Falling; A 9/11 Story_Dragons and Dreams_Summer Breeze_To Boldly Go...
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Falling; A 9/11 Story
The gunshots rang in the distance, their cover was getting shredded by enemy rounds and explosives. Private Luke Roberts of the 1st Battalion fought ferociously, his M16 was scorched due to the number of bullets he was firing. However, it was not enough, the situation was hopeless and the squadwww.onedoor.cc went down, one by one. Waiting for his time to come, Luke muttered a prayer and continued to retaliate against the army ahead of him. “Take cover!”The ominous shadow of an explosive loomed over Luke as he dove into the nearby sand. Kaboom! Just as the sand settled back onto the ground and screams of ag...
Dragons and Dreams
As Nera lead the charge against the dragons, I watched from the right wing. Nera and I had been friends for so long, but now that she was “the chosen one”, she didn’t acknowledge my existence. I’m not bitter, but… I miss the old days. “C’mon, Daemyn!” Nera called, snapping me out of my sleep. “Let’s go.” I blinked at her, and she wiped her eyes. “Daemyn, I learned something horrible about the kingdom. We have to go, or else I’ll die!” Shaking my head, I groggily turned to look at her. “What?” “No time for questions, we have to go!” Nera tugged me up, then began to pack her own things. I grabbe...
Summer Breeze
We’re passing through Airlie Beach when we notice her. A young woman who looks to be in her early 20s stands at the side of the road with her thumb out a few metres ahead of us. Her waist-length brunette hair is fashioned into dreadlocks. She has dirt on her face, and she wears a pair of torn floral shorts, a vest, and a baseball cap. She does not wear shoes yet her feet, like many other parts of her body, are covered in tattoos. My mother would have called her a hick, or a bogan, or a hippie. My mother likes to remind us how lucky we are that we are not like those people.Much to my surprise, ...
To Boldly Go...
John and Sarah Burroughs beget David, who beget Tyler, who beget Abner, who beget George, who beget Edgar. It sounded like some humdrum bible verse; the kind a monotone Quaker preacher might drone on with to his congregation, in a musty Massachusetts one-roomed church house, during the dead heat of summer. Sweltering humidity and palpable boredom lay about heavily.But it became a mantra for little Edgar; one that he would recite his entire life. It helped ground him in reality, in that it reminded him from when, and from whom, he actually came. It too, helped at uncertain times like these. Lik...