Dog Days of Summer_Technical Difficulty_Writing in the Woods_PROMISES
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Dog Days of Summer
“Germie! Germie, let’s go for a walk. I want to show you something!” His friend Nattie came running up, bubbling with excitement. Germie shrugged, laying on the warm bed of the faraway Shoulder Blade Forest trying not to hear Nat as she rattled on nonsensically. He liked her plenty fine, but she had a tendency to talk constantly and with much dramatical affect. “I swear our world is flat! I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Nattie rambled on, hardly caring that Germie was barely awake and hardly paying attention. “Went right up to the edge and it just ends.”“Just ends, huh?” Germie yawned, stretch...
Technical Difficulty
“Houston, we have a problem! Houston, Houston, come in!”“Houston, Houston Come in”. Captain Charlie McHue barked into the mike once more. Then crackling static cut short any further communication. McHue looked over at his co- pilot John McAlister, almost screaming at him.“Ease down on the throttle. We’ve got to land this thing soon. We’re losing altitude!”“The gears are stuck, nothing’s happening.”“ Try getting Houston International again. This time you’d better be successful or else we’re in for some really serious shit.” Both McHue and McAlistwww.onedoor.ccer were seasoned pilots. They often flew togethe...
Writing in the Woods
Writing in the Woods. I have always been a city boy, lived in the Big Town all my life. I really like being where everything and everyone is within close reach. The way I have long I seen the world is that if anything interesting is going on, it’s happening in the city – good jobs, good food, big league sports, and multiple movies and musical acts from which to choose.So why am I heading for a remote cabin right now. It’s a long story, which is more than I can say about my ‘work of literature’ as my wife calls it. I retired about a month ago. I had been anticipating it for quite some time, e...
PROMISES
PROMISESThe bus left Binghamton, New York, at 4:15 a.m. Denny and Jenny Skinner settled into their seats, uncertain of what awaited them in the city.One thing was true: they could not trust their father, John. The twins spoke little during the journey.Four hours and twelve minutes later, the Greyhound pulled into the Port Authority Terminal in New York City. The bus arrived at 8:27 a.m. The teenagers exited the bus, hoping to find their father waiting. Although he promised, his face was not among the multitude of faces on the platform. “I don’t understand, Jenny. In his letter, Dad promised to...