A different kind of record scratch
“Are you sure this is a good idea, dude?” Marcus asked Kyle. ‘You’ve heard the stories, just like I have. And they all say that link is bad news. Like, The Ring level of bad news. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to get myself killed just so you can say you had a better party than Josh Hanson!”
Pears in Bloom
The pear tree was in full bloom. John could see it, outside his window. The bright yellow fruit hanging from its branches, leaves gently swaying in a calm and cool north-eastern breeze. It had been one of the first things John had noticed upon arrival at his billet - a quiet French farmhouse near some village whose name he couldn’t remember, much less pronounce the few times he’d been told what it was. It was taller than the apple trees he’d grown up around, on his father’s orchard. The locals seemed to have some form of great civic pride for “their” tree, carefully tending its boughs and making sure no pest or beast got close enough to leave any scars in their small town’s idyllic symbol.
Looking into the Bull's Eye
Looking into the Bullseye A Short Story by Olivier Champagne. Joaquin couldn’t do it. All his life, it seemed, had been leading up to this moment. His father, his uncles, everybody- had been shaping him for this moment, when he would prove that he could finally join “The family business” as everyone around him called it with a snicker and a laugh. They all tried to toughen him up, to make him able to commit the literal kind of dirty work that was the purview of all the men in his family.
Poppies aren't the only thing to grow...
July 19, 1918 Near Soissons, France James Wilkinson stood, shivering despite the clear midsummer sun in the sky above him, and waited for the fatal order that, in his mind, very much would spell the end for his all too short life. Alongside his fellows in the American 1st Division, he was waiting in a hastily-prepared trench line in the Marne river plain of North-Eastern France. Just a few short weeks ago, the German Empire had launched its last great offensive on the Western Front, Operation Friedensturm, or “Peace-Storm”. Their goal was to break through the weakly held Allied line in front of Paris and seize the undefended capital before swinging north to trap the battered British Expeditionary forces, hopefully bringing the Great War to a successful- or at least tolerable- conclusion before endless masses of American troops arrived and reduced the Kaiser’s hopes to naught. The German drive was blunted,but not before the enemy had made considerable gains and established new positions- positions out of which it was now the duty of the 1st, as well as other American and French units, to drive the Germans.
Two things, so different, and yet..
There are two activities that calm me. No, more than calm me. They make me feel alive, and In control of a life where control is so often not to be found.
A Shark among the Wolfpack
July 17th, 1940 North Atlantic Ocean, roughly 300 Nautical Miles south-west of Ireland. "Ughhh!" Able-Seaman Roland Jones' breath filled his lungs with the force of a boxer's punch as he finally broke the still surface of the Atlantic, and the Midnight air hitting his body made him realize just how much warmer the depths below were than the sky above.
"Help from my Dad"
Man, I freakin' hate school. Man, I REALLY frickin' hate school. This really better help with coach. Such was the thought that kept pounding through Andrew Willis' head, day in, day out, as he plodded through the last few months of his Senior Year at Woodrow Wilson High School. Where he had once been an up-and-coming quarterback on the football team throughout his sophomore and junior years, considered by his coach and many of his peers to be a shoo-in for an athletic scholarship and a potential 'secret weapon' for their cause in championships, that had all changed in the past few months, when an injury on the field had left him with several torn ligaments in his leg and put an end to any potential dreams of the New York Giants, a Vince Lombardi trophy, and eternal athletic glory he may have had.