An Evening With The Carstairs

June 5, 2021 at 10:32 pm (Humour, Short Story) ()

“Well I suppose this would be an inopportune moment for me to ask the boss for a raise seeing as how you just shot him.”

So said Basil Carstairs to his wife Anne Carstairs.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Anne remarked as she held the gun in her hand, “He was the twenty-first person to come to dinner this year and not ask for a second piece of my apple truffle cake for dessert.”

“It’s a good thing for me I’m allergic to apples,” Basil commented.

“What are we going to do?” Anne asked.

“Well maybe that carpet you’re alway asking me to get rid of,” Basil thought aloud, “I could wrap his body up in the carpet and drive it to the dumpster in front of Nick Diamond’s Discount Carpet Warehouse and throw it in there.”

“An excellent idea,” Anne nodded.

It was a good thing that Basil had recently taken up weightlifting as a body inside a carpet was quite a heavy thing to carry.

When he returned from the avenue on which was located the dumpster in front of Nick Diamond’s Discount Carpet Warehouse, Anne was debating what she should do with the gun.

“Maybe throw it out the window,” Basil suggested.

Just then there was a banging at the apartment door.

“Police,” a voice called from outside the door, “Neighbours said they heard a gunshot coming from this room.”

“Now what?” Anne asked.

“Quick,” Basil went to answer the door, “Throw the gun inside the toaster.”

“The toaster?” Anne was incredulous.

“Yes,” Basil nodded.

Anne threw the gun inside the toaster just as Basil opened the door.

“Good evening, officers,” Basil bowed, “Neighbours are complaining about a gunshot you say.”

“That is correct,” the policeman nodded.

“It must be the wine I opened earlier this evening,” Basil pointed to the bottle in the ice container holder, “The cork gave quite a pop when it was uncorked. Sounded like a gunshot.”

At that moment the toaster popped up.

“Good heavens,” Anne rushed over to the toaster, “This toast has been burnt black. I better throw it down the garburator.”

Anne threw the “burnt toast” down the garburator.

“Do you mind if we take a look around?” Asked one of the officers.

“Be my guest,” Basil nodded.

After twenty minutes of perusing the apartment, “Nothing out of the ordinary here. Except… was there a carpet recently here?”.

“Yes, I spilled wine on it earlier this evening,” Basil explained, “My wife has such a thing about cleanliness, I got rid of it right away. Put it in the dumpster behind the apartment building. Probably still there now unless it was stolen by one of the neighbourhood gangs who figure they could probably still use it for something.”

“We’ll check that later,” said one of the officers.

“Would you gentlemen like to have coffee and a piece of my apple truffle cake?” Anne asked.

“Why not?” Said the senior officer.

Later after the officers had several cups of coffee to wash down their apple truffle cake, Anne asked, “Would you all like a second piece of my apple truffle cake?”

“No, gotta go,” said the senior officer.

“Me too,” said another.

“Me as well,” said a third and the fourth barked the same.

There was a mad rush to the door by all the policemen who quickly exited.

“Well, that got rid of them,” Basil noted.

A loud gurgling could be heard coming from the garburator.

-A short story written by Christopher
Saturday June 5th 2021.

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Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

January 13, 2020 at 11:55 pm (Fantasy, Folklore, Poetry, Romance, Short Story) (, , , )

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

Walking through the large prairie museum
There was an authentic old steam train 
He went and climbed aboard 
And sat in one of the carriages 
Imagining he was travelling somewhere

Imagine his shock when the engine smoked,
The bell rang
And the conductor cried “All aboard”
And the train started moving

Not out of the museum 
On to the surrounding prairie
Instead the train travelled through the Swiss Alps
The man walked through the train 
And standing on the platform on one of the carriages 
was a beautiful dark haired woman 
Wearing a warrior’s breasted arm plate 
And a pleated black skirt 
And playing a cello 

The woman jumped off the train 
And the man was pushed 
And the man found himself in a dark wintry forest with falling snow 
And there was the same woman wearing a long flowing white dress
And blowing snow flowed through her long waving hair 
And she was still playing the cello

