Stories (729/0)
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 Combsabout a year ago in Fiction
Attic Cleanout
Ben Miller had inherited his Uncle John's house. Ben, unfortunately, wasn't too happy about his inheritance. First, it was an extremely tiny lot in the worst part of town. Second, the house had seen way better days, and now was suffering from wood rot and was leaning worse than the Tower of Pisa. Ben wasn't even sure if any of the contents could be salvaged, or if he'd have to toss them all out to the curb for the trash man to pick up. Ben was just tempted to call the fire department and burn the whole mess, but his curiosity had won out and he'd decided not to. Besides, he'd just lost his job of fifteen years, and the job market wasn't looking too promising right now for any job offers coming his way, so he had nothing better to do.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Fiction