Hey everyone! This is not a story, but I did want to let you all know a couple things.
First, I can’t even begin to tell you all how honored and privileged I am that you would take the time to read my words each week. You guys have provided me with so much encouragement and feedback. I owe so much of my growth as a writer to you all and “thank you” does not begin to cover how much I appreciate you.
Secondly, as many of you noticed, I did not post a story last week. I was in the middle of moving across the country. This may happen a bit more in the future (the missing a week, not the moving) as I focus on some lengthier writing projects. The purpose of my move was so that I can dedicate some time to publish a book of short stories and write a novel. I will be documenting my journey of these new endeavors on my brand new author site byAdamDrake.com If you would like see a more personal side of me and follow my progress as an author, please check it out and follow me there as well. (It’s still through WordPress too)
I am working on a story for this week, so hopefully that will get me back into the routine.
Thank you all again. I do not know if I would have had the courage to attempt what I am about to do without all your encouragement. Don’t ever forget the power of your words to one trying to change the world with them.
All My Love,
A light snow began drifting down through the headlights as we drove to the house. Nicole reached over from the passenger seat captured my hand to hold in hers. I couldn’t help but smile. Snow always put her in the mood to snuggle.
The smooth baritone of Bing Crosby serenaded us all the way into my parent’s driveway. She probably didn’t notice it, but her hand squeezed mine a little tighter when we arrived. I knew she was nervous, but mentioning it would only get me punched in the arm. Truth be told, I was a little nervous too. But not for my own sake.
My problem was that I was looking at her face. Her brown hair was pulled back in a single ponytail. She paused for a second to let her blue eyes adjust to the dim atmosphere. As she started walking toward the counter I tried to picture her covered in fur with large ears, but nothing really clicked. That’s when I heard Paul’s voice whisper as he poured a shot of espresso. He never looked my way.
C’mon man. You’ve waited your whole life for this. All the work. All the sweat and sacrifices. All for that trophy. Breathe. Don’t swing at the first pitch. Watch for the release point, pick up the spin, and see what kind of heat this guy brings.
“Striiiiiiiiiike!” Continue reading
Every year I get two’s and sometimes three’s of requests to bring back a particular character from a past story and this year is no different. If you would like to read the original story from which this character originated, you can find it here. Enjoy.
Most September evenings, when the heat of the day had been swept aside by the cool breeze rolling in from the mountains and more often than not the Cubs had thrown away a lead in last few innings, I would often meander out to my third floor balcony to watch the world from above. It was on one such night that my imaginary walls of safety were demolished, exposing me to the true danger of the world in which we live. But more importantly, it was the night I had the best snickerdoodle I have ever tasted.
Thinking back, I cannot remember a single detail that would have hinted that the night ahead of me should be any different from the 9,524 nights that had passed before it. Shortly after the last tendrils of sunlight released their grip on the city, an Eastern wind announced its arrival through the branches of a large birch that scraped against the side of my apartment. My sliding glass door shifted and knocked against its track as if to confirm the wind’s entrance into the city. With Chicago leading by four runs, a tiny flame of hope danced wildly inside me as if the breeze outside my windows had a secret passageway to my heart. Over the next hour I would witness the inevitable collapse of my team in 52 inches of glorious color and pain. Continue reading
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
My Dearest Love,
The long winter is gone and my heart is slowly returning to life. I am overwhelmed with excitement as our time together draws near. When we are apart, I am only a shell of man. I don’t want you to think that I have chosen you just because no one else would have me. I know what I want and it is you. I just hate that I will never be able to buy you a diamond bigger than the one you already have.
Some people may question our age difference, but their looks will only serve as a reminder that love is blind. I may be quite a bit younger, but I have a wise soul. And my soul could no more pick another than a fish could climb a tree. Continue reading
“I found my kryptonite man.”
Josh looked up to see Adam flop into the chair across the table.
“That would explain a lot. Like why you own tights.”
Adam winced at the well-used jab.
“I told you, those are thermal running pants for the winter!”
The loud response drew a few looks from nearby tables.
“Riiiiiight. Anyway, what is your kryptonite?”
Thick clouds stretched from one horizon to the other, filtering the sun’s light of all the cheerful colors and casting a gray pallor over the landscape. Trees, having cast off their wardrobe of leaves, sat lifeless throughout the land like monuments of seasons filled with the laughter of children.
Adam stood motionless as he studied the army that stretched out before him. Their forces had surpassed a million by the way they covered the land like paint over a canvas. His shoulders rose slowly with a deep inhale of the stale morning air. Having reached their apex, they dropped suddenly as a silent sigh passed through his barely parted lips.
“Uncle Andy! Uncle Andy! Tell me it’s not true!”
Maribell’s oak brown hair streamed behind her like the tassels of a girl’s bicycle handle as she ran to him with all her might. Green eyes now floated in seas of pink left by the tears that cut jagged paths down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong princess?” he asked as she came crashing into his arms.
“Daddy says it was all a joke! He said it was because of…”