Soon the man found himself in an Italian Renaissance palace drawing room 
And on a lounge chair
(The same sort of chair on which Napoleon Bonaparte’s sister Pauline Borghese in the sculpture Venus Victrix by Antonio Canova had posed nude)
sat the same long haired woman
Now wearing a long elegant flowing red evening dress gown 
And still playing the cello
Behind her was a statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite appearing to the right of the lounge chair
And appearing to the left 
was a dresser table
On which stood a statue of Saint Michael the Archangel triumphing over the Devil
And to the right of that statue 
also on the dresser was a human skull

The man soon found himself on a sunny sandy beach
And the same woman approached him
Now she was wearing a beautiful elegant yellow dress on which on the front was emblazoned a beautiful gorgeous looking fiery red Phoenix
The woman did not have her cello with her 
She approached the man
And then the Phoenix came alive 
And flew up from the front of her dress
And flew into the sky 
And thence into the distant horizon
Then the cello appeared in her hands 
And she once again began playing

Now the man found himself under water 
In a underwater palace
And there was the woman
in a white dress swimming 

But she had no cello with her

Then the man found himself in the arm chair of the fireplace room
In the house in which he lived

Shakespeare had once said, We are such stuff as dreams are made of 
Recalling that, the man mused that at least he was made of unique and unusual stuff.

-A poem and short story 
written by Christopher
Monday January 13th
2020.

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Reblog of A Young Legionary In Bethlehem: The Christmas Story Never Told

December 24, 2019 at 11:28 pm (Short Story) (, , )

A Christmas short story I wrote last Christmas.

Dracul Van Helsing

The young legionary had had a bad day.

After a night of rowdy drinking, he had forgotten the standard for his regiment.

And had left it overnight in the little town of Bethlehem.

The officer in charge of the regiment was thankfully merciful.

Instead of court martialing the young legionary for his most serious offense, he just sent the young legionary back to Bethlehem to retrieve it.

Although being sent back to Bethlehem was punishment enough the young legionary figured.

For Bethlehem had to be the most god forsaken place on this earth.

“Have fun in Bethlehem, Pompey,” his fellow legionaries had said to him.

Pompey was his nickname.

Pompey of course had been the name of the Roman general who had lost to Julius Caesar in the Roman civil war.

It was an inside joke that earned the young legionary his nickname.

As Pompey set out from Jerusalem towards…

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The Helpful Guest

October 15, 2019 at 10:55 pm (Short Story) (, , , , )

The Helpful Guest

A man and a woman from Denver, Colorado were staying at a large hotel in Waikiki, Hawaii.

They were attending a convention at the hotel and the convention festivities would begin with a dinner and dance to be held in the hotel’s main ballroom.

They put on their best formal evening attire and took the elevator from the 11th floor (where their suite was located) down to the main floor and lobby.

As the hotel was extremely large, they had no idea how to get to the main ballroom.

They went to the front desk and asked the desk clerk for directions.

He gave them directions which they faithfully followed.

They wound up at the hotel’s entrance on Kalakaua Avenue which is the main thoroughfare through Waikiki.

There was no sign of a ballroom in sight.

They walked back to the front desk and again asked for directions.

The clerk gave them the directions.

They followed the directions and again wound up at the hotel’s entrance on Kalakaua Avenue.

This procedure then took place half a dozen more times.

Embarrassed they decided to go back to their room rather than again ask the clerk for directions.

The husband would call a friend also going to the convention and ask if he’d drop by their room and walk them to the main ballroom.

They took the elevator up to the 11th floor and walked down to their room.

They saw approaching them a very beautiful young Hawaiian woman who appeared to be in her early 20s.

She wore a very elegant evening dress which almost looked Victorian in its elegance.

Struck by a thought, the man asked the girl, “Are you going to the convention dinner and dance in the main ballroom tonight?”.

“No, I’m not,” the girl answered.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said the man, “we keep trying to find the main ballroom and we get hopelessly lost. We’ve already asked the front desk about half a dozen times for directions how to get there and we always wind up at the same place- the hotel’s entrance on Kalakaua Avenue.”

“This is an extremely large hotel,” the young woman admitted, “and easy to get lost in. And always winding up on Kalakaua Avenue? For two people from Denver, Colorado, walking around Waikiki at night can be dangerous sometimes. I’ll show you personally.”

The husband and wife then deduced that the woman was not a hotel guest but a hotel employee since she knew they came from Denver, Colorado.

They rode down the elevator with the young woman and went through the lobby following the beautiful young Hawaiian girl through the vast expanse of the hotel.

They came to an escalator.

“Go directly up there,” the girl pointed, “and up there is the main ballroom.”

The husband and wife looked up the escalator and hanging from the ceiling was a huge banner welcoming people to the convention.

“Thank you very much,” said the man, “What is your name by the way?”.

“My name is Victoria,” the young woman smiled.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to give the girl a tip.

But when he looked up, she had gone.

“Did you see where she went?” The husband asked his wife.

“No,” the wife shook her head.

The next night after a day of convention activities, the man and his wife would be going on an evening tour.

They had gone to the lobby and were about to make the walk to the parkade where their rent-a-car was parked when suddenly the man said, “Let’s stop by the front desk. And ask who that Victoria was that helped us out last night. I really do want to give her a tip.”

They talked to the same clerk who had been working the night before.

The same one they had constantly pestered about directions.

“I don’t recall a Victoria who works here,” said the man, “but I’ll check the employee registry.”

There was no Victoria listed.

The husband asked if the clerk would mind checking the hotel guest list for anyone named Victoria.

No Victoria registered.

Puzzled, they left the front desk and began the long walk down the hotel hallway to the parkade.

They suddenly passed a painting and the wife nudged the husband and said, “The woman in that painting. Isn’t that the girl who helped us?”.

The man looked.

“Yes,” the man said, “It is. She must have won an Employee of the Year Award and they painted her picture and hung it here.”

They walked back to the front desk and told the clerk that the woman’s picture was hanging in the hallway and she must be an employee here.

The clerk asked the couple to show him the picture.

They took the clerk to see the painting.

“And you said this woman told you her name was Victoria?” The clerk asked.

“That’s right,” the husband nodded.

The clerk asked the couple, “Did you look at the name below the painting?”.

“No, we didn’t,” the husband replied.

“Look at the name,” said the clerk.

The name below the portrait read, 
Princess Victoria Ka’iulani.

“That woman,” said the clerk, “was the last Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Hawaii.”

. . .

Later that evening, the man and wife were telling their story and their experience to the tour guide of the tour they were going on.

The tour guide (who had a vast knowledge of Hawaiian history) seemed to be astounded by their story.

“Two things,” the tour guide held up two of his fingers, “One. How did the woman know you’re from Denver, Colorado? And the second thing… yesterday’s date… March 6th 1999. Now that date doesn’t of course mean anything to you and it obviously doesn’t mean anything to the clerk working the front desk. But yesterday March 6th 1999 would be 100 years to the day that Crown Princess Victoria Ka’iulani died on March 6th 1899.”

-A short story 
written by Christopher 
Tuesday October 15th
2019.

-based on a true story 

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Reblog of A Missile Fired, Sir Paul Reflects

August 30, 2019 at 10:15 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, News, Short Story, Vampire novel) ()

A post that was both a short story and a vampire novel chapter that I wrote 2 years ago today after North Korea had fired a missile that flew directly over Japan.

Dracul Van Helsing

Sir Paul sat in his hotel room and watched the television showing the North Korean missile launch over Japan.

It seemed the world was getting to be a more and more dangerous place all the time.

All over the world it seemed to be a summer of violence, hatred and terror.

Sir Paul picked up his guitar and played a song he hadn’t played in a long time.

A song he had written so many years ago.

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

And when the broken-hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be…

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Reblog of MY GOOD OLD DAYS

April 21, 2019 at 9:13 pm (Short Story) ()

An excellent short story written by Priscilla.

PROLIFIC WRITERS ACADEMY

I took the flowers from the windowsill, grabbed a cup of coffee and trudged to the sitting room. My little angels roamed around with their tiny feet’s, i could hardly focus on the movie i was watching. My phone rang – Mum,displayed as the callers ID.

