Adam Patrick
Bio
Born and raised in Southeastern Kentucky, I traveled the world in the Air Force until I retired. I now reside in Delaware with my wife Lyndi, where I flail around on my keyboard and try to focus on crafting something interesting to read.
Stories (18/0)
Port-faux-lium
I am a lifelong learner. I love education, communication, the exchange of ideas and opinions. Discourse. I particularly love online education. A lot of people discount it, and many students do phone it in; but it gives me a chance to digest people’s posts and responses, consider them, and craft an informed, well-formulated response.
By Adam Patrick7 months ago in Education
POP
Isabelle watched her fingers as she waved them through the dust molecules floating in the everlasting light of day. Each left broad waves in its wake as they cut through the sunlight. Coming together, separating. Four. Eight. Sixteen. So many fingers. She looked to her right to see who the additional unexpected fingers belonged to. Someone come to help, perhaps. But there was no one there.
By Adam Patrick7 months ago in Horror
I Didn't Ask To Be Here
“We didn’t ask for this room or this music. But because we are here, let us dance.” - Stephen King (11/22/63) Something isn’t right. It is something I know—I feel—before the words have a chance to take form in my conscious mind. The surface beneath me is hard; it jerks and rattles. I wince at the sound of metal twisting and grinding, threading its way into the folds of my brain. It is the sound of chaos. The sound I would imagine ripping the strings of the universe from the fabric of space and time would make. But there is a rhythm amid the discord. A steady clacking, chugging, churning coalesces, much like the thought that had emerged from the haze moments earlier.
By Adam Patrick8 months ago in Fiction
weMatch
The bell above the door rang, barely audible over the howling wind rushing in past Henry. Henry had the collar of his jacket pulled up high enough to graze his earlobes, only in part because of the cold. He breathed hot air into his hands and wrung them as his eyes searched the mostly empty pub. The bartender may have glanced his way when he came in, but other than that, no one paid him any mind.
By Adam Patrick8 months ago in Fiction
The Shadow Man
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The cabin was nestled in the pine trees far away from the trail I walked each day. I took it to my grandmother’s house on Sundays. I took it to the store when we were running low on milk and eggs. I took it to school where I learned about math and English and history. History was my favorite.
By Adam Patrick9 months ago in Fiction
The Third Valley
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.” “T’weren't always a valley,” Gerald replied. He smirked, looking to Langdon lying prone in the grass at his side for validation. Langdon’s grey eyes continued to survey the flat land below. He was in no mood to get philosophical. He raised an eyebrow and dipped his eyelids. Gerald accepted it as a concession. It was about as much of one as he could expect from Langdon.
By Adam Patrick10 months ago in Fiction
Moving Day
It was late Autumn, and the wind had a harsh, dry bite. Dead leaves skittered across dying grass and into the driveway as I surveyed a poorly maintained lawn, my mind bristling with ideas for improvement. It was moving day. We had arrived hours before the movers were scheduled to get started so we could enjoy the empty space. A bare foundation upon which we’d build our lives. We stood in the empty living room, our arms around each other, separated only by thick layers of winter jackets. Hopes, dreams, opportunity, they all whirled around us, silent and unseen. I constructed a visual living space in my mind that was undoubtedly far different than the one in her head. Dark oak wood, brass, warm yellowed lighting, and worn leather furniture supplemented with plush red accents. No matter what the living space eventually looked like there was only one thing that mattered: that we were in it together.
By Adam Patrickabout a year ago in Fiction
Sisyphus and the Afghanistan Withdrawal
According to Greek mythology, Zeus punished Sisyphus, King of Corinth, by condemning him to an eternity of rolling a heavy boulder up a hill. Each time he reached the top of the hill, the boulder would roll back to the bottom, and Sisyphus would have to repeat his struggle.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Serve
Homecoming
Jack relished the feel of the textured steering wheel sliding through his hands as he made the turn off of Highway 90. Not that the Chrysler 300 they’d rented at the airport was any nicer than his Mercedes back home in California. And it was a hell of a lot nicer than the little Toyota pickup truck he’d driven in high school. But, traveling these old backroads had put him right back in that Toyota single-cab, a burnt CD in the CD player, neon lights illuminating the floorboard in a fade of blue, and the cold hard plastic of the steering wheel sliding through his hands as he let the wheels straighten.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Fiction
Anniversary Surprise
Ruth leaned as far as she could until her head was pressed against the driver’s side window. She hated pulling onto the small gravel road from the winding highway. The faded asphalt veered sharply to the right, visibility obstructed by a tangle of thin trees and vines; it cut back to the left and disappeared behind a similarly chaotic mess of foliage. In the midst of spring, the vines and leaves grew thick and green and it really was a mad dash to get across the single lane just praying that no one would zip around the corner. If the county cared at all, they’d put a traffic light up here--and that’s exactly what she’d told her magistrate. But no one had time for a little old lady and her backwoods concerns.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Fiction
Reflections
Pink clouds rippled across the sky as the sun sank wearily towards the crest of the Kentucky hills. It hadn’t gone down completely, which was good; Amos Tucker would be in a load of trouble if he didn’t get home before dark. He was almost there, but the lightning bugs blinked their warnings in the thick summer air. He lifted his butt from the seat and put more oomph into the pedals.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Fiction
The Lower Loft
Sweat beaded up on Jamie’s brow. His focus was strained to its limits. “Nobody. Move. A muscle,” he said. Billy, Amos and April hovered over his shoulder, their breath held, their eyes wide. Jamie could feel the dull twisting of a cramp creeping into the muscles of his trembling thumb and forefinger. He took a deep, calming breath and committed to completing the volatile task before him.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Fiction
