Shelly Brooks
Bio
Stories (5/0)
In the Name of Jesus
In the name of Jesus So many offensive things have been done in his name recently that Christianity is getting a bad reputation. Jenna Ryan starts repeating, “In the name of Jesus” over and over again as she breaches the capital and trespasses along with the other terrorist. Jake Angeli, the QAnon Shaman, trespasses, destroys property, threatens lawmakers then stands on the center desk and leads a prayer on a megaphone. Trump ordered peaceful protesters to be cleared out with tear gas and rubber bullets so he could pose in front of a church waving the bible around upside down. Evangelicals claim that Trump was sent by God all the while treating him as a demigod. These are just a few recent examples of atrocities committed in the Lord’s name. It makes me nauseous, and it gives so many sane educated people an open to demonize Christianity.
By Shelly Brooks3 years ago in The Swamp
This is Not My Beautiful House
There is a moment before the sun wakes, the air is crisp, and my spot under the weight and warmth of the covers is cozy; I am happy and at home. So happy in this place that I don’t want to move; I don’t want to fully wake and face the reality of the day. I’m free in this half-asleep state, free to dream of a time taken for granted the little things. I remember the feel of the cold tile beneath my feet and the sound of my dogs tap dancing around between my room and the back door alerting me to let them out, the rich smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, and that quiet time before the rest of the house wakes.
By Shelly Brooks3 years ago in Families
Gulf Steam Time Machine
My daughter and I have a Custom Gulf Stream Time Machine that can go anywhere anytime, and we’re in the mood for a beachside dinner party with a couple of our heroes. On average writers can be a reclusive bunch. There are few dynamic personalities among the authors whose work I admire most. For instance, Hunter S. Thomson knew how to party. That is what made his Gonzo style of writing so engaging. The reader gets to live vicariously through him when he jumped headfirst into dangerous and often self-destructive behavior. We do not have to dodge bullets, get beaten up by a biker gang, or go on lengthy acid trips to know what it is like. As a reader of Hunter S. Thompson’s work, we can get a play by play of the moment to moment smells, sounds, and feels that made Gonzo writing so popular.
By Shelly Brooks4 years ago in Feast
The Smell of Garlic and Sound of Guitar
My home was most inviting when filled with the sound of acoustic guitar and the smell of garlic lofting through the air. Everyone tended to gravitate to the kitchen in the evening. My dear friend Rob would sit on a stool and teach my son Alex something new on the guitar, while my little girl Amybeth would dance around in one of her tutu’s, and I would stir the pot of gravy. I love calling spaghetti sauce gravy. My ex-husband's little Italian spitfire of a grandmother called it gravy so when she taught me to make it “gravy” was like a special code word passed on with a secret recipe. Her secret ingredient was a completely unexpected addition.. After all the meticulously prepared raw fresh ingredients she added a can of original Rotel.
By Shelly Brooks4 years ago in Humans
Absolute Best Friend
My best friend Kim and I were a couple of square pegs that shared a crush for a blue-eyed skater boy, and a desire to be noticed. The crush passed, and Kim and I began plotting a path to popularity. Looking back, it was all so silly, but the journey made us best friends forever. It was an adventure that I am shocked we survived. From one dangerous turn to the next we are so lucky to have made it through alive and well. I met a boy in a band that practiced in a storage facility that was a common place for bands to practice at that time. Any given weekend you could find several bands playing around trying to hone their craft. It was the eighties and long-haired boys with skinny slick pants playing their way towards unlimited drugs and girls was a common goal for most of the musically inclined. We planned a weekend party to end all parties. The invitation was a flyer strung across our high school campus. Our contribution was three trashcans filled with punch, spiked with 180 proof Everclear. Once we ran out of punch (and we did run out fast) Kim and I had a couple of college boys drive us to the liqueur store. We rode in the back of a truck for safety purposes; it made good sense at the time. After the boys bought us more Everclear, we dared each other to take a swig of the liquor straight up. I imagine that is what getting shot in the chest feels like. It knocked me over and I almost fell out of the truck bed. More than a minute passed without the feeling of air entering my lungs. I am not sure how many times we came close to death that night, but the party was a smash hit. Unfortunately, no one really knew we were the host; no one even knew who we were. The bands gained a new following and however depth-less their intentions, their immense talent thrived. This was the start of a trend in our lives; one which grew into hit local businesses for booking and promoting much later in life.
By Shelly Brooks4 years ago in Humans