The street lamp lured the two young vagrants towards their only hope of warmth in the dark night. The store was closed, but a lock pick fixed that in short order. Inside, the young man cursed. “It’s as dark in here as it is out there. Find a light.” “How?” the shabbily dressed girl asked. “I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.” Maybe they couldn’t. I could see just fine. Not that there was much to see, besides me, anyway. I was the main thing for sale around here. This place was generic Corporate America. No different from any other corporate
This year, I’m recovering from second degree burns and have been rather ill from them all week. Pretty much everything suffered, with my poor, sweet husband having to pick up some of the slack for me. God used a friend I hadn’t seen in forever to get me the meds I needed, and today I have energy for a change, so I took my house down from near total disaster area to only “a little a mess.” I finished the Easter centerpiece I’d been working on in bits and pieces (flowers made from green straws and #2 cone coffee filters soaked in leftover Easter
The door chimed as a male, non-Jewish customer entered Rivka Cohen’s kosher deli. Her stomach churned. George’s dad was well known for anti-Semitism but surely he didn’t take after his dad. After all, she knew George’s wife from synagogue, though her friend hadn’t gone since they were little. She grinned and waved. “Hi, George. What can I get for you today?” A light gleamed in his eyes. “Turkey and Swiss on rye with the works, please.” “Coming right up.” She rang up the turkey on rye sandwich separately from his special request, the slice of cheese. Her stomach tightened as she made his order. His
Sixteen year old Adriana Malone has been best friends with Abraham Desmond for as long as she can remember, but ever since she’s started seeing Duke, Abe’s been acting strange. Can she balance the needs of both of the guys in her life, or will she have to chose between popularity . . . and her own convictions?
by Andrea Graham © 2003-05 My writer’s block began about six months after I met Eli, though it wasn’t until several months after our wedding that I stepped off cloud nine and realized I hadn’t written anything besides love poetry in a year. I was happy, but that was the problem.This gnawed at me until Eli figured out my jealousy over his writing wasn’t just because of the time it consumed. He confronted me and we discussed it. My practical Eli focused on troubleshooting the issue. His solution was to begin a story for me to write as “a creative exercise to get the juices