Brotherhood

The Fortune in the Mop Bucket: The Janitor Who Secretly Funded a Stranger's Future
The halls of a high school after dark are a strange, liminal space. During the day, they are a cacophony of slamming lockers, shouting teenagers, and the squeak of sneakers. But after 4:00 PM, when the last bus pulls away and the teachers pack up their grading, the building exhales. It becomes a cavern of silence, smelling of floor wax, stale chalk dust, and industrial cleaner.
By Frank Massey about 10 hours ago in Men
How Black Men Stay Strong Through Hard Times
Understanding the Unique Challenges Black Men Face The Impact of Racial Trauma and Systemic Barriers Racial trauma represents the psychological wounds inflicted by encounters with racism and discrimination. Unlike single-incident trauma, racial trauma is often ongoing and cumulative, creating a chronic stress response that can profoundly affect mental health. Research published by the American Psychological Association shows that these repeated exposures to discrimination can lead to anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress symptoms in Black men.
By LaMarion Ziegler6 days ago in Men
Justin Sourdif nets 1st hat trick as Caps hold off slumping Ducks
Justin Sourdif had three goals and two assists and the Washington Capitals hung on to beat the visiting Anaheim Ducks 7-4 on Monday night.
By Dena Falken Esq6 days ago in Men
The Yard's Embrace
The clunk of Elias's boots on the porch steps echoed too loud in the silent dusk. Another day done. Another shift welding rusted frames down at the yard. His hands, thick with calluses and streaked with grease, fumbled with the key. The door groaned open, revealing the same empty hallway, the same scent of old wood and the faintest ghost of lilac, Sarah's favorite. He tossed his keys onto the small table by the door, the jingle a sudden, sharp intrusion. He didn't bother with the lights. No point. The house felt bigger in the dark anyway, swallowing him whole.
By HAADI8 days ago in Men
The Moon's Brutal Embrace
Frank woke up to the clock radio’s red digits glaring 3:17 AM. Again. Always 3:17. Like a silent alarm set years ago that refused to turn off. The air in the bedroom felt thick, stale, even with the window cracked a sliver. Beside him, the bed was empty. Had been empty for three years, seven months, two weeks, and four days. Not that he was counting. He wasn’t. Not really. But the numbers, they just… stuck.
By HAADI11 days ago in Men
a Text Message
Them - “¿Cómo estás?” (How’ve you been?) Me - Do you want the truth or a lie? Them - Oh my god…. Me – Oh my god what? I’ve been miserable without you! I cared about you very much dude, you were my bro, and I thought we had a lot of laughs and fun together. Despite everything that happened between us, as well as the torture I put myself, family and friends through, there hasn’t been a day since we parted that I haven’t thought of you. Your laugh, your smile, your Puerto Rican accent and the dramatic way you yawn, all your freckles, spread out across your face, neck and head, 27 I counted; Te extraño mucho con todo mi alma y corazón. Yet, I don’t understand what I did or what I said to make you not want to fight for our friendship. You honestly couldn’t have cared less, but here you are, randomly “checking up” on me, why do you still have my number? Don’t you remember when I needed you the most you left me high and dry? Some soldier you are, leaving your fellow man and assigned partner behind. I never turned my back on you and whenever you needed anything, I was happily right there with it or went out of my way to get it, just for you. Back to when I saved myself, you had the nerve to act like everything ok and just fine, like you hadn’t just turned your back on me in front of the class and instructor; how did you just sit there quietly, knowing full and well that the week previous, you were in the same spot, and I immediately threw you a life line? Something I won’t ever understand, but I forgave you almost instantaneously and later reached out to you to save our friendship, I texted you, remember? All you had to say was, that I was being dramatic, you weren’t gay, didn’t need this drama and you needed to focus on school. You totally and absolutely missed my point entirely, it wasn’t about being gay dude, I’m sorry you’ve never had anyone care about you, like I did. So I granted your wish and acted invisible, yet you refused to let it be and for the remainder of the term you did everything you possibly could to get my attention, talking loud being even more obnoxious than you already were, you even tried to make me jealous with that ogre Veronica and her tipsy Jeep driving friend, Sarah. Despite all of that bs, you didn’t have the testicular fortitude to speak to me like a man and voice what was wrong, how you felt and what we could do to fix it; even if that meant not being friends anymore, we in the least bit could’ve had some closure. For many weeks we were inseparable dude, you were my best friend bro, my sanctuary, the time you entered my life I was so lost, alone, and sad; just trying to restart my life for the better. The opposite happened though, I flunked out of nursing school, wound up seeing a therapist three times a week for several months, went through a major depression, thought about what would happen if I wasn’t “here” anymore, got prescribed happy pills, and I alienated myself from my family for being honest about everything. The last day of school, I emailed you to say goodbye properly and gain some kind of a closure for myself, I apologized for ever making you feel uncomfortable and still left a window open in case you ever needed anything…I still haven’t received a response. Dude, you were the Logan to my Wade Wilson….. I haven't forgotten you, or won't ever forget the fun times we had, going to lunch together, talking about shows and movies; remember "WHERE IS SHE!!" lol. I will never be able to look at Batman without thinking about you, same goes for watching the Last of Us, Stranger Things, Tom Segura, playing Mortal Kombat, and listening to Disturbed, Ozzy, Linkin Park, and Jay-Z….
