Leah's Legacy_The first Christmas_The Trials of War_The Clean Out
Catalog Guide:
Leah's Legacy
It’s a sunny afternoon when the light begins to fade and we gather around the fire pit in the backyard. Erick shoves his hands in his pockets and peers at me from the corner of his eye. I have felt his eyes on me for the last few minutes. “What?” I say, somewhat rudely.“I just never realized how red your hair is sometimes,” hwww.onedoor.cce says shighly, peering down at his boots in the cold dirt. The light from the sunset is peering above the trees now and there is a ray of sunshine in his eyes. I sigh heavily, somewhat annoyed that this was the one thing on his mind at this moment. “I know, sometimes it ...
The first Christmas
Winter came earlier that year. The wind saw cities collapse. Surrendering to the tempest of October. The hearths of millions could not keep homes warm. This is how I started. This is my tale.In the month before Christmas, when Christmas was not yet marketed or truly existing, and when my clothes and skin still reeked of gut-spillage, shame and defeat, and when the strike of midnight anaesthetized the rare drunks consistently awake, the good-for-nothing ice-prince arrived on the shores of his new homeland. In this story, I am the prince and there were no shores. Fantasy is what makes it special...
The Trials of War
Everything in life happens for a purpose. A quote I know all too well. My story takes us years back, to when I was in the military. I fought for my country against those who opposed it, did everything in my possible power to prevent them from taking any of us. They said we'd gain a sense of pride in defending our home. They never told us about the thousands of people bloodshed - the families separated, the many friends who lost their lives. They convinced us we were saving lives, but in truth, we were the ones who were taking them."Faster Soldiers, rally up!" Our general screamed at us as we r...
The Clean Out
The Clean Out The porch screen door is latched from the inside. I peer through the inner door window into the darkened hallway and the kitchen beyond. The overhead light is off and the chairs are pushed under the table. There’s no sign that she’s been in the kitchen. No coffee cup and spoon. No plate and knife. No butter dish and sugar bowl. I pound on the window. “Aunt Kitty. Are you there?” No answer. “Are you there, AUNT KITTY?” I pound again, this time on the wooden frame of the door. "It's me. It's Nancy You’ve got the screen door la...