Barbara Farrell

Joined February 2021

0 stories

Stories (5/0)

THE RAVEN
“Captain, Captain,” the raised voice of the young boy yells as he knocks hard on the Captain’s door. Captain Flanigan’s eyes spring open, “Come in, what is it?” he gruffly responds.
By Barbara Farrell2 years ago in Horror
ADAM
Adam gives Zoey a long heartfelt hug. He doesn’t want to let go. He is not sure he even can. Zoey finally says, “Adam, I’m going to miss you to, but you are going to have to release me if you want to catch your flight.”
By Barbara Farrell2 years ago in Futurism
THE RULE OF 72
The year was 1987, I was in Grade 12, sitting in class, listening attentively to the teacher. Most of the students had a glazed look in their eyes, our teacher was talking about an investment rule change for RRSP’s. Here in Canada, RRSP’s is a personal retirement vehicle that individuals’ can use to reduce their tax liability to the Government.
By Barbara Farrell2 years ago in Education
A CHAMPAGNE BIRTHDAY
Sometime Late in the 1990’s The Chimichanga came flying through the air. Whack! The projectile glanced of my glasses, sending them askew. I looked up with a dazed and confused stare. Beatrice, not her real name, was standing in the doorway of my office. My co-worker, who I was starting to consider a friend, had just thrown her lunch at me. Thank God the Chimichanga was still in its wrapper! I am not sure who was more surprised, me or her. In retrospect, I am going to say her. Beatrice stood there, saying over and over, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry”. I have never seen a person’s face turn so many shades of pink and red as I did that day. Now I am sure everyone, at this point, is asking, “Why did she throw it?” Well, in my opinion, it just does not matter! The woman threw a Chimichanga at me!
By Barbara Farrell2 years ago in Humans
THE BACKPACK
Marvin stands in the alley blending into the shadows of the dirty brick wall, his back against a dumpster. His tall wiry form is well hidden from the street and the dull light coming from the lone lamp post a few yards away. For twelve years he carried garbage to that dumpster that now shielded him from prying eyes. Twelve years gone and not much to show for it. He had poured his heart and soul into the tiny diner behind him that his parents had owned. Their hopes, and his too, was that the diner would be his one day. His parents and him had worked so hard at keeping him out of the gangs, off the streets, and out of trouble. Not an easy task for a poor struggling black family living in New York City. That life is gone now. Both his parent’s dead from COVID-19. Dying last fall in hospital, only days apart.
By Barbara Farrell2 years ago in Criminal