Historical

Rest In Peace, Sweet Camelot
Eddie circled the Joppa, but did not find Brenda’s car, so after risking his life getting back on to route 18, from a weirdly angled route 106, he headed to the Riviera Café, just a mile or so toward Bridgewater center.
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction
Fate of The Asimos
The merchant ship Asimos was large by its contemporary standards, a good two hundred feet or more in length, with a beam of thirty feet. It sported two masts and thirty-two oar, arranged as that of a trireme. There were no less than five massive anchors, and its capacity was in excess of five hundred tons. It's captain was a Minoan well-versed in the trade routes from Ephesus to Rome, and as such was considered to be reputable and honest. His crew consisted of an eclectic variety from across the Mediterranean, but mostly fellow Minoans. All handpicked and loyal to the captain.
By Joseph "Mark" Coughlin4 years ago in Fiction
The truth about Arthurian legends
The truth, (one probable truth) about the Grail. Arthur and the legends Later stories about the Grail quests of Arthur and his “Knights of the round table” are based on the idea that the “Grail” is the cup used by Jesus at the last supper before his arrest. Other versions claim the Grail is the cup that was used to collect the blood of Jesus as he was physically bleeding to death on the cross.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Rest in Peace, Sweet Camelot
Eddie stood in the kitchen, hugging and kissing his best girl, Brenda. He said, “don’t forget, I’m meeting Dave at 4:30, when I’m through with the little “buggers”, a term of endearment he used for his 4th grade students at the A.F. Hunt elementary school, in Bridgewater. “Don’t call them that, Brenda said, “you’re teaching them science and math and we need them for the future.”
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction
Rest in Peace, Sweet Camelot
Lucy Auclaire, was thirty-three years of age, and taught English to children in a small school in Algiers, across the Mississippi River, about two and half miles from Bourbon Street, in the heart of New Orleans.
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction
Rare Plumage
Dear Sir, I received your favor from the 12 of January 1787 with much eagerness. I hope that you find this letter and specimens with as much eagerness as I have of your letters. There are many wonderous creatures in New Spain and these avians come from the lush rainforests. The land is warm and full of water with creeping vines and trees so dense forest floor seems dim at times. But in those tree-covered climes can be found the most vibrant of creatures and blooms in all the colors of the rainbow. When the lands seem savage, indeed, these colors serve as a reminder of the grace that can be found in nature.
By CBK4 years ago in Fiction
Wings of Breath
Soft blades of dying grass brush beneath me as loose winds beat the sweat off my neck. Odors of trees and moisture invade my mouth. My stomach aches and I salivate, as my eyelids bear heavy, closed shut, yet I evade sleep.
By Thomas Czernek4 years ago in Fiction
Rest in Peace, Sweet Camelot
Dave Pierce grew up in West Bridgewater, and like most boys, loved sports, mostly basketball. When he was 12 years of age, he was 6 feet tall and everyone, especially family, expected him to be a great basketball player. Dave loved playing, but got anxious whenever anyone asked if he was going pro or not. “I’m 12, I don’t know what I’m doing in the next ten minutes, let alone as an adult”. He was bit self-conscious about his height, because inside, Dave felt small or just younger than everyone treated him and he was right.
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction
The Wreck of the Mary Beth
The Atlantic turned from old friend to foe in the scope of an hour. What had been calm seas turned into rolling swells, and the wind wailed its warning of an impending Nor'easter. That was the way of it, thought Jonathan Weddom as he watched the sailors scurry around the deck and up the masts to secure the schooner from the coming storm.
By Paula Schneider4 years ago in Fiction
The Tale of Ashikawa. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
Spring – Osaka, 1607 “Blossoms on the wind Dance in bright morning sunshine, Ephemeral light” Tatsumaru shifted anxiously in the shadow of the temple’s shrine. His father, Ichiro, stood nearby with eyes facing forward, his face unreadable. A small crowd of samurai were gathered around in ranks, each one alert but respectful as the temple’s kannushi continued his prayers. Tatsumaru fought the urge to fidget as the kannushi beseeched the goddess, Amaterasu. Instead, he glanced at the complex around him.
By Rowan Vetere4 years ago in Fiction
The Claymakers
Editor’s Note: “Son of Claymaker” was written by North Augusta writer and archaeologist Mark Newell, after reviewing the research of colleague Ken Sassaman. It presents a picture of the life of early Indians as revealed by Sassaman’s excavations on Stallings Island. The story first appeared in Augusta Magazine in 1998
By Mark Newell4 years ago in Fiction
Rest in Peace, Sweet Camelot
Eddie watched, as the crowd passed him. They were bunched together on the spiral climb up to The Boston Garden floor; inching their way upward, more like spawning salmon, than an every-day, up and down the street, ordinary line. It was far better watching as folks piled out of what was popularly called The Gardens. There was that push of humanity, like air rushing from a slow flat, just wanting to get out of that space.
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction