Feebletown_Just See What's Out There_Encounters With a Stranger: A Humorous Prospective_Dreams o
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Feeblwww.onedoor.ccetown
Although they knocked five times, all I did was sweat and tremble. We hadn’t had a visitor in over six years. In the town of Feebletown, people never knocked on doors. Since what happened to Freda, nobody has done nothing.Oh, Lord. The stranger just asked if anyone was home. From my place on the floor, I peered over the couch and squinted through the space between the blinds, hard enough to cause a headache. Why would someone ever need such a large backpack?“Hello?” The stranger called again.With one eye open, I prayed for them to leave.“Trudy,” my mother whispered from the kitchen. Like moth...
Just See What's Out There
“I only read books about the Holocaust,” she said. He wondered if he’d heard her right, it was very loud inside the bustling restaurant after all. “You read what, now?” he asked half-heartedly and a little bit confused.“Ok, I wasn’t exactly accurate there, I just realized,” she said, laughing. “I mostly read books about the Holocaust, but I switch it up sometimes with ones about escaping religious cults.” She paused when she saw his face, his eyes blinking slowly. “It’s always some atrocity or another that reels me in,” she said, staring down into her lap. He seemed to ignore the conversationa...
Encounters With a Stranger: A Humorous Prospective
I feel compelled to share my story about the metamorphosis of the relationship between my lovely daughter and myself, her biological mother.After all the energy my daughter spent, trying not to become everything that I am in this world, I find it humorous, that observing my daughter now is comparable to a stranger looking into a mirror at herself. "God must truly have a sense of humor." I said to myself. Let me start from the beginning.On my fifty-first birthday, the shrill ringing of the telephone, interrupted the gloomy and depressive mood I was in. I thought to myself, if I hear one more I ...
Dreams of Living
Sal’s Diner stuck out of the desert like an ice cream cone discarded on the beach. A ragged border where asphalt met sand marked three sides of the lot. The fourth side joined the interstate. Two ancient gas pumps faced the road, nauseous with rust. Inside, 50s and 60s memorabilia cluttered the walls, and the jukebox played non-stop rock and roll. A sign behind the bar advertised ‘Real American Lemonade’. Sal, the owner, was full of wild ideas. One of his more outlandish schemes had the employees on roller skates while they waited tables. That lasted all of a week and a half before the entire ...