A little note before we start: I am in the stages of moving from my current residence to a new residence, and may not have internet access for a few days. Also, with moving comes lots of packing, planning, and getting things in order. Therefore, I may not be able to write anything in the next week. However, if I get the time and the patience, things will continue as normal.
That all being said, let’s get onto today’s story:
copyright Jennifer Pendergast
Beyond This Point
The young man beamed at his family with pride.
“This, by far, is one of the best days of my life. I finally have something I can call mine!”
His parents shined their approval as they looked at his garb.
As he picked up his cap from the ground, he looked around at the walls of the place where, for four years, he allowed himself to flourish.
“Mom? Dad? What do I do now?”
His dad smiled, and pointed behind him.
“Everything that happens from here on out, happens beyond that point. That gate is where life begins.”
(For Kristi, in the tough time she’s going through)
Fool’s Gold by Miles Rost
Teresa Farmer’s hand let the phone slip from her fingers.
She was in shock, she didn’t know what she could do.
“Hello? Hello? Teresa? You still there?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked, shaken with fear and peppered with worry.
Teresa picked up the phone and breathed again.
“Yeah….yeah…I’m here. I just…I…I’m not sure if I can say anything…”
“I understand. I guess, all I can say is that I am so sorry for what’s happened, and I wish I could be there to help.”
“Yeah, I know,” Teresa told her friend, who was stationed in Germany at one of the Air Force bases.
“When I get leave, I’ll come back and we can have a gripe session about this.”
“Get here when you can.”
They talked for a couple more minutes, said their pleasantries, and Teresa hung up her phone.
She walked to the living room, the place in her house that became her conversation parlor. She leaned back in her rocking chair and just pondered her situation. She lived alone in her house, her husband moving out many years ago after a rocky fight. 6 years of marriage, suddenly gone. No kids in the house to yell at, or to pick up after.
One more lonely piece of news filled the room, a room that was slowly becoming a room of memories. The news from her friend of her mother’s passing was intensely tough. While Helena Farmer was not a rough and tough rancher’s wife, she still held her own after many years of battle. Whether a battle against a railroad company to reclaim the mineral rights under her farm, or the battle against a major crop company that tried to force her to use seeds she didn’t want, Teresa’s mother was steadfast. She may not have been physically strong, but she made up for it plenty with sheer will, guts, spit, and vinegar.
Now, she was gone. It was less than a year after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and she was now gone. Teresa did not know what she was going to do. As she rocked in her chair, a warm afghan wrapped around her, the tears started to fall. As the cracks in her “armor” started to grow bigger, she wept louder, until it was unstoppable.
For the rest of that day, she grieved. She remembered, she cried, she wailed, she sobbed. She would go through the five stages of grief a few times before she could finally release. For this day, however, she needed to grieve.
I promise, I’ll get back to story writing very very soon. Moving and trying to get everything related to a new job done is a bit of a pain in the butt, along with trying to reduce stress.
copyright Sandra Crook
Settlers of…
by Miles Rost
The players, the warlords of the nation, met together for their turn.
“Alright, I’m needing some brick. Anyone got brick?” Mr. North asked
Mr. East snickered.
“I got tons of brick. Trade me some sheep?”
“Nah, I don’t have sheep now. The week wasn’t plentiful.”
“How about wheat?”
“I’ll trade you a wheat for a brick.”
“Deal,” he said, as he turned his head back towards his aide-de-camp, “Achmed! Bring the pallette of brick!”
Mr. North did the same with a large grain truck full of wheat.
Recovery takes a lot longer than a person thinks. It took me a week to get back to where I actually WANTED to post something. So, here’s the current FF post…and you’ll see another story up within the next day or so. Keep watching!
copyright B.W. Beacham
That Sinking Feeling
One of the things I forgot when I went to Alaska, and specifically Anchorage, was something my uncle told me.
“Dean, no matter what happens, do not EVER drive across a bay at low tide. No matter how dry it is.”
Well, to say the least, it was not my day. I was in a rush and said, “Hell with it, I’m crossing the Arm.”
And here I am, 12 hours later, my car is now out to sea and the tide flats are back to being tranquil.
A little note saying sorry for no posts this week. Due to some rather weird health issues, as well as lot of stress, I was in a bad place for a bit. Now that I’m better, however, I am ready to post and have fun with things. Make sure to keep a watch on this site, as you will have more stories coming soon. Now, on with the show!
copyright Renee Heath
Candle On The Table
She was entranced by the music. Elton John was always her favorite.
Hearing him sing “Candle In The Wind” was one of the highlights of her day when she sat down to relax after work. In fact, she played the song so much that she would sing it even at work.
This night, she was so entranced by the song that she didn’t notice what was happening on top of the table on the far wall.
The candle she lit had melted down, and the burning wick slowly fell onto the table. Catching a piece of paper on fire.
Music and Fiction 