The following is a short story I wrote about my grandfather that was read at his funeral. A fan of the arts and theater, the story is an idealized version of his final moments. He passed away peacefully at the age of 96.
A collection of original short stories about fantasy and mystery. Every few weeks, a new story will be published. It may follow the past week's story or be the start of a new series.
Elmer's feet made a clattering sound as he walked down the gravel road to the mailbox at the bottom of the hill. It was a cold morning. The sun was up but still quite frigid. The nice thing about being in the mountains is the silence.
The phone dropped from his hand as its screen shattered when it hit the hard floor. He felt as if someone knocked the wind right out of him. Everything was spinning; barely able to hold his balance, he fumbled into the chair next to him.
Francisca Silva was captain of one of the most notable ships throughout the trade nations of Kuras. Her crew, the Teal Fúria, was loved and feared by the many merchants and pirates roaming the seas.
"Well, what is it going to be, friend?" Samual had no good choices. As he watched the man wearing the pinstriped suit casually play with the switchblade in front of him.
I was at the Bazar this morning, running my daily routines. It was when I left Mr. Samijaris Tunoco Stand did something odd happen.
Lawrence McKinley got off the metro train at the Pentagon City Metro station. At 9:00 Am, he could already smell the wood-burning oven from Matchbox, figured that's where he will go for lunch.
The crisp fall breeze passed Melinda as she walked her dog down the road next to the Dumbarton Oaks Museum in Georgetown. The autumn leaves were starting to settle in, changing from bright green into golden amber, orange, and brown.