THE END, at the beginning…_Long-Term Lease_Burnt Toast_Brutally Murdered
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THE END, at the beginning…
THE END, at the beginning….. The candle had burned down to just a puddle of wax on the plate; the last bit of flame diminished into nothing as darkness overcame the tiny room. He could no longer see his breath but could feel the stinging cold and believed it was dark outside. He sat motionless except for the trembling of his body that was trying to keep the blood from jelling in his veins. The last time he had looked at the thermometer was before the flame died and it read thirty-four Fahrenheit. It was cold. “How did he get into such a mess,”he thought to himself. It seemed on...
Long-Term Lease
“Rebel and defend your rights,” “Don’t let the government bullies push you around,” “Do we live in a democracy or not?”--the loud slogans blasted across every window on Karen Singleford’s new car and shouted from the door of her two-bedroom walkup in the Seacrest Arms Luxury Apartment complex.Karen, the single mother of two pre-teen sons, Harry and Jarod, made no secret of her disdain for “health regulations” imposed during the influenza endemic and what she considered the clear danger they presented to her freedom to live life her way and to raise her boys free from bureaucratic interferenc...
Burnt Toast
Henry Feir finished his steak and mopped up the last of the runny eggs with a bit of burnt toast. He liked burnt toast and had to ask for it specifically every morning. Clyde, the well-intentioned cook insisted on feeding his boss only the best he had to offer. Yet, Henry insisted that his toast be blackened and crisp. “Just like my mother used to make it,” Henry would say with a smile and Clyde would shake his head and walk back into the kitchen. Henry peered back into the past with relish. Back when we lived by the river in a converted wagon, turned palace. Well, Henry called it a palace lon...
Brutally Murdered
Mentions of murder, brief mention of blood. 78-year-old woman brutally murdered in apartment. At the time I was relieved. The loud voices of police officers at my door, wailing sirens outside, people asking me what happened - all that was a welcomed relief to the oldies music and scratchy voice yelling at her cats from the other side of my wall. 78-year-old Judith Maren was gone now. The world now knew her merely as a woman that was murdered in her apartment. All they would ever know is that the police never knew who did it. The building agreed that Judith was not a pleasant woman. www.onedoor.ccOf course,...