Remembering and reflection.
…off, let's know just a smidge about how this amazing man came to be.
Robin McLaurin Williams was born in Chicago, Illinois, on July 21, 1951. His mother, Laura McLaurin was a former model from New Orleans, Louisiana. His father, Robert Fitzgerald Williams was a senior executive at Ford Motor Company in charge of the Midwest region. His maternal great-great-grandfather was Mississippi senator and governor Anselm J. McLaurin. Williams's ancestry included English, Welsh, Irish, Scottish, German, and French.
He was raised in the Episcopal Church (while his mother practiced Christian Science). He grew up in Bloomfield Hills…
By RayFed Read More
Planning a honeymoon and life threw a curveball.
…and Mrs. William Batts were finally taking their long delayed honeymoon trip. They were recipients of a Caribbean cruise as prize for opening a combined checking and savings account with Patriot’s National Bank.
Lisa planned on completing the novel she was writing...actually “thinking about” for two years. Bill just wanted to put his feet up, drink beer, and smoke his cigar. They joked it was time to consummate their marriage now that their four children were grown and not likely to interrupt.
The laptop and notebooks were stowed in the computer…
By Robert L. Scarry Read More
…last mortal act was murder.
Now, prowling the dark places, she wonders about karma and redemption. And what a really good pastrami sandwich would taste like.
She was standing where she always stood on the platform, well away from the crowded spots by the stairs and turnstiles, reading. Let the rest of the cattle shove themselves into the middle cars. Even when she didn’t get a seat, she at least had some breathing room by coming down here to the end of the platform.
Sometimes she gazed idly at the steps that led down into the tunnel and wondered about…
By Remington Write
…wish the rain would come down smooth and slow, instead it’s just these buckets of sorrow. I refuse to edit myself as my tears fall and I say goodbye. You know more than anyone what the enslavement of my “Baggage” left me with. As I left the hospital I struggled to breath and speak with nothing more than a backpack and a plane ticket. I tried to play cool and I tried to avoid being seen.
Believe it or not I was once innocent, full of life and love. We were in the beginning happy and full of romance. When…
By Michael Vegas Gialketsis Read More
A story about the last human A.I. battle cruiser Indomitable, referred to as 'Dom' by his crew.
…battle mode Dom."
"Aye, aye, Captain.", I say and his eyes close at the last.
In the delirium of my battle screens I watched crimson rain of micro beams fall and cyan streaks of plasma cut through the air.
The flash of freshly burnt copper vaporized and accelerated to speeds of light hangs in a haze over my view.
I find myself unable to act for a micro second, caught in hideous beauty of war within a vacuum.
To believe I and…
By RayFed Read More
Looking through the cabin windows, the lake gave me this visual.
…on the water, winds drive waves upon the rocks
Brightly colored water toys swept off their spots on docks
Boats are safely brought ashore, secure away from shoals
Laundry in from clotheslines, among the stated goals
Tools that rest near projects, gathered up and put in sheds
Garden gloves collected from the bordered flower beds.
Though the sun is shining, in the distance still a haze
Local knowledge tells of how the wind could last for days
The far shore just a grey-green line that clouds are trying to…
By James Geehring Read More
In the wake of the latest rounds of gun violence in America...
…day of school
Reading and math and playgrounds
The bus ride home
Playing in the yard until dark
Dinner with Mom and Dad
Tucked in with kisses at bedtime
Dreams of sunlit days and rainbows
That's how the story should have ended
Came and angry young man with a gun
Shopping at the mall
Picking clothes and toys and trinkets
The drive home
Painting the nursery
A quiet evening together
Choosing a name
Planning all your tomorrows
That's how the story…
By Mike Turner
A story of how childhood misfortune situation propelled one to chase a bigger dream.
…ripe one! Hit the ripe one! exclaimed the stubborn adventurous voice in me. Coupled with my hunger on a hot Saturday afternoon, as my patchy dried lips could no longer be greased by my saliva, and my barefooted wandering about had yielded no result. I sighted this beautiful ripe mango, defying gravity as it hanged on the biggest tree that gave shade to passersby and family or friends who waited fervently for visiting hours to enter in to the Suleimana memorial…
By Hamza Ayub Read More
Layla never really believed in UFOs. She has a rude awaking and so the the Aliens who are in her bathroom!
…the hell is up and talking loud enough to wake her up. Layla open her eyes and raised up on her arms. She couldn’t believe it. Standing in the doorway of her bathroom, was a short grey alien like you see on television. She felt something try to push into her mind, but the alien couldn’t do it. Layla reached for her gun that she kept under the pillow she didn’t sleep on. Relief went through her as her hand grasped the gun. She felt a harder push and raised the gun, shooting the alien in the head. The alien fell to the floor. A tall darker grey colored alien stepped into her view. Layla watched as the tall alien turned his head sending power towards her. She shot him before the power tried to push into her mind. It stopped as soon as the darker alien joined the other alien on the…
By Hope Strong Read More
This short story was inspired by the work Junji Ito, a Japanese author who relishes the freedom of horror stories that thrive on not answering every question the reader might have.
…had been a week since Max’s funeral. His family had chosen not to have a casket. Our guess was there hadn’t been enough left of him to put in one after the accident. Instead, his grandmother had him cremated and put his ashes on display. I remember noticing the box then. I’d only ever seen urns used for ashes, and a box didn’t seem like it would hold them…
By Nick McCusker Read More