Long Chapters, Short Story_Sunrises with Shay_Snow Along The DMZ_They Never Listen
Catalog Guide:
Long Chapters, Short Story
The days felt long. The end of the first chapter of her life began at the ripe age of seventeen. She met a boy. She knew this was it because she could see her future in his eighteen year old eyes. However after joining twww.onedoor.cche Army, they sent him far away. She couldn't go. She prayed, she begged and she cried thousands of tears. She pleaded with God to bring him safely back to her. She impatiently waited for each passionate love letter to arrive in the mail. She kept each letter and pored over each word countless times. The days were torturously long before God answered her prayers, but what she d...
Sunrises with Shay
As fresh snow blanketed the towering pines and the winding streets, I stared out the window, desperate to get myself a slice of that ivory heaven. I had spent countless winters in the Adirondacks, a short drive from my hometown of Toronto, and the mere sight of acre after white-washed acre never failed to steal my breath away. The winter wonderland exuded a serenity that was majestic yet humbling, like the entire stretch of paradise was mine to revel in despite my relative insignificance. In my youth, feeling the rush of wind against my cheeks while skiing down Titus Mountain had been a staple...
Snow Along The DMZ
The DMZ is a miserable place any time of the year, especially in winter. I was an infantry soldier in the U.S. Army stationed on the DMZ in the winter of 1968、 The DMZ is a demilitarized zone partly in North Korea and partly in South Korea. The actual boundary between the two countries was in the middle, but nobody explained to us where one country started, and the other ended. Maybe that was the point; the lack of demarcation created plausible deniability. The DMZ is a two-kilometer wide buffer that runs across the Korean Peninsula, from the Sea of Japan on the east to the Yellow Sea on the ...
They Never Listen
THEY NEVER LISTEN “People never listen,” the old man at the bridge said, as if it was something he had said a thousand times before, but it never ceased to surprise him. “Up to you, but they never listen!” He was manning a little tollbooth. I couldn’t quite decide if it looked more like a miniature log cabin or a very primitive public toilet, though the cash till inside was surprisingly modern; its digital display bright in the gloom of an impending summer storm. “No refunds, you know.” The sign, too, was an odd amalgam. The fact that it looked a little like the sign outside the Bates...