James McMechan
Bio
As a published author, James McMechan draws on his life experiences and years of business management experience to write. He is the writer of a blog on social media and lives in Mississippi.
Stories (17/0)
THE WORLD IN WHICH WE LIVE
I live near a major city plagued by violence. It could be one of a hundred places across the country, perhaps even where you live. A city where every night, reporters repeat the same script that another precious life has been snatched away.
By James McMechan2 years ago in The Swamp
The Backward Pawn
“A pawn is a powerful piece if it can reach its potential.” My father said as the trail of cigarette smoke waffled around us. “Once it completes the struggle of getting to the opponent’s back row, it can become anything it wants to be. Never underestimate the potential of a pawn.”
By James McMechan2 years ago in Fiction
THE VALUE OF SERVICE
If there is anything that 2021 has taught us it is the need for service. Our society has become a more service-oriented world than ever before. Today, we order food, and someone brings it. We order gifts online and a person drops it at our door. We pull up in the pickup line, and soon an overworked employee hauls our groceries to the car. Even as more and more workers have opted to work from home, we learn the value of meeting deadlines and serving up content. Those of us who work in these areas have had to swallow a lot of pride, reminding ourselves each day that even simple acts of service make the world go around.
By James McMechan2 years ago in Humans
THE ANGELS OF ULYSSES
Every night in the small town of Ulysses, when the wind knifed through the branches, or the darkness shut in like a closed coffin, that’s when you knew the angels were close by. Knew that in a few moments, the shadows would arrive at your door, be invited in, and be directed to be quick. Often, the angels moved from house to house, door to door, speaking to the living about the dead. Sometimes there were six or seven departed souls that needed attending. Even after the sickness came and the death raged, wiping out three-fourths of the living, Calvin and Miss Mary, the angels of Ulysses, kept their hands faithful to the task. Never complaining. Never muttering under their breath. Never once refusing the work God had ordained for them.
By James McMechan2 years ago in Fiction
RED LIGHT - GREEN LIGHT
You could ask my Stevie what the secret to life is, but don’t be shocked if he won’t tell you. He rarely talks to anyone. It’s not that he is being rude, it’s just Stevie being Stevie. You see, my beautiful autistic boy is too busy discovering the answer to life’s deepest questions than waste the effort of engaging you. The reality is that if you want to engage him, you will have to enter his world. But warned. If you are courageous enough to venture there, be prepared to have the riddles of life’s mysteries unraveled for you. Don’t be shocked if you find him teaching you that the essence of existence is really very simple. You may discover that living a true life is no more complicated than watching a child play a game of red light, green light.
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
WAR IS HELL
(Taken from the Vicksburg Herald – July 27, 2021 – Vol. 23. Pg. 9) - John James Keaton, PFC, 101 Airborne, passed away Saturday. The body was discovered near Openwood Street in downtown Vicksburg. Police have found no motive or suspect for the shooting at this time. Mr. Keaton listed the Church of Lasting Grace as his home. Authorities are still searching for any next of kin…
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
THIRTEEN MILES
I blame Gail. We were traveling down old Route 66 on sort of a nostalgia trip to celebrate my retirement because Gail had suggested it. Her idea was that we take the ‘71 Buick for a cruise down The Mother Road to see a slice of old Americana. At one time, Route 66 was considered, The Main Street of America, a thriving thoroughfare delivering goods from the Midwest to the Pacific Ocean. It will be fun, she said. Something we’ve never done.” The next thing I knew, we had loaded up, and we were headed west toward the highway where we could “get our kicks, on Route 66.”
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
Sunday Drive
There are two ways of dying. That was the thought I was thinking as I glimpsed my father shuffling around the corner of the old house. His steps were tiny. Quick. A shuffle. The wheels of the walker made a scraping noise as they moved across the gravel of the drive. Emily is about ten steps behind him, with a frantic look on her face, calling his name. "Mr. Marley, you need to come back in!"
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
The Sweet Smell of Success
The Sweet Smell of Success Even before the Migration, the folks of Hays hated the stench of the B & G processing plant with a passion. Day or night, whenever the brisk winds of the rough Kansas prairie shifted to the north, the air would push the putrid stench down the hill and into the unsuspecting noses of decent folk. The entire community was constantly complaining about it, of course. Every month or so the crowds would press the city fathers to do something. Anything. Hell, on some days, the smell could literally bring tears to your eyes, even burn your nostrils if you inhaled it deeply enough. Most folks could hardly stand it.
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
