The boy with a backpack was ten years old, give or take a year. He had bright, intelligent eyes and a cocky assurance about him.
My mother was petrified of rats and mice. Actually, to be absolutely accurate, petrified isn’t the right word. It barely covers the truth. It is
I remember how cold it was that night. I had taken them out for dinner; she and her mother. I’d just landed my dream job
When my first child was born, one of the visitor said, “Congratulations on the birth of your motherhood!” The greeting was unusual; it arrested
The first part of this story is An Ordinary TV Remote He would come home stressed out and tired. All he would want was to
I am dying. I’d like to tell you my story before I vanish into oblivion. I know what you are thinking. You think just because
Somali was excited. Her mother’s birthday was barely three days away. Somali had decided that this birthday she would buy a gift for her mother.
My father had a poultry farm once. Not very big, just about 1000-1200 birds. Big plot of land though; over 8000 square feet. The building
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