Jonathan Klarich
Bio
I was born and raised in St. Louis, MO, and have lived all over the US and North America since then. I've worked every oddball job in the pursuit of adventure and curiosity, eventually that spirit led me into the medical field.
Stories (5/0)
The Bennington Family
Mr. Bennington is a tall and burly man, clean shaven, always wears a paddy hat, has a strong Irish catholic demeanor, and believes in two things: God and family, in that order. During the day he works in the lead mines and after he finishes his shift returns home to spend time with his wife, Maggie, and his eldest son Richard, followed by James and the youngest is Daniel. On top of this, he spends quite a bit of time working in his cotton fields with his eldest boys, but he preferred to work in the garden, which he would say was his favorite chore, but if you were to ask the boys why he liked it then they would reply “because mom is there.” In the evenings, his favorite activity is to drink a single glass of Tennessee whiskey which he describes as the only kind of whiskey worth drinking and pairs it with a cigar, if he has one available.
By Jonathan Klarich3 years ago in Fiction
The Scarecrow
He ran through the fields of corn in one of the largest games of hide and seek that he had ever played. His hiding place was perfect, not that no one would find him, but that it was a place where no one would go. The Humphrey Family's Barn. To get there, he had to cross the creek and run through the cornfield, find the old cross, and then he just needed to make a left and then he was there. So, he ran a little faster to get there.
By Jonathan Klarich3 years ago in Fiction
The Crossroads Inn
It was as if the sky had gotten out of a relationship that it thought would last forever because this rain seemed to never end. Cries of thunder shook the ground around me as I walked quickly through this concrete jungle. Small rivers of water raced through the streets looking for a way into the sewer system. People ran to get to shelter, and cars whisked through these new rivers as if they were nothing. I walked, looking for a place that I could call my own for the remainder of this storm, and perhaps grab a drink.
By Jonathan Klarich3 years ago in Horror
Ever Wonder What a Fish See's Underwater?
Picture yourself swimming, about 20-30 meters underwater (about 50-60 feet), and you're a fish. Seems pretty cool, or odd, depending on how you like the thought of having gills and slimy skin. See yourself swimming through the crevices in the rocks, through the forests of sponges, interacting with coral, sea anemones, and all this while avoiding those pesky animals that would like to have you for their dinner. Some fish are brightly colored while others do not seem to have any color at all, so you would most likely stay with the fish, and other creatures, that have more color to them thus ignoring the coral that abound in this area. You would call me bonkers if I were to tell you that I would prefer to be with the coral than with the fish because they are more beautiful watch. But, I would be calling you the loony because you are stilling seeing them with the eyes of a human.
By Jonathan Klarich3 years ago in Education
The Recovery
As he finishes removing his gear, drying off, and taking in his hand the hot cup of coffee, he walks across towards the dimly lit tent to begin what he does after every dive: detailing every aspect that he could remember. It is late into the night, the cool winds blowing in from the east, the insects of the air making their songs, and the intersperse voices of medical professionals, divers, and news reporters chatting of the events that just took place. His thoughts are occupied with questions like "what just happened?” and "did I suffer the worst gas narcosis of my life?" He needs to know. The only way for him to do this is to put it into words that he can see, feel, and to study each sentence so that he does not miss any detail. For him, talking it out helps little, words in the air some would say, and all they do is hang there to be blown away by the wind. So, he leaves the small crowd of people to debrief in solitude. He enters the tent that is propped up close to the water’s edge. It is a large, shaded area with a few picnic tables under it mostly filled with gear of all kinds such as camera’s, scuba equipment, food, and coffee. Still damp, cold, and mind boggy with thoughts racing, he grabs his notebook out of his black messenger bag. It is a small leather-bound black book that feels soft in his hands, sturdy, and contained within its pages are his experiences throughout his diving career. Yet this dive was unlike any he had experienced before.
By Jonathan Klarich3 years ago in Horror