The high-pitched scratch of chalk assaulted DeMarcus’ ears as Mr. Wainright finished writing the quote on the blackboard.
“The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.”
DeMarcus was well acquainted with fear. His education on the subject began with the first steps of his life. Though his understanding was shallow in theory, life in the Bronx provided depth in experience. Sleep was elusive without the echo of gunshots off the crowded stacks of high-rises and sirens fading into the night. Silence always struck a much deeper note of fear in the concrete jungle.
I lived a mediocre life before I met a cranky old man named Russell. He told me a story that changed everything for me. Then he called me a sissy and told me to go get him some pudding.
The Garden Grove Senior Living Community was a grandparent’s dream. It had a first class staff, pristine landscaping, and a Baskin-Robbins less than a block away. I was afraid it would have an “old people” smell, but as the glass doors slid apart the only smells that greeted me were the fresh flowers throughout the lobby and a faint afterglow of cleaning supplies. Continue reading
“Is anyone there?”
Josef could not move. The blindfold was pulled tight. Rough ropes scratched his bound wrists.
“Do you know why you are here?”
The unmistakable accent answered every question for Josef. Fear began to spread through his body like wildfire. All the precautions he had taken had been for nothing. He was a fool to believe he could outsmart them forever. Continue reading
“Friedrich Nietzsche is famous for his quote ‘God is dead,” but he was wrong. To be dead, one has to exist in the first place. God has never been. If anybody is in here to find out about God, you are in the wrong place. This is a course on religion.”
These were the first words I ever heard from Professor Gangadean. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room. The rolled up sleeves of his linen shirt and his silver hair helped him look every bit the part of a wise philosopher. Continue reading