Stories (719/0)
Burnt Biscuits
December 1927 "Deputy Lewis, is Carlles still in?" Sheriff Maxwell Buchanan asked as he came into the station. "Yes, Sir, he's waiting for you in your office, Sir" Lewis, nodded toward the door at the rear of the room. "Oh, and, Sir, Prosecuting Attorney Allen is already here, too, waiting on you."
By Mother Combs11 months ago in Fiction
Debilitating Depression and Severe Health Problems
Some people just do not get it. Some people never will get it. Then you have those who live with it daily and who totally understand it. What is it? The it that I am talking about is chronic illness and depression.
By Mother Combs11 months ago in Psyche
My Daughter's "Imaginary" Friend
About nineteen years ago, my husband moved us back to the old farm he had grown up on, into the very house he was raised in. It was a small old farmhouse, built by the people of the community back when the original farmhouse had burned down in the late 1940s. There were only three bedrooms, a small living room, a large kitchen, a large laundry/pantry room, and one tiny bathroom. Sound carried really well in this house.
By Mother Combs12 months ago in Fiction
My Daddy
My daddy taught me a lot about life and most of the time I never even knew he was teaching me. He always had time to answer questions that I had to ask, never stopping to say they were stupid. He made sure I knew how to do the things I needed to do to have a normal childhood. Even though my parents were divorced, he was always just a message away if I needed him for any reason. My daddy will always be my first hero and teacher.
By Mother Combs12 months ago in Men
Bank Heist
Today was Shellie's last day at the bank. She'd been working there for ten years but had given her notice two weeks ago. That's when she decided she needed a change of pace and she was going to move to someplace in the Caribbean. She had just saved enough money to buy a little lean-to property and maybe invest in a business down there if she played her cards right. Of course with enough left over to support her needs and some wants.
By Mother Combs12 months ago in Fiction
Foxy the Testosterone Squirrel
Years ago, when I was a boy of eight years, Dad worked in the woods as a logger. He'd go into the woods at the crack of dawn and cut down trees until he used all the chainsaw mixture that he carried in one of those 3-gallon aluminum gas cans.
By Mother Combs12 months ago in Fiction