Love
George's Bakery
George…just George. What a George he was. He never knew a cake he didn’t like or cookie, for that matter. I knew George well. He was quite a tall, lanky, handsome fellow who loved to bake. Growing up and looking at him, I always thought that he would be a perfect mortician because he looked like Mr. Fletcher, the local one in town. Thin and bony he was too. Aren’t all morticians tall and spindly? Well, I thought they were. I shouldn’t have stereotyped him at all because he became a Baker! Well, I won’t tell you how I envisioned all Bakers. That will be my little secret. Again, I was wrong, thanks to George.
Carol EliassenPublished 3 years ago in FictionParisian Café
Giselle sat at the small table in the Parisian café where she was waiting for her date to arrive. Jacques should be along any time now. Paris was a very busy city, as was Jacques, and it was quite possible he’d been held up by unforeseen events at work. At any rate, she was sure that he would be arriving shortly. He had promised her, after all, that tonight would be a very special first date for the two of them. They had been working together for a year now at the book store, but they had never been on an actual date before this evening.
Cindy CalderPublished 3 years ago in FictionDaisy & Magnolia
This is the story of my wife and best friend, Magnolia. Before we got married and opened a cafe together, we met in the diner she was working in, and I was with my ex-boyfriend, Marcus.
nostalgia.radio🪲Published 3 years ago in FictionThe case of Cockney shark
Bruce First of all, there's a list of words - look it over. And don't skip anything because if you think you will understand what your shark will be trying to tell you, well, I got news for you - ya won't! Second of all - be a well-rounded individual, ya know? Those sharks are wicked smart and you never know what they will be willing to discuss that day. Third.. uuuhh.. Bring soda. Yeah, soda! And DON'T STARE. 'Cos that's just impolite. Thank me later
Salomé SaffiriPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Last Summer
It was an abnormally cool last day of summer. The sky was overcast, and showers and thunderstorms had been coming and going all day. The rain provided soothing background noise for Ed and gave him something to listen to, other than the ticking of the clock on the wall. The gray overcast weather matched his mood. Ed was born on this farm, lived his whole life on this farm. He met the love of his life on this farm. And now, Ed is dying on this farm. At eighty-two years old, he hasn't farmed the land in years. His wife, Beatrice (Betty to him and only him), passed away some twenty-five years ago. Madly in love since they were teenagers, they had taken over the farm from Ed's father. Heartbreakingly, Beatrice and Ed were unable to have children of their own, so there would be no one to pass the farm on to. Just as his life was coming to an end, the farm's life was as well.
J. Delaney-HowePublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Importance of Being
The Importance of Being By
Jamey O'DonnellPublished 3 years ago in FictionThat Slice of Chocolate Cake
Here we are again – together at the coffee shop, our second home. But today was not like the others. The sky outside was bright and blue, sunrays penetrated the large tinted glass panes bringing in a warm glow across the Celtic-patterned walls, in contrast to what was often the wet and cloudy days that shot white light through clear windows. How uncanny this would reflect the many years that have passed, and how we have grown. Or maybe just how I feel: aged in wisdom, a master of inner peace, enjoying a quiet afternoon…. I feel old. I used to have energy to face all things, from battling imaginary childhood monsters in the back garden to planning the next bicycle adventure across the river to neighboring towns. But on this very day, it has been brought to my attention just how much has changed. Today is the first time I have been back in over ten years. It was a delight to discover Cottage Coffee on the Corner was still in operation, with a few upgrades including those fancy brown windows and some modern espresso machines. I wanted to savor what was familiar, which thankfully, was not that difficult. The distinct aroma had not changed one bit – dark roasted French beans with a hint of skunk and jasmine. I am an adult today. I forsook my longtime beverage of hot chocolate with heavy whipped cream to pursue this distinguished staple. Of course this was not my first cup of coffee. I have had many since I had left. But today, I would finally enjoy the coffee of my hometown, amongst the other things that had changed.
DahliavisionPublished 3 years ago in FictionThen There Was Nothing
"I have never loved someone so much in my entire life." Those were it; my last words. Fear ran the course of my veins in that moment, but then I was calm as they shot me up.
Zachary M. Cain (Creative/Copy Writing)Published 3 years ago in FictionThe Winter Ball
The sun shone down, it’s brilliant rays illuminating the whole entire place. Her aunt’s barn wouldn’t have been her first choice for the Christmas ball, but she had to admit, she could see the building all decked out for Christmas, and she was quite impressed. As well, the weatherman reported it would be a beautiful 62 degrees. Unheard of in Illinois at Christmas, but well, she was grateful. There was electricity in her aunt’s barn, recently added, and they had bought some very safe space heaters, but Clarissa didn’t like the idea of space heaters. Not since…It wasn’t worth dwelling on now.
Jennifer MillerPublished 3 years ago in FictionCaptured Love
My mom rushed out of the kitchen when she heard my brother’s voice. She put her arms around him with tears in her eyes as my dad stood proudly by.
Sherry jacksonPublished 3 years ago in FictionJanice Buckley
JANICE BUCKLEY Dead for some time now my mother had a favourite expression I've never forgotten. "I'd love a nice piece of cake." Funny the things you remember.
Grant WoodhamsPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Unimaginable Barn
My granddaughter and I are celebrating our birthdays. We were born on the same day. July 8th. Her name is Aerial. Her mother didn't name her after a mermaid. Aerial is named in honor of the father she never knew, an American Olympic Gold Medal Freestyle Skier, Christian Eklund. The son of a cancer research scientist of Swedish descent from Montana. My daughter met this Swede freshman year. Science lab together and a whole lot of chemistry going on. His parents said Chris was pretty clumsy for an athletic kid. They loved to tease him that his natural gate, and one he was better at, was flying down snow covered mountains. By the age of 19, the clumsy kid was a world champion and about to pursue his dream of Olympic Gold. His freestyle specialty was the aerial event. Chris was best upside down and high in the sky.
Nancie BrownPublished 3 years ago in Fiction