I am a Georgian. That, my family name, my faith, and the woman I love are central to my life. I was born a Georgian, in the Fruitcake Capitol of the World where I went to school, struggled with Spina Bifida and being constrained by this wheelchair. Yet, I persevered. I went on to college, studying history and graduating with a BA in Liberal Arts.
I am a strong opponent of child abuse and of ignorance in all forms. For the past ten years I have been a member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, a fraternal organization devoted to...
He was standing on the sidewalk below, jumping up and down. A passer-by might think he was crazy, but she knew better. He always did things with good reason. She smiled at him as she walked by and murmured, "Hi." He looked around like a startled deer caught in a floodlight, but she was gone. She had dissolved into the doorway.
Maybe he's really happy, she thought, as she walked softly up the stairs, careful not to wake the sleeping house. Sometimes, when she was happy, she felt like doing that. And she felt like never, ever, ever stopping. Maybe...
Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
Stella looked up. The pay phone beside her was ringing. Turning her attention back to the book she was reading, she tried her best to ignore it.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
Glancing around, she plucker up the courage and picked up the phone.
'....Hello?'
'Stella. I thought you weren't going to answer.' the voice said.
'Who is this?' How did he know her name?
'That's not important here.'
'Is that you Danny?' she almost laughed. This was typical of her eldest son. Always the joker.
'Call me Danny, if that makes this easier.'
'Danny, come on....
in Beijing a girl in the red gown huddled in the door way, she thought tyhere was ghost, but she was crazy... what a dumb girl
I stood on the old wooden bed I always slept in. There was always a window up high and I would always look up to it at noon and see the clock chime. There were so much out there waiting for me to learn. I wanted to go out there, explore the world, make real friends. But I couldn't. My name is Ginnadi Mistaikov. My anonymous parents dropped me to an orphanage when I was very young because they thought I would make a fool of them because of my skinniness and ugliness.
The matrons in the orphan always called...
the colours were too bright and he couldn't make out what the picture was. Joe liked to go the the gallery on a Thursday night because they opened late and he could visit there after finishing his stint as a bike courier.He squinted at the painting in the modern art section and wondered if his bid to seem interesting by going to an art gallery would ever pay off. He spotted a sad- looking girl standing by the darkened window and debated what his opening gambit should be, most of the things he had tried on his previous visits had...
The viel of morning haze parted and she could see clearly now their large felt wings beating against the breeze. Pressing a hand to the headphone to try to pick up a sound, however faint. Quiet now, her breath held tightly. "Damn wont the wind stop just for a second." Finally, and she was not sure if it was even being picked up by the recorder, no time to check. Might miss my chance if I fiddle with it, I just hope its on. The sound was so soft it might be imagined. A voice, then a response. So small...
She remained there, trying not to be washed away by the torrent that unfolded minutes beforehand. It was a terrible scene, yet pleasant; watching the rain soothed the fire stoked within herself.
Did she wish to begrudge another man? Did she want to carry another grudge? Did she care to add another misery to her life?
Time.
Time is everything. It allows you to understand what happened to you, and why.
In a minute, two, three. She understood.
She understood more with each minute than the minute before.
They were separated because it was too dangerous for him to stay. She was protecting him, she was doing the right thing. Or at least, she was trying to convince herself that it was the right thing to do.
Time. She thinks about all these years they spent together ; All of these things they accomplished.
And she felt pride in her sadness.
They were finally together, but...
It was the fall that surprised me the most.
The winter, she was fine. Spring, slowly getting sick, Summer, even sicker.
In fall, she fully recovered from stage 3 liver cancer. There was someone to thank. God or someone.
It could have been the praying, or just hoping we didn't lose her. She was only 7. 7-year-olds aren't supposed to just die from liver cancer. Ella's better now, though. It's easy to believe in something when a dying child makes a full recovery from something so evil as that.
So God, or someone, thank you. It was God or someone...