By Vinny B.12 days ago in Men
The Unstamped Burden
The kitchen light hummed, a low, buzzing thing that did little to cut the gloom. Arthur sat at the scarred oak table, knuckles white where they gripped the edge of a tumbler. Ice clinked against the glass, the sound sharp in the midnight quiet. A half-empty bottle of Old Crow, its label peeling, stood sentinel beside a stack of old mail. He’d been staring at the same letter for an hour, maybe two, the yellowed envelope feeling heavier than a brick in his hand. The address, scrawled years ago in his own hurried script, was still legible: Michael J. Brennan, General Delivery, Phoenix, Arizona. A ghost address, really. He hadn't known where Mikey was, not really, not since the day the younger man walked out and didn't bother to look back.
By HAADI13 days ago in Men
The Last Car to Nowhere
The platform was concrete dust and shadows, the kind that cling to forgotten places. A single bulb, caged and grimy, buzzed overhead, doing little to chase the heavy dusk. The sign above the track, its paint peeling like sunburnt skin, read: ‘Track 9 – Final Boarding.’ No destination listed. Just that. Final. A few men huddled, shoulders hunched against the biting wind that whipped through the station’s skeletal frame. They didn’t talk much, just eyed the track, eyed the horizon that promised nothing but more of this bleakness.
By HAADI15 days ago in Men
The Weight of Moonlight
Elias usually slept like a stone, the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that came from years of hard living, hard work, and not much thought about what might lie beyond the next sunrise. But tonight, sleep was a cruel joke. The bed felt too big, the sheets too cold, and the air, usually thick with the faint scent of old wood and Martha’s lavender sachet, was just… empty. Two years gone, and sometimes it still felt like yesterday, sometimes like a lifetime.
By HAADI20 days ago in Men
Pastures of Static
Kael dragged the heavy refuse bin across the slick, oil-stained concrete, the grind of his treads echoing in the cavernous waste processing plant. Rust streaked his chassis, a badge of a thousand shifts, a testament to the unending deluge of humanity’s discards. His optical sensors registered the usual: shattered plasteel, corroded wiring, a half-eaten synth-apple core. Data. Just data, for processing. But lately, something else had been bleeding in.
By HAADI21 days ago in Men
The Weight of White
The house groaned, a settling sound, deep in the gut of the night. Frank heard it, even through the double pane, even over the quiet sigh of the furnace, because everything else was gone. Swallowed. The snow had done it. Not just a dusting, not a polite flurry. This was a goddamn smothering. An inch an hour, the radio had droned, before he’d turned it off, before the world went quiet.
By HAADI22 days ago in Men
The Ledger of Dust
Elias pushed through the heavy oak doors, the groan of ancient hinges a familiar complaint. The air inside hit him, thick, dry, smelling of paper and something else, something like old memories and forgotten rain. Dust motes, tiny universes, swam in the weak light filtering through grimy arched windows high above. This place, the Grand Archives, it always felt like a tomb. Not a dead one, but one where every single whisper lingered, a faint hum against the silence. His worn boots scraped on the polished stone floor, each step too loud, too heavy.
By HAADI25 days ago in Men