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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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“She’s a sweet girl.” Crystal winked at Sharon. “Now, how late were you up that night, anyway?” Even with Sharon’s blackout curtains up, red and blue flashes lit up her darkened bedroom. No noise other than the hum of the engines of two police cars, one sitting near Sharon’s house, the other parked further down
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“Red and blue lights, bright as daylight, shot through the curtains. It was bad enough that it was as late as it was. I never thought I’d get to sleep!” Sharon sipped her café latte with the tiniest pink stuff sprinkled on top. The café was nice enough. A little quiet for southern California, but
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“No, that’s normal.” Glancing through the folder on her desk and quickly scanning her computer, she trusted the file. “Especially in these cases.” A porcelain mug filled to the rim with cold coffee sat next to the computer, the closest thing she had to drink. “Mhmm,” she said into the phone, gulping down the cold
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“Woah, Lance, dude! Stop! Come back!” Jay’s shorts were still wet from the Pacific Ocean, sand on his feet from running to the bungalow. Lance was the mail carrier, bringing him the latest surfing magazines, skate gear catalogs, and the occasional bill. His primary occupation was web design, which afforded him more than a few
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Waves rolled up the shoreline, crashing against the massive rocks, dragging lighter ones back into the deeper water. The Pacific Ocean smells of sand, salt, and fish oil hung heavy in the morning air. Lacing up his shoes, checking his watch, and sliding his sunglasses up his nose, he started to run. The sunshine and
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A Nike untied and strewn across the floor, the other shoe nowhere to be seen, until he tripped over it, kicking it clear across the other side of the living room in the dark. Frightening the dog, he rubbed his big toe, heart beating in his foot. A part of him wanted to scream out
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“Ugh! My freaking bank, Marcus! Sheesh. Why can’t they get things fixed?” “What is it now?” Marcus asked, glancing over the top of his laptop screen. Marcus was a screenwriter for Netflix, trying to develop a script for a pilot television show. The cursor was angrily blinking at him, not that it mattered much. He
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Stories make life fun and entertaining, one of many reasons I continue writing, and listening to other tell theirs. And to those of you who read them and are entertained by the magical, fantastic journey’s I have the chance to take you on, I thank you, dear reader. Thank you for returning, some of you
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“All you need is a few more dollars, and I will put you in that car myself.” His smile showed off his dingy, yellowing teeth. Jerry Brooks chewed on the end of his cheap cigar, the ones he bought from Plaid Pantry a few doors down from the dealership. He looked like you would imagine
Stories. Enjoy!
5 Minute Observations 