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)
Little Red
Sister Agnes walked into the room where the children were sleeping, checking each of them one by one in the dim candlelight. Every night she wandered through the grand hall that was strewn and littered with cots, trying to ensure that the orphans were washed, had brushed their teeth, and said their prayers. For the most part, she considered it a tedious job given how many of these forgotten ones there were, but she tried to put the boredom of this nightly ritual out of her mind. She knew that she needed to focus on her work. Truth be told these children were the only thing keeping her and the other workers of the soup kitchen going. Without the little orphans here and the others before them, the Sacred Heart would have perished long ago. Since the Blast, which had literally turned the soil to poison, there was little that could be grown. In fact, hardly anything had survived at all. She knew that they needed these children to sustain the work. It was as simple as that.
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
Nalah's Toy
Nala’s Pet The first time I awoke to the smell of burnt flesh. My own. I tried to catch a glimpse, but my eyes wouldn’t focus. I blinked again, but a solution was covering my eyeballs, not tears. Something sticky. My blood oozing out of my eyes and mouth. I swallowed. Felt it run down my throat. This is bad. Very bad. I turned my head just in time to catch sight of a drone hovering over my body, screeching like a cat with its tail caught. The whole place was bathed in piercing white light. Like you’d been looking toward the sun, when it sears the back of your skull, makes you see spots. I saw something move toward the foot of the bed. A Squid -like alien. Never saw one before. But this one was floating in air, legs barely touching the floor. Hovering. And worse, there were four tentacle-like arms moving this way and that, applying some goop to my legs. As I raised my head up, our eyes met. I swear the squid smiled. Damn thing smiled right at me.
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
Thank You Mike McKenna
Thank you, Mike McKenna. You don’t remember but I am the kid you went to junior high school with. You know, the one with the horned-rimmed glasses taped in the middle. A bowtie hooked to the top of the shirt. The plastic protector in the pocket. The kid who shuffled to class with a briefcase. Yeah, that one. The goofball. The savant. The idiot. The one you whispered about and pointed at. The one who you snuck up behind and stuffed a towel smeared with feces halfway up my nostrils. “Hey, shit head, sniff this!” You laughed. I am that kid.
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
Ode to Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary
Ode to Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary I worked for Mr. Calvin Cobb and Miss Mary for nearly twenty years. May they rest in peace. Was with them through the sun and snow and even when the wind was pissing like a drunk. No matter what people said. Even when, sometimes they called Mr. Calvin things.
By James McMechan3 years ago in Fiction
Bought With A Price
Bought With A Price… As families gather around the grill this summer, I wonder if we will learn from the sacrifices of those who have given their lives for the cause of Freedom. Will the spilled blood on battlefields all over this world change us? Make us better? More caring, less hateful? Will our nation somehow be different because of everything they went through? Will their wounds, their deaths mean anything to us?
By James McMechan3 years ago in Serve