She will not live long_Say "Cheese"_I Am Not A Criminal_342
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She will not live long
This story belongs to the author, and although we share the same name, she will not bewww.onedoor.cc telling her story. She was born not of this world but up there, somewhere – I don't know where. In my days, she walked the earth. She lived a stone's throw away from me. Her parents weren't home often so, she spent most of her life in her bedroom. You could see her seated at her desk; overlooking out the window to roofs and chimney tops. I lived on the opposite side of the street and from my window, I could see her there. She only had a few friends that came and went from the house; A house that she eventual...
Say "Cheese"
Martín bounced on the balls of his vans-clad feet, watching the precarious way his younger primo balanced the glass platter of chocolate chip cookies on top of his head. As the small boy rounded the corner into the kitchen, Martín imagined him tripping over his own shoelaces, or knocking his shoulder into the wall. The platter would shatter outwards, and hours of baking the mysteriously misshapen cookies would be for nothing. He started walking forwards, was about to snatch the platter from out of his grip when somebody grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in for a hug. “Martín! How are you? I ...
I Am Not A Criminal
Moral authority is only recognized by those who share those same morals. By that same reasoning, moral authority can only be taken away by those who feel it right. Standing there, my toes tapping inside my leather shoe, I realized that my own moral authority was gone. Acting as general manager of the Great lakes First Security Bank, I know that I had so many people looking at me to always do the right thing. And here I was, ready to throw it back in their faces. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat.Over the course of the 20 years I had worked there, I had probably given close to 35 bank sec...
342
I’ll get second place today. I always get second place when she’s in the race. And these days, more often than not, she’s in the race. I let the familiar sense of Never Enough wash over me. The sounds of failure scream so loud in my head that I almost don’t hear the starting pistol.And just like that we’re off. Hundreds of Nikes, Reeboks, and New Balances are pounding the pavement in a comforting rhythm. By the time the surface under our feet morphs from steamy hot asphalt to crunchy gravel we’ve left the weekend warriors and fun runners behind. Only the footfalls of a few dozen are still wit...