The words hit me like a sucker punch. My hands found my knees as I struggled for air that had come so easily just a moment before.
Thirty-four young girls stood lined up against a bus with black letters that had faded into blurred lines. A few stared at their worn shoes. I was thankful for that because I could not bear one more set of eyes on me. The rest watched me with desperation and guilt, wanting so badly to be chosen, but knowing what that would mean for the ones who were not. My soul seemed to collapse under weight of the choices before me.
I turned to the Mr. Diacov who stared at me in an effort to avoid the silent pleas from the girls. Black buttons struggled to hold his grey suit together around the bulge of his stomach. The dark circles under his green eyes nearly matched his coal-black shaggy hair and the stubble that covered his chin.
“Please.” I begged. “There must be something we can do. The home can hold more than…” (more…)
Jenna barely heard the rough clicks of Sam’s key in the door over the gentle hiss of the water as she washed the vegetables. A quick sigh escaped from her mouth. As much as she loved her husband, after work he tended to be a bit grumpy. The fresh stack of bills that lay on the counter would only make it worse. She turned off the water and began to wipe her hands when she saw him come into their tiny apartment, turning to close the door and lock it behind him.
Jenna grinned at the sight of him. He had an unassuming cuteness about him. When she had first seen him at their church she never would have pictured them together. He had shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes, and an average frame that could easily be lost in a crowd, but he was smart enough to know that those were not his strength.
The first time Sam had approached her it was simple and quick. He introduced himself and came off as shy. Each time they spoke after that he emerged from of his shell a little more. It did not take long for Jenna to see his heart and know that it was more beautiful than any other she knew. He had a rare combination of a sweet spirit and powerful intellect. Sam could make you feel like the most wonderful person in the world or like you didn’t exist. He knew the power of words and just how to use them.
Hey everyone! This is not a story, but I did want to let you all know a couple things.
First, I can’t even begin to tell you all how honored and privileged I am that you would take the time to read my words each week. You guys have provided me with so much encouragement and feedback. I owe so much of my growth as a writer to you all and “thank you” does not begin to cover how much I appreciate you.
Secondly, as many of you noticed, I did not post a story last week. I was in the middle of moving across the country. This may happen a bit more in the future (the missing a week, not the moving) as I focus on some lengthier writing projects. The purpose of my move was so that I can dedicate some time to publish a book of short stories and write a novel. I will be documenting my journey of these new endeavors on my brand new author site byAdamDrake.com If you would like see a more personal side of me and follow my progress as an author, please check it out and follow me there as well. (It’s still through WordPress too)
I am working on a story for this week, so hopefully that will get me back into the routine.
Thank you all again. I do not know if I would have had the courage to attempt what I am about to do without all your encouragement. Don’t ever forget the power of your words to one trying to change the world with them.
I looked over to the clock on the stove as I dried off my hands. The red numbers glowed 7:03. Only twenty-seven minutes left.
Tonight, everything had to be perfect because she was perfect. Well, maybe not perfect, but perfect for me. Thoughts of the first time I saw her flashed into my mind. I don’t remember it, but she swears I said, “I was hoping maybe meeting me would be nice and you have pretty smile.” Maybe I did. I was so nervous. Mortals have no place in the company of angels. (more…)
Mrs. Wonder smiled politely and started a gentle clap that prompted the rest of her first grade class to follow suit. Show-and-tell Friday’s had become a predictable time of slow talking and a round of letting all the students touch each object. This week’s theme of “What I Collect” had been a small parade of Barbie’s, superhero action figures, and for those who forgot to bring something… shoes.
“Friedrich Nietzsche is famous for his quote ‘God is dead,” but he was wrong. To be dead, one has to exist in the first place. God has never been. If anybody is in here to find out about God, you are in the wrong place. This is a course on religion.”
These were the first words I ever heard from Professor Gangadean. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room. The rolled up sleeves of his linen shirt and his silver hair helped him look every bit the part of a wise philosopher. (more…)
The soulful sound of Nat King Cole singing Oh Holy Night greeted Morgan Thames as she walked into Starbucks. She mumbled under her breath, “It’s too early for Christmas music.” Thanksgiving was still a week away, but fake holly and miniature Christmas trees throughout the store were already bringing joy to the world.
Joy felt like a slap in Morgan’s face. If she were a drinker she would have found a rundown bar with seedy characters in the dark corners. But she was not drinker so dulling her sorrow with large amounts of caffeine had become her chosen alternative. Morgan rolled her eyes when her vanilla latte appeared at the bar with a smiley face in place of the “o” in her name.
Melissa was running behind on her rounds, but could not force her legs to move. The boy who held her attention looked to be about 7 years old. She half hid herself behind the wall at the entrance of the waiting room to help conceal her bright pink scrubs as she watched him. Through her years at the children’s hospital she had seen hundreds of kids in this room, but none like this. Some were afraid and held on tightly to their parents. Others were easily distracted by the bright colored walls and toys and began playing as soon as they could escape the grip of their parent’s hand.
The small boy sat on the floor next to the Lego table quietly watching the people around him with deep blue eyes. His shaggy brown hair shifted slightly every time he turned look at something new. His eyes moved slowly around the room, taking in everything, until they came to rest on her. He met her gaze and she waited for him to look away shyly like children do, but he never did. She smiled and he quickly returned expression as if he had been waiting for an opportunity to do so.
The snow floated down lazily with each flake giving way to those that fell beneath them until coming to rest on the white blanket that spread out across the city. The late morning sun ricocheted brightly off the monochromatic landscape. Winds whipped through the yard of the small brick house where death lived. In the midst of the cold a single flower stood in defiance of winter’s invasion. Red petals clung to the stem that gave them life. Winter had come in the night and stolen the color from the city.
He hated the winter. The vibrant hues of life were the only thing that made it worth going on. Staring out his window he was mesmerized by the flower. It had stood up against the onslaught of white that had destroyed his beautiful world and for that it would never die. He would protect it against…well himself. His name was Bob and he was death.