The Eternal Summer of Somner_Renter's Right_A Bride in the Hand is Worth Two in the Books_How to
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The Eternal Summer of Somner
Kids waited in lines for a refreshing ice cream cone from a sweat-drenched vendor, only for their long-awaited treat to melt in the cone. I licked my parched lips, feeling thirst well up in my throat, and I greeted it like an old friend. From my hideout in the crook of the slide at the deserted playground on an near empty avenue, I tried to peel my perspiring skin from the plastic play-set. Halfway through the sticky ordeal, I gave up, slumping back into the sliver of shade. I contemplated trying to find a building whose air conditioning wasn’t broken but, knowing it was a fruitless endeavor,.www.onedoor.cc..
Renter's Right
Was it a catch, or simply a condition that tends to accompany success in scrambling frantically for one of life's basic needs? A scramble that if not successful might result in a life too dreary to imagine. Whatever it was, its potential was completely lost on us because we were in celebration mode. We were the happiest people alive. Aside from the overwhelming joy that was pumping through our veins that can only come by way of dodging a bullet, the only things left to occupy our minds were the questions that simply did not matter anymore; did he really not run a credit check on us? Was he emb...
A Bride in the Hand is Worth Two in the Books
“Speak now,” said the clergyman, “or forever hold your peace.” Silence. Nothing moved in that tiny church save for the dust motes in the beams of golden noon light, and for just that moment all eyes turned from the bride and groom, eagerly watching if anyone would dare. And then, just as everyone was about to exhale, the creak of the door opening juddered through the air. And a man entered the church, his shadow looming down the aisle. “Yeah,” he drew out. He held a briefcase and he doffed his hat. “Might be, I have a word or two to say.” The clergyman covered his face with his palm. “Jesus,” ...
How to Repay Kindness
Fear spiraled through me before I even opened the letter, and as my eyes darted across the ink, my heart dropped. Anger replaced terror, and my fist clenched so tight, bones popped out of my flesh. If my children weren’t sleeping a few doors down, I would’ve yelled, but at this time of night, all I could do was stuff the waves of frustration and hatred deep down inside of me.I don’t want to see them. Memories of high school flooded back to me, and my body shuddered. The laughing, the lunchroom, the three years I spent with them: pain consumed every corner of my days there, and now, this letter...