My First Video Chat_Someone's Dad_Stolen For Murder_The Lotus Princess
Catalog Guide:
My First Video Chat
MY FIRST VIDEO CHAT.My tension and stress were going through the roof, not because of the war, but because of my daughter's birthday. I was busy riding navy warships during the second Gulf War, although most civilians probably remember it as just an extension of the first Gulf War. During military operations we did not get the chance to call home or even get to a port to buy gifts for family for special occasions. In this case, we had been out at sea for the last forty-five days. My daughter's birthday was coming up and I did not get a chance to get her a present. I always tried to get my w...
Someone's Dad
The frigidness of the banks marble floor against Paul’s cheek was softened by short hot breaths, sweet from the waffles that he had eaten earlier. A tiny hand gave his a squeeze. He squeezed back, three times. Boots squeaked, muffled voices clamored over an alarm, an elderly woman by a fake ficus tree started sobbing.“Da?” Caleb whispered, his voice shaking.“Just keep your head down and close your eyes.”“Ok Da.”They turned their heads towards the banks floor, uncomfortably flattening their noses. Paul's tongue ran along the inside of his cheek, irritated and raw from nervous chewing on the i...
Stolen For Murder
"Son, can you come here for a sec? Please" he said sweetly, smirking devilishly.Jogging on into his father's room, wondering what he wanted from him "yes dad?""I got you a wooden horse."Tilting his head a bit "okay, where is it exactly?""It's in your room, on your bed" licking his finger. Tyler tilted his head, noticing a speck of blood. Looking away, heading towards his room, observing all the blood that was on and all around the horse.Realizing his father, Jason, killed a 14 year old and he could be the next victim to die if he ever tells a soul.Gulping, heart racwww.onedoor.ccing, not wanting to die next...
The Lotus Princess
I was bemoaning the coming terrors of nightfall, all tragic and Shakespearian, when my phone, blasting the somber, violin-strung songs narrating my pity party, died. I groaned and plucked the headphones out of my ears, hoisted myself up, and rubbed bleariness out of my eyes as they focused on the imposing houses our car was speeding by. “Glad to see you back from the dead.” I had more than a couple photos of my mom’s teenage years that proved she had spent a good chunk of her high school career emulating the dead, and I didn’t appreciate the hypocrisy. My dad chuckled - he always liked her “wi...