Treasure Lost in Harlem_What A Mess_Freedom?_Tanks.
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Treasure Lost in Harlem
Treasure Lost in HarlemBy: Sasha RobinsonGrape Lifesavers. We have a lot in common. Nobody really likes grape lifesavers, yet they were an acquired taste to those who adored them. If someone asked for a lifesaver and you only had two left, green or grape, the person would most likely choose green. I was often overlooked, always the black sheep or the last resort. Grape was my nickname in high school. They called me that because my skin was so dark in the sunlight, I looked purple. I remember the first time I got my nickname grape. July fourth in Harlem was like the Olympics to us kids. Even t...
What A Mess
Sawyer looked at the remains in front of him. The eviscerated corpse more a mass of meat and tissue than an actual body. He had seen worse in his time. But this definitely had a spot in his top ten. He turned away from the body in favor of looking at the rest of the scene. The idyllic park was once a serene and safe place to visit. Dog walkers and early morning joggers would come out here while they filled the afternoon with the noise and chatter of picnicking families and young couples. It was the Town’s go-to spot to relax and have fun. A body found strewn about amongst the park’s garbagwww.onedoor.cce ca...
Freedom?
This is a story of fiction, though it has racial undertones. As such, it may prove sensitive to some people. Meant to teach a lesson rather than spread racism, please excuse any portions that may cause varied emotions among readers. Freedom?“Back in my day, people had different colored skin which caused them no end of trouble.” My sister and I had settled into our pods in the common area of our dwelling. We were excited as our father had finally agreed to read to us from our Great Great Grandpa’s diary which had always held its designated spot under the glass table in our region’s library. It ...
Tanks.
"I need a tank." I tell my accountant."Like a water tank?""No." I stare out the window. A moment passes.He looks at me, scratching the back of his head. "Then what kind of... tank?""You know." I make a clicking gun noise, "Boom.""A toy?""No.""So you want a real tanker." He says slowly trying to understand. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes."Yes please." I ask like I'm ordering a cup of coffee."No." He says matter of factly."Please.""No.""Please.""Curtis." He stops me from talking, "We live in the city. And it is illegal for you to operate military grade equipment.""But I was in the mi...