Birmingham's Millions_The Boy with the Golden Hair_A Fine and Private Place (2981 Words)_Aaron
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Birmingham's Millions
June 12, 20151032 Pacific HeightsSan Fransisco Ca.94115To Myles Birmingham, Congratulations Mr. Birmingham. You don't know me and I you, but as I find myself bedridden as the result of my diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, I seemed to have been thinking of to whom I may bestow my fortune on of late. Of course, I have no immediate relwww.onedoor.ccatives or children, as I have always deemed the thought of marriage deplorable, but I find myself currently with no offspring for me to bequeath my belongings to. (Which is my fault really) But it has led me to a crossroads. I worked hard for my money and I really do...
The Boy with the Golden Hair
Staring up at the cold, metal ceiling of the submarine I pondered on my day and my disdain for the boy laying in the bed next to mine. He was an arrogant man who didn’t deserve to be on this venture to the deepest point in the world. His scientific abilities were subpar and to compensate he couldn’t even provide pleasantries to the crew. Refusing to look over, I sat there angry at the world around me, particularly the small corner that happened to be snoring to my right, and so the hours ticked by with me boiling underneath my rough cotton sheets, all the while Jack snored next to me. Why sho...
A Fine and Private Place (2981 Words)
1Bill Hastings, on his usual lunch-hour bike ride, marveled at the blue autumnal sky, enjoyed the temperature in the low 70s, the soft breeze and clear air, leaves just turning from green to yellow. He’s been blessed with a good life, he thought, a university professor, working in the world of ideas, mostly master of his own schedule. In good health. A bit unlucky in love, but maybe that was for the best; he reported to no one at home, kept his own course and counsel. The bike route wound through an old downtown cemetery, an interlude he always appreciated. Stately trees and manicured grass, ...
Aaron Tuttle
Seventeen-year-old Aaron Tuttle straitens his tie and attempts to smooth the wrinkles from his tuxedo jacket. Removing one sweaty hand from the corsage box, he wipes it on his trouser leg and rings the doorbell. The door opens, and his date’s father invites him in. A faint smell of Cinnamon Apple from the Yankee Candle on the small table beside him fills his senses until Jackie enters from the living room. Her poufy blue off-the-shoulder gown almost touches the floor. Light brown hair cascades down to her shoulders in waves where a small gold rope necklace circles a smooth white neck. The two ...