Historical
Amelia and Fred
“I’m sorry, Amelia.” She rummaged through the pockets of her leather flight jacket for the fourth time, vainly searching for something they could use. “Nonsense,” she replied. “It was a lucky landing. All that soft sand and rocks – it’s a damned miracle we’re alive, I say.”
By Scott D. Williams4 years ago in Fiction
The Ghosts in West Texas. V+ Fiction Award Winner.
Donnie always thought her mother’s house was haunted. Not because she ever saw ghosts in the white lace curtains on her window, the small one with the wooden frame that looked out at barren land. One night after finding bliss between the gentle opening of someone else’s lips, she came home and dug through drawers for a whittling knife. She found one and engraved the initials of a face that morphed slowly, and bitterly from lover to stranger. But that wasn’t the kind of ghost she thought lured in the halls of her childhood home.
By Andie Ngeleka4 years ago in Fiction
Book Review: Fatherland by Robert Harris
"What do you do," he said, "if you devote your life to discovering criminals, and it gradually occurs to you that the real criminals are the people you work for? What do you do when everyone tells you not to worry, you can't do anything about it, it was a long time ago?"
By Marco den Ouden4 years ago in Fiction
A Storm Coming
Wheat dumplings simmered in a metal pot over the fire. Jane watched the flames, deep in thought. She had been married to Nourouhquotkan (Noo-rooha-kwot-kan) for almost a year and still no children. He had taken the name John Pagett at the insistence of clan leaders, who had urged everyone to take names of prestigious colonists, thus, ensuring the respect of the English. Her given name was Runehu'hu, which meant turtledove. She loved the sound that her name made as it rolled off of the tongue, “Rooneh-hoo'-hoo.” However, John had taken to calling her Jane.
By Chuck Locklear4 years ago in Fiction
Pas de Deux
Your godfather only came into your life every few years. He always brought with him gifts from around the world, little worlds on their own. You remembered how on your eleventh birthday he brought you marzipan from Germany, alpaca wool mittens from South America, and sesame snaps from China. He had not come to visit since, although you'd heard of him throughout the years.
By Alisan Keesee4 years ago in Fiction
The Liberation of Camille Vignon
Sweat dripped down Camille’s back, causing her dress to cling to her skin and barely a breath of wind stirred anywhere in the village. Dust wafted listlessly from the cobbles with her every step and settled on her carefully polished shoes. A typical late summer day in the southwest of France. The cathedral bells rang in the distance, a reminder to her and the rest of the village to go to the main square. Shouts of joy mingled with greetings and conversations as people made their way there.
By Thea Young 4 years ago in Fiction
THE WORLD BEFORE
I was a born the youngest of six kids at the end of the Fabulous Fifties. It was the tail-end of a decade that brought us Elvis Presley, Buddy Holley, and Little Richard; it also brought us Eisenhower, Sputnik, and the Cold War. It was the decade that saw our fathers return home from the war, damaged both by what they’d seen, and by what they’d done. I was a Baby-boomer without even knowing what the word meant. My parents were born in what they’re now calling The Greatest Generation—an obviously nostalgic look at the past—and were themselves children of The Lost Generation. I didn’t know what any of that was, or meant, and I’m pretty sure my brothers and sister didn’t, either.
By ben woestenburg4 years ago in Fiction
8:16
8 minutes, 16 seconds. What most people would unconsciously determine to be a relatively short period of time, if given no specific reference. Certainly not long enough to wake up, jump from bed, brush your teeth, microwave a breakfast strudel and make it to the car, before heading to work. That's with the benefits of being a man without a beauty regiment. I'm sure that my wife would quantify anything less than 30 minutes as "asking the impossible."
By Dijiana Turner4 years ago in Fiction
Rest In Peace, Sweet Camelot
THE HURRICANE "In the 1940’s many US distilleries were used to manufacture necessities for war time, and domestic liquor was scarce. However, Rum coming up the Mississippi river from the Caribbean islands was plentiful. In order to buy a case of Bourbon, for example, there was strong incentive to purchase large quantities of rum. With General manager George Oechsner Jr at the helm, the folks in the bar experimented with recipes, and eventually everyone agreed that passion fruit was a hit! A glass shaped like a hurricane lamp was the perfect vessel and the Hurricane drink became New Orleans favorite libation."
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction
