, by which I have access to the apartment above me, in which the most beautiful--. Never mind.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
Preacher's Daughter: Chapter 3
[OK. I may be stating the obvious here, but this chapter is a part of an ongoing story. It may make more sense if you look up and read the previous installments first. I have the first three chapters (which includes a prologue) pinned at the end of this story]
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
The lamb
The little lamb was already safe in the sheepfold, there were 99 others who were settled in and eating the hay and drinking the water that was provided to them; enough to feed them during the upcoming storm with plenty to spare. But the lamb saw the long blades of grass, and they looked like a tasty treat. So, while the good shepherd was preoccupied with a trivial matter, he sneaked through the gate to get to the inviting looking grass.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
Snow Surprise
I was laying there all nice and comfortable on the cozy blanket you set next to the roaring fireplace, the intense warmth allowed me to sleep deeply. I didn't even mind it when you came up and petted me and gave me some tasty tuna, that was broken up just the way I like it. Then when you put the blanket over me, that was purrfect.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
