Ticks of a Year_The World's Greatest Prankster_The Hometown Man_Blurrsdays
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Ticks of a Year
Being just an ordinary grandmother clock in an ordinary house, you'd think I don't see much, but oh, I see plenty. From my spot in the north-eastern corner of the long rectangular dining room, I have the best view in the Darcy house. To my right, on the middle of the long, northern wall sits the fireplace, right across from the doors, piding the room in two. The twelve-seater dining room table on the west side and on the east, perfectly in my view, the lounge suite.23 December 1968, precisely 11:45、 The crackling fire creates a warm, soft light in the room at this late hour. Mother and father ...
The World's Greatest Prankster
Tanya waved her employee ID in front of the attendance device that recorded her in and out timings in the office with a beep each day. As she waited for the elevator to reach the eleventh floor, Tanya peered at the clear blue sky and the sprawling, lush-green campus of her company, an IT organization, through the tinted glass window, and grinned in anticipation of the day ahead. Today was no ordinary day. With a spring in her step, Tanya sauntered to the company bus stop area, where she boarded bus number 23 that would take her to the HSR Layout area of Bangalore city, where she shared a two-b...
The Hometown Man
The Hometown ManBy DF DeloriaThis quite humorous incident happened about thirty years ago.An unmarried and not so well-educated man named Dexter spent most of his entire life in his little hometown Zamboanguita in the province of Negros Oriental, Philippines. He hasn't really gone to big cities and entered big malls to shop or dine or simply to gallivant. Well, maybe he did once in Metro Manila (Philippines) when he was still 20 or 30 something. But that was a very long time ago when the Light Railway Transit (LRT) and Metro Rail Transit (MRT) weren't built up yet. Since that time, he is home...
Blurrsdays
The clicking of the knitting needles and the creaking of the wooden rocker were the only sounds in the room. The grandfather clock had ceased ticking on March 22nd, 1961, the day Henri had died. It seemed like centuries ago that Adeline’s beloved had died of a stroke while working in their vegetable garden. She had, as tradition warranted in her border town of Crespin, in Northern France, stopped the pendulum in his favorite clock. Never again would Henri wind the mechanism that gave life to the mahogany clock he had bought for the tiny row house they had moved into when he was still a youn...