Few things reveal our character like our relationship with animals. Beyond kindness, for those of us so inclined, is there not an awareness of how much the creatures we encounter teach us about life in general and often, about ourselves?
 

Whenever I look at my body of multi-genre work in English, the underlying human possibility intrigues me no end, and why not for my mother tongue Telugu, touted as the Italian of the East, has no linguistic connection with it whatsoever.

We start to figure out what money is when we’re about five or six. We can’t wait to get our hands on it—and spend it! Baseball cards, Almond Joy, Orange Crush soda, and just about anything that slides out of a vending machine were my obsessions. Pressing my quarters into the slot and getting rewarded was nirvana. At that age, money came from Mom and Dad.

Jason Scott was a boy with a childhood, that anyone could see was grim.
His father was at the bar mostly, and when at home he always beat him.

Annotation to uses of aromatherapy and other holistic remedies that have been persecuted in the name of new age––excerpt in my book, Mind, Body, Spirit and Discovering the Purpose of Life

The show wasn’t scheduled to start for another three hours but the lobby was already packed. Andre stood underneath the wall clock holding a yellow flag above his head. People with laminated yellow tags hooked to the end of lanyards crowded around him...

Around this time of the year, I get that mushy feeling. A feeling that lets me know that summer has passed. Autumn is around the corner, and I am ready for it. I see the leaves falling from the trees, like early snowflakes at Thredbo...

He was twisting down a cobblestone path when he first caught a glimpse of the world in between. The music came first. Soft melodies spilled from every corner, seeping into his mind. Next, was the smell, cuisine from all worlds, delicious smells invading his senses. It was absolutely intoxicating.

Do you like Amish Christian Books?

Would you like to take a peek into their private community?

Join me as I take you for a walk through a day in the life of the Amish in Lawrence County, Pennsylvania.

God made our hearts  pink, browns and greys, and some of us lighter and of happier shades
God made us so different, yet so very one and the same
God made us creatures of pain, of fear

His name was Peter, but no-one homeless in the arches knew that: they called him Pong. Hygiene was problematic and none of them smelled of roses, but Pong’s pong was eye-wateringly world-class. For the rest of the loose group, Pong was an arches fixture of indeterminate though considerable age; he had been there when each of them first arrived, some a decade or more ago.

Aimee considered her life as she flopped into the lumpy armchair, careful not to spill her generous portion of red wine. She silently rattled off her list.

Many years ago, I visited Vienna and joined an early morning coach tour to Salzburg. Our tour guide led us on a walking tour from the Salzburg city center toward the site where the film, the Sound of Music, was shot. Sixty minutes, several turns, and many gardens later, we arrived. The scenery was spectacularly amazing. After guiding us through the intricacies of the movie site and explaining the mysteries of the location, the guide told us we could start our free time to enjoy lunch and explore further on our own. Before he took leave, he told us to make our way back to the city center by 4 pm sharp for our return to Vienna, or risk being stranded in Salzburg.

It's the 1950 in Romania, after the fall of the Romanian monarch, a time of terror for its citizens. The new communist regime is now in power. Influenced by the Russian government, they implemented the Securitate, a police agency used as an instrument of manipulation and control over the country...

Christmas is the most delightful time of the year, and everyone, especially Christians, expects it. I say Christians because we celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus in Bethlehem in these long-awaited days.

Passed out on the damp concrete stairs...
Along Lake Pontchartrain...
Surrounded by empty gin bottles...
Remembering nothing but my first name...

A story of intergenerational love between two women.
People enter our lives, perhaps only for a moment, a few months, or a few years. One may need more than the other, but often there is still a meaningful exchange. Sometimes those people come wrapped in unexpected packages.

The Very First Time - How It All Began
25 years ago, in early December, a close friend of mine had shared with me that he was a volunteer Santa. He made appearances at various holiday parties for charities and organizations that did not have funds to hire a Santa.

I remember back in 2007 when my younger sister Madeleine was dying from cancer. I got down on my knees and I prayed as hard as I’ve ever prayed before to God...

When it comes to solving problems…
And you don’t think your Mom will understand…
You need to find the best solutions…
That’s right! Go ask your Grand!

Passed out on the damp concrete stairs...
Along Lake Pontchartrain...
Surrounded by empty gin bottles...
Remembering nothing but my first name...

We met in a casual existence...
It was all very simple and kind...
She seemed to be a nice girl...
In my world, an impossible find...

Something dragged Mo out of darkness toward the lights, away from the body that lay in the hospital bed with Amy crying crocodile tears on one side and his children, pale and frightened, on the other.
He had to warn them...

“Could we divert a library assistant to shelve these returns while I’m at the book meeting? Celia is familiar with their classification.”
“I expect it’s time I got to grips with it,” I said. “Celia’s writing tickets.”...

The ear-piercing ring of the telephone at four o’clock on a Saturday morning jolted me from a sound sleep. When I lunged for it, it toppled off the bedside table and landed on the floor. I tumbled after it, hit the light switch, and grabbed the receiver.

The Companion
by
Karen S. Bell
The white jagged mountain sparkled beneath a rare, cloudless cobalt-blue sky and seemed near enough to touch. It was the Great One, Denali, called so by the Athabaskan Indians but known as McKinley to the white man.

The fresh smell of cinnamon filled the air as red powder settled on the cotton balls. The ornament trembled while a tickling chill passed through its fluffy white fibers onto its cardboard body. The feeling moved up its wooden spine rattling the snowman’s bottle-top hat. The snowman’s eyes jiggled and then gazed into the face of a freckled, red-haired boy.

“The rules are clearly spelled out in the brochure.”
The words tumbled around in her head. The rules. The rules. The rules! How could she have been this stupid? Everyone who entered the club had to read them. Needed to sign them.

From the upcoming short story collection “The Man Who Screams at Nightfall”
 
HERE
 
He plunged his arms into his kitchen trash can, digging down, way down, past coffee grounds, that morning's scrambled eggs, that night's macaroni and cheese. Yogurt and honey mustard sauce smeared his forearms until he reached his destination: a pack of American Spirit menthol cigarettes crumpled at the bottom.

Formerly a tank under Russian control, Bunny the tank was now firmly under Ukrainian control.