humanity
Humanity begins at home.
Unusual Love Story
Unusual Love story I have always found the movement of the train relaxing. The fast clacking of the steel wheels crashing into the rails, as if playing a game with each other but no one ever wins it, making the game to have no end. I enjoy the noise and it is so monotone that it helps me get my thoughts together; just close my eyes and let the train do its thing as I wait here and think.
By J. D. Smith5 years ago in Families
Who Would’ve Thought?
Bryson is a 45 year old financial consultant, who never married or had children. He lives in Brooklyn, NY, where he was born and raised, being the only child of James and Anne Williams. They were a close knit family until Bryson began letting his work consume him. Five years ago, Bryson was supposed to fly out to his parents home in Los Angeles for Christmas. However, he canceled on them because of work. They decided to fly out and surprise Bryson instead, but sadly never made it to New York. There was a snow storm, causing the pilot to lose control of the plane, and crash. Bryson’s parents died that night. The devastation and guilt overtook him, causing him to stop working and interacting with friends. No work meant no money coming in, and no money meant no bills were being paid. He had no real desire to live life fully, felt unworthy of happiness, and therefore found himself wandering through life aimlessly. After being evicted, he began sleeping on park benches, and after much searching, he finally found a hidden spot in his favorite park, Prospect Park, where he remained.
By Stephanie Jordan 5 years ago in Families
Kindness is Priceless
Michael sat on a chair in his son Jonathan’s room at the children’s hospital. He felt like it had been a century since he, along with his son, had been airlifted here, though it somehow had only been a few days. Jonathan had suddenly collapsed at home the other day and after a terrifying drive to the Emergency Room where Michael had gotten no answers at all, the doctor had called for a helicopter.
By Matthew Walker5 years ago in Families
Farm to Table or
Lucille looked down at the cast iron skillet on top of her range. “Sunnyside up,” she whispered. That is what her grandmother used to call fried eggs. She held the brown shelled egg in the palm of her right hand and thought, I’ve never tasted a fried egg as good as my grandmother made. She sighed. “And I’ve never been able to duplicate her technique,” she muttered.
By Mindy Reed5 years ago in Families
