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⚽ Twelve 8-year-olds + 200mg of caffeine + one mortified coach = the best bar story you’ll hear today. Trust us, you want to hear how this ends.
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A late-night traffic stop becomes a reminder: storytelling connects us, grounds us, and makes us known. In a world of strangers, our stories are how we find our way home.
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Grant’s thoughts about purchasing the Toyota snapped away when the officer softly tapped the driver’s side window. “Hello? Can you roll down the window for me, sir?” Grant didn’t realize the young officer was standing next to his door. The lights were blinding and hypnotizing all at the same time. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.” He quickly
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Before I was old enough to read, I told stories. Imagination incubated, spit out into the world through my limited toddler vocabulary. After being taught how to read and write, the magic turned from oral stories to written stories. Now I was writing my own material, reading everything I could to get ideas, even the
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Staring right at me, I thought she would start screaming, yelling at the top of her lungs. Before you start in on me, I just want to set the record straight – I didn’t start this argument. No. Really. I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault. But then again, the guilty always have a way of
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Christopher felt lightheaded. The room spun. His friends’ voices came through like echoing waves, first loud, then soft. Sweat beaded across his forehead and then on his neck. That small trickle down his neck itched, bringing him back to reality. Back to his friends and the conversation at hand. “Hold on. Say that again.” Christopher’s
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“You do not have what it takes to lead.” In my lifetime, I’ve heard this statement uttered from the mouths of those not fit to lead. I’m not talking about people promoted into positions unbefitting them. No. This sentiment is reserved for those unwilling or unable to learn from their mistakes, including this one. I
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Addison was a solid employee who worked for two years at Halftime, a nonprofit organization serving special needs kids. Addison knew all about Halftime, having a younger brother on the spectrum. Addison’s family consisted of her, her brother Michael, and Addison’s mom, Francis. Everyone who knew her called her Fran or Franny. She worked hard,
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“That is the last thing I’m going to do!” Every person sitting in the waiting room heard the slam of the receiver. “Janice, get in here. Now!” The voice inside the office shouted, startling two of the three people in the waiting room. A plumber wearing bib overalls scrubbed his five-o’clock stubble. If Don Johnson
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In less than one hour, police and security cleared the block without one arrest or detainment. Not one person balked at the authorities, pushed back against security, or demanded their civil rights were violated. Newspaper reporters, journalists from various news agencies, several magazines, and three network television stations all followed instructions, with no one pushing
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For months, Short Stories, Anecdotes, and Real Life’s focus is story and storytelling. The heart of the blog is that storytelling can and does change the world, and this creative writer hopes the reader will see creativeness and inventiveness in each narrative. Masterful storytellers like Asimov, Tolkien, and King build connections into their worlds, a
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Glancing down at the gravel parking lot he noticed a shellcasing, kicking it away from him. One casing wasn’t all that strange. Then, one turned into two. Two turned into four. Suddenly Lance realized he was standing in a pile of shells, the brass scattered through the gravel. Smelling gunsmoke is what dropped him to
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Broken glass. Various parts of the Element, the Ford truck, and the other two cars, both passenger vehicles, strewn through all the lanes, the bumper and headlamps from the Element lying in front of it. So, here’s my take on what happened, all formulated in less than a minute, right before I heard the sirens
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The advent of cellular technology is responsible for most road rage on today’s highways. As someone who regularly travels the highways and streets of my local Missouri community, I am pleasantly surprised when I see folks obeying the most common, most basic traffic laws, including knowing whose turn it is at four-way stops and roundabouts,
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There’s something magical about telling a story. The teller directs the narrative, moving the action one word at a time. Pacing is all about choosing the right words in the correct order. Almost like removing one block at a time from a Jenga tower – you have to be careful; otherwise, the whole thing, like
Stories. Enjoy!
5 Minute Observations 