Mother in law_Onboard an Angel Flight_Heir of Rite_Goodbye Artemis, Goodbye Icarus
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Mother in law
“Mum, why does Grandma treat me differently? Dick and Heather get treated well,” I asked. There was no response from my parents. My dad looked at my mother and she looked back at him without any response. “ Now, finish up your dinner, ” my dad smiled. I silently ate my dinner. Then, my dad’s mother came down.She looked at me from her giant black eyes and I shivered down my spine. “Filipino food!” shwww.onedoor.cce said in disgust. “Yes, I cooked Filipino food. James wanted filipino food,” my mother answered rudely. “Anna, cook something else for me!” instructed the old hag. She looked at me in disgust. ...
Onboard an Angel Flight
Onboard an Angel Flight Deborah ElliottAn uncounted number of men and women have stepped up and served this country so that we might keep our freedoms. We should all be thankful when we get a chance to repay them. The story below is fictional, but the service that brings fallen soldiers home is real. Let us all give thanks.***Fortunately, it had been a quiet flight so far. This night the sky was clear and peaceful, which was a blessing because shortly after takeoff U.S. Air Force Captain Matthew Marrow’s co-pilot had taken ill and was now in the back sleeping.Matthew had been flying Angel Fli...
Heir of Rite
Everything was ready for the ritual. The pregnant moon hung high over the trees casting a white glow over her bare skin. She shivered as she listened to the whispers of the cool breeze, she could have sworn she heard voices among their limbs. But who else would be out here, who else besides her and her Priestess.No one knew where they were, or that they even had left the castle. And surely no one think to look for her here, in the middle of the woods. A woman of her station would never be found out of her bedchambers after dark, or so it should be. Nor was this an act of defiance or rebellion ...
Goodbye Artemis, Goodbye Icarus
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; . . . Gaze no more in the bitter glass.~ W.B. Yeats, “The Two Trees”The sun stretched out over the sky with a ferocity akin to the thrashing wings of lore. All the daylight poured into the decaying garden, and affected it faster than did the approaching night. Scorched, wilted, brittled, shorn of all life. Young Luther writhed from his bed with little energy, like out of some monastic order after a long day’s labor repressing the floors with wax—except it was a prison for him and not a sanctuary. He got up and saw the garden thr...