Historical
jack of diamonds
Chapter 16 part 5 (Skullduggery) The night didn’t so much wear on as it did slip by, Sonia thought, sitting back and fanning herself with the bowler that came with her costume. She felt good though, better than she thought she would, considering. Considering what, she had to ask herself? The fact that Nigel has yet to display symptoms of an early withdrawal? She was grateful for that; but the promise of it was still there, she told herself, all of the chills and aches, the puking and shitting, waiting for her out there on the periphery.
By ben woestenburg4 years ago in Fiction
The Green Light
I was 16 when my grandmother died. She had nurtured in me an appreciation of music, plants and animals, and a reverent connection with all of nature. Shortly after her funeral, I was given a package she had prepared for me and told to open it when I was ready. She had often written stories that reminded me of my past. Now, in the void left by her passing, I felt the need to read her words to me.
By Katherine D. Graham4 years ago in Fiction
A Tale of Two Timelines
February, 1948 - St. Moritz, Switzerland The crowd gathered closely around the boards of the outdoor skating rink. Men in wool overcoats and leather gloves slapped the wood of the barriers, calling out the names they'd read in their local newspaper to see if any of the players would look in their direction. It was the first Olympic Games held since the end of the war. It was both exciting and yet remnants of the horrors still lingered in the pale faces, thin frames and tattered clothing of the participants from nearly every country.
By Christina Hunter4 years ago in Fiction
My Nightmares of War
It was at my ninetieth birthday and there I sat at the dining room table, surrounded by my family. When my great-grand son asked me about the war. “Papa, my dad said you flew in a bomber. Did you?” I looked at his little face. “Yes, Papa, flew in a bomber.” Suddenly, the memories I had buried flooded back into my mind. Sitting in my chair, I reached for a napkin as I began to cry and then sob. My son and daughter both came over to me. Denise said, “Dad, are you alright?” “Yes, I will be fine in a second.” Both knew that I had never discussed my time during World War II. Their mother told them I did not want to relive those days. My son said, “Sorry, dad, he did not know about mom’s rule.”
By Richard Frohm4 years ago in Fiction
Through the Lens
Sarah wiped her hands as she walked out the front door of the large farmhouse. It had been weeks since she’d seen her husband, and he’d left with the crops in the fields and her with three children under five. She wanted to be angry, but seeing his goofy grin, she couldn’t help but smile back at him. After all, he had arranged for his parents to sit with the kids, his father also working the fields, and his brother-in-law lending a hand.
By L. Lane Bailey4 years ago in Fiction
Stupid Girl
In a miserable building at the end of an unlit hallway in a cold room sat two men and one woman at a rectangular table made of rusted metal. One man, considerably larger than the other, with a square jaw and square shoulders and square hands, placed an aluminum flashlight on the table before him. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a leather case containing a circular filter and fitted it onto the lamp head. He handed the woman the flashlight and sat down on the rusted metal chair at the head of the rusted metal table and cleared his throat.
By Lindsay Hopkins4 years ago in Fiction
3rd Time's the Charm
Author’s Note: Sorry if this is a little too on the nose for anyone. This is one way in which I’m processing the disheartening situation in Afghanistan. Unfortunately, it is all too easy to believe that this story may not be fiction in a few decades’ time. Both as governments and as people, we have a habit of not learning the lessons we need to.
By Farah Thompson4 years ago in Fiction
The Devil and the Debutant
The green ethereal glow that the moon cast through the polluted fog cast Lord John in a wicked light and Jane found herself looking at demon. ‘Her demon’ she thought as her stomach flipped and fluttered under his smoldering stare. She couldn’t tell if he was angry with her for her boldness or driven mad by it. She had never seen a lustful look cross a man’s face, but her primitive instincts knew, and they begged to have more than just that look. There were no words for what she was experiencing, and no one had told her the smoldering side to romance.
By E. J. Strange4 years ago in Fiction
Dancing in the Dark Room
Amalie Waking up here is like waking to the sun creaking through drawn blinders. Amalie feels a honey-bee brushing by her earlobe, depositing pollen into her hair and the sound of bird-song has her creaking open a single eye. She smiles, a gentle thing, before bolting upright to the trill of rapturous giggles.
By Rachel M.J4 years ago in Fiction
