A medically retired, 100% disabled navy veteran, nurse and college instructor. Earned two master's degrees because she was told she couldn't. Has published medical articles and small works. Was also a journal reviewer.
My mom passed away September 2, 1996. She was only 59 years old. She raised my brother, sister, and I as a single parent. She was the foundation that held the family together and now she was gone.
The Bunker By Kimberlain O’Driscoll Phil paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead before finishing off the last small strip of grass in his backyard. The lawnmower was old, and burned oil, but it still ran. He could have purchased a new one a long time ago, but this mower belonged to his dad, and as long as it still ran it would be a reminder. His dad had passed away seven years ago. He inherited his childhood home and this old mower when his mom succumbed to cancer last fall. He, his wife Ellen, and their 11-year-old daughter Jennifer were renting an apartment at the time. Although Ellen wanted to sell the house and buy something closer to her parents, he couldn’t. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of his mom and dad in the shadows of his own childhood which were always happy memories.
Tra’Leigh Esha sat on a large flat slab of shale, poking at a clump of moss with a dry twig. She could hear the Kasii River as it flowed below her in the distance. Maple, birch, and fir provided a curtain from below, hiding her from others in her village. The massive wall of fractured rock which broke through the mountainside behind her, sheltered the small nook and the stone she sat on. She called this place her thinking spot.
“Cohnaire?” I placed a hand on his shoulder, gently shook him and called his name again but I knew he was gone. My eyes met those of his younger sister Moira who was perhaps eleven. She was showing early signs of the fever. I shook my head. Moira, who had been holding onto any glimmer of hope threw herself onto her brother's lifeless body, wrapped her arms around him and sobbed.
Broad Axe Tavern
The tavern was thick with smoke from the rolled tobacco sticks that were common in these parts. An occasional pipe competed with the local leaf. The mix of exotic aromas versus the local blend marked each smoker as an outlander or a townsman.
There are many things in this world that cannot be explained. As I think back over the years I can recall a handful of events that still cause me to wonder. But of all that I have seen and heard, there was one from my youth that plagues my soul and haunts my dreams. Every town has its share of scary stories. The old-timers loved to tell tales of ghosts and werewolves, and creatures in the sea that would drag an unsuspecting soul to their watery grave. But those weren’t real. What I am about to tell you actually happened…
It came upon me slowly; the frost... My heart feeling that first chill Roses, in a garden of beauty and light. Unattended; petals wilt, color lost...
Justin, Christine, and Larry were returning to campus after a weeklong spring break in Miami. They just put Jacksonville behind them when Christine mentioned that she was hungry and had to go pee. A few exits later, Larry who was driving, spotted a sign that had a restaurant and restroom icon. He pulled off at Route 17 and drove his 2006 silver Buick in the direction the signs pointed. They were one the road for a number of miles, but never came upon any restaurants or even a gas station. Thirty minutes later, a large road sign saying “You Are Now Entering Florida” came into view. Christine was getting desperate by now, so they pulled over so she could run behind some trees and relieve herself.