
Photo “Irish Independent” taken 9/27/13 by Thomas Leuthard. Made available at Flickr.com under an Attribution 2.0 Generic license.
Chicago. March 17th, 1960
Mrs. O’Toole set the newspaper down on the table beside his steaming mug of coffee and Doran glanced at the headlines. Something about three women from Riverside being murdered and Eisenhower endorsing Nixon. He turned away from the paper with a sigh. Continue reading “Not Quite Done”

Shawna sat against the hard, brick wall of the school, her head in her hands. It was a perfect, California day full of sun and warm, sea breezes. Everyone around her was eating or talking with friends in the outdoor cafeteria area. But Shawna was in no mood for any of that right now. Ever since the phone call from Jamie’s dad last night, it felt as if someone had stabbed her heart with a red-hot poker. She still couldn’t believe her best friend had tried to
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This was his land. The land his father had fought and died for. The land where Cherokee and buffalo once ran wild, free as the high blue sky that hung above the prairies. The land that had been stained with the blood of Yankee and Rebel soldiers, watered by the tears of joys and sorrows. The land where
As Christians we have a responsibility to write in a way that does not lead our readers toward sin. It is our responsibility to keep our work clean and not write in a way that would dishonor God.
He’d seen her coming down the hall that morning, saw the invitation in her eyes. She’d been flirting with him for months and he’d done nothing to stop it.