vintage
Vintage content about relationships, unions and romances past.
The Little Black Book
It was ninety-five degrees outside, and a hundred and five inside the lower barracks. I fought long and hard this morning with Mom about going out to the fort on such a hot and humid day. Summers in coastal North Carolina are the southern cliche of hot, humid, and sticky. To put it short, it's a terrible day to be outside, much less deep inside Fort Macon's inner structure.
By Charlotte Russell3 years ago in Humans
At A Quarter Past Noon
To him, life and his craft were a similar construction - easily measured and assessed. Like the shadow of a plumb line, it was the straight lines that gave both strength and purpose. Banty Aynesworth was a man governed by precision. He always arrived on time, his mule lurching in worn traces maneuvered artlessly by the taciturn man perched in the buckboard. But what he lacked in grace he made up for in practicality. Who knew what drew him to such a macabre profession? His stepfather, by all accounts, had been boisterous and dependable. Later in life, however, he would share his son’s penchant for keeping to the roads. Instead of putting Banty’s hand to the plow, he had put it to the saw, and taught him to tame thickets of wild-grown oaks and pines into sleek boards. From his stepfather also came Banty’s personal creed: “A man honors his commitments and see things through.”
By Ria Carriger3 years ago in Humans
Evening Train
May 31, 1933 Kansas The train lurched and Iris Hazelwood opened her eyes. It was not a station stop, just another of those mysterious bumps familiar to regular railway passengers. A trifle to hardy souls who traveled by train across America’s vast western prairie. But Iris hadn’t boarded a train for years and she was unaccustomed to unexpected jolts and irregular motions.
By Donald Paul Benjamin3 years ago in Humans
History of St. Valentine's Day
St. Valentine was martyred on February 14. However, Valentine or Valentinus is the name of at least three martyred saints. The most celebrated are the two martyrs whose festivals fall on February 14. One was a Roman priest, the other, bishop of Terni.
By Bill Petro3 years ago in Humans
The Flask
The Flask May the 3rd, 1972, New York, at midnight… “Scotland, 1906.” Reggie babbled. The 95 years old was breathing heavily. Suddenly, a mysterious old worn little black book slipped from his right hand and fell on the vintage maroon Persian rug under his chair. The notebook’s pages opened as it hit the rug. “We did all we could, perhaps even more,” it read in the opened page. Along with it, an old flask fell from his hands. The words that Reggie just said became visible on one side of the fallen flask; “Scotland, 1906.” There was also something else written within the intriguing black booklet’s pages…
By Marcelo Palermo3 years ago in Humans
The Hike
It’s 1929, and there’s still not much a girl can get away with, huh? And that’s coming from me. No idea who I think I am, walkin’ around the way I do, not giving a single gosh darn, not workin’ a day of my little ol’ life away. Not real work, anyway. Not the way Tom defines it. “Joyce, don’t you care what’s gonna happen to us if they let me go?”
By Hannah Kfoury3 years ago in Humans
Hamish and Agatha's
Fiona stared into the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and dance, while around her, everyone who had known and loved her grandmother, talked or cried or both. She was numb. Curled around her steaming cup of hot coffee, she tucked her toes underneath herself and held the warm mug close to her chest. Her eyes closed and all the chatter and weeping slowly faded away into nothing.
By Emily Flanagan 3 years ago in Humans