"I want to be a history teacher," Annie said one morning, laying down on the docks. "I can teach kids about the old continents, cars, video games... everything."
Her brother sat beside her, his legs dangling in the water. The winds of the open ocean rustled his hair, a blond mass tainted by saltwater and bleached from sunlight. "You're too obsessed with the past for your own good," he replied, his reflection shifting in the waves. "No one wants to hear about how people drove around, or how computers worked," he paused, looking up as a seagull flew by overhead. "Besides, every parent tells their children about the old continents. No teacher needed."
Annie sat up, a frown crossing her face at her brother's insistence at poking a hole in her fun. "But there's more than what our parents know! Right now, if we lived on the old continents, we'd be at the age to get our driver's licenses. Did...
"I want to learn to drive a car," Annie said one morning, laying down on the docks and staring up at a clear sky.
Her brother sat beside her, his legs dangling in the water. The winds of the open ocean rustled his hair, a blond mass tainted by saltwater and bleached from sunlight. "You've been reading too many stories again, Annie," he replied, staring down at his reflection in the waves. "No one has a car anymore," he paused, looking up as a seagull flew by overhead, "there's no such thing as playing football either before you ask, and videogames are also history."
Annie sat up, a frown crossing her face at her brother's insistence at poking a hole in her fun, like popping an inflated balloon. "Well, people did it all at one point! These aren't stories, Marcus, I read about them in history class. Everyone learned to drive when they were teenagers like us. They had live...
Ships don't stop here anymore. They used to, when he was younger.
He remembered the men in their long dusters, the women with their handkerchiefs and teary eyes. At the time, he had begged to go with his father, who was at the front of the crowd ready to squeeze onto the narrow boat deck. But his mother had kept an iron grip on his shoulder, whispering to him how he was too young for something so dangerous.
He never knew what his father had left for.
The ships became a rarity after the men had all left. His mother would take him to the docks occasionally, and they'd eat their packed lunch in silence as they waited to see if a different ship would come, a ship that would return his father.
A different ship did come. It wasn't there to bring his father back. This one took his mother, and many of the other women living in his...
Red lipstick stains on the rims of wine glasses, forced laughter filling the emptiness of the ballroom.
This is it, isn't it?
Years of work, effort, sleepless nights, and meeting deadlines for this. For validation. Standing in the corner of the room was the best place for her to fade into the background, so she kept to herself there, swirling the wine in her half-filled glass. There was much to be desired from an event like this.
Her coworkers told her it was a necessary evil. A way to network and meet new people. But she was certain, as she watched the hours tick away, these were not the kind of people she wanted to be networking with. It felt fake, tacky conversations with carefully chosen words and dodging the important questions.
"How are you doing?"
It took her a moment to realize someone had walked up to her, and she hadn't simply caught the drifting words of someone else's...
There is something to be said for a dreary Monday morning, faced with monotony and another long to-do list. But amongst the ordinary, there is one thing that is always extraordinary. The playful bouncing and yips of the newest addition to my family- a small puppy.
No matter the slowness or sadness of my day, you are always there. Always happy, always excited, always bringing color to a dull day. You provide joy in the darkest of times, even with the worst of news and worst of moods.
No one brings a shine to my life liek you.
Your hands are trembling. You aren't sure when it started, when the tremors crept through your hands and the shivers began to race up and down your spine.
It's an itch at the back of your mind, a feeling you can't quite shake- you shouldn't be here. Anywhere would be better than here. The stiff living room that had too many lacey patterns and uncomfortable conversations with your grandmother provided more peace than this. The bedroom you shared with your sister, with now vacant bunk beds and toys discarded across the floor, would be preferred, even with the suffocating nostalgia. Anywhere else.
The gun had fallen to the floor, shiny and pristine, no sign of the deed you had done. If you could keep your eyes low, you wouldn't see it. There would be no evidence of what was just a few feet across the tiled kitchen floor. What laid there, waiting, unmoving. Your stomach churns. You fight back the...
A smile on a tired face
Happiness on my worst days
Friendship makes the world a better place
It leads to great unknowns
Places that will never become renown
But to us, they mean everything
Together, we can overcome anything
Friendship means the world to me.
I love you
Your hands, your mind
They do so much
Even on my darkest days
You love me dearly
When storm clouds color my skies
You are the light
When I struggle to fly
I know you'll be there
A miracle, my savior
You are uniquely perfect
Never doubt that
(Now read it backwards)
When you read the wrong novel, 100 pages can begin to feel like a drawling 1,000. On the other hand, even the longest of novels can go by too quick when the story draws you in like a fish on a hook. In the case of Stephen King's The Stand, even in the uncut edition that spans over 1,000 pages, it still leaves readers wanting more.
Most stories can barely push 600 pages, so what grand adventure does King spin that draws readers in for so long? As with most of his work, King draws upon horror to once again enthrall his readers. In 1978, King published the story of The Stand, and with it, the terrible tale of Project Blue. Project Blue was a government project started in a base in California to make a super-flu, a disease that soon became known as Captain Trips. The creation of the virus went swimmingly, yet...
“I- I can’t keep doing this,” she said, running a hand through the tangled knots of her hair, “it’s not fair.”
He glanced at her, resting the pickaxe on his shoulder for a moment. “There’s not much of a choice, Diane,” he said with a shrug, his gaze floating back towards the cave walls as he scanned them up and down, looking for any more of their precious resource.
Sighing, she once again wrapping both hands around the grimy wooden handle. “You know there’s people up there.” She looked towards the roof of the cave, where only more untouched rock awaited them.
“Above us? Surely, in another tunnel.” He shrugged, the swinging of picks hitting rock could be heard echoing back from the way they came, from others climbing through tunnels of their own in search of minerals.
“No, I mean above all of that. There’s people way up there. On the surface.”
With a grunt, he took his pick...
Her eyes followed along the railroad tracks, tracing their path along over the hills and past the trees, until they were out of sight completely. It was quiet enough that she could hear the tick of her watch, slowly passing the time.
“Who are you?” she heard someone ask from behind her, and although their voice was soft it felt like an accusation.
She shrugged, slowly turning around with her hands clasped behind her back. “I track the times of trains.”
“The times of the trains?” the boy tilted his head as he spoke. “When does the next one come?”
Her head shook slowly back and forth as she looked him up and down. He was a few heads shorter than her, blues eyes beaming up at her while she looked down at him with a slight frown. “I won’t tell you,” she said.
He stomped his foot, autumn leaves crunching underneath his boots....