A rash eagerness engulfed me and i picked up. In glee, i screamed “hello mum!” As though it was still 2005 when i had finished my secondary school and was waiting for my JAMB results to determine if i was to go to college or not. “ah!…its me, the Gen man” the person said and i froze as though my mum could actually call me just as she did each time i stayed for prep after school. “Hello Jennifer, my daughter how are you?…may God grant you wisdom, knowledge, understanding, high intelligence, smartness…” and she would go on and on…

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A Young Legionary In Bethlehem: The Christmas Story Never Told

December 25, 2018 at 11:56 pm (Short Story) (, , )

The young legionary had had a bad day.

After a night of rowdy drinking, he had forgotten the standard for his regiment.

And had left it overnight in the little town of Bethlehem.

The officer in charge of the regiment was thankfully merciful.

Instead of court martialing the young legionary for his most serious offense, he just sent the young legionary back to Bethlehem to retrieve it.

Although being sent back to Bethlehem was punishment enough the young legionary figured.

For Bethlehem had to be the most god forsaken place on this earth.

“Have fun in Bethlehem, Pompey,” his fellow legionaries had said to him.

Pompey was his nickname.

Pompey of course had been the name of the Roman general who had lost to Julius Caesar in the Roman civil war.

It was an inside joke that earned the young legionary his nickname.

As Pompey set out from Jerusalem towards Bethelehem, he did have to admit that the star he saw in the sky that seemed to be hovering directly over the little town was indeed most impressive.

Probably the only impressive thing about the place, Pompey thought to himself.

He sighed as he rode his horse.

Last week he had gotten a Dear Antony letter from his girlfriend Julia the woman he expected to marry when he returned to Rome.

She had met someone else- the “man of her dreams” as she had put it and was going to be marrying him.

“Argh!” Pompey hit his forehead with his metallic gloved hand as he recalled the letter.

What was it about women and the men of their dreams?

Usually the dream always turned out to be a nightmare, his father had once told him.

And may that be the case with Julia’s “man of her dreams” Pompey cursed the couple.

He looked towards his left and noticed a small group of shepherds tending their flocks by night.

“What an exciting job that must be,” Pompey remarked to himself sarcastically as he laughed.

He brought the horse to a halt for a minute.

He thought he had heard something.

He turned and looked in every direction.

And listened.

But now nothing.

What was it? he had heard.

For one brief shining moment, it sounded like music.

Heavenly music.

Surely it must have been the “music of the spheres” that the great philosopher Aristotle had written about.

And for one moment, he had been privileged to hear it.

Pompey looked up in the sky.

It seemed like a bunch of lesser lights were now surrounding that great star.

He rode on until he came to the inn where he and his fellow legionaries had stayed last night.

“I say, innkeeper,” he addressed the man pouring wine amongst the raucous crowd of guests, “could you tell me where I ahem! left my standard last night?”.

A rather beautiful and alluring young woman giggled at the way he had asked the question and looked at him appreciatively.

“And is your standard up to mine?” She winked at him.

Pompey looked at her.

That would certainly be a dish of revenge best served hot against Julia’s betrayal the young legionary thought to himself.

But no he best get the standard and return to Jerusalem.

He looked back to the innkeeper.

“Your comrade Drusillus took it with him this morning when he left,” the innkeeper answered.

What?

Pompey was shocked.

Drusillus had taken the standard?

That bastard.

And Drusillus had never told him.

Pompey turned back to the beautiful and alluring young woman.

She might be the prize worth waiting for on this useless trip to Bethlehem.

But already her eyes and her attention were elsewhere.

“Do you love me?” She teasingly asked a man.

“What is love?” He answered back to laughs and back slaps from his male companions.

“Come on,” she pretended to pout, “do you love me?”.

“All right,” the man answered, “I do love you and that is the gods’ honest truth.”

“What is truth?” Asked one of the man’s companions to much laughter.

The woman raised her dress and beckoned him, “Then come on. Show me your truth, baby.”

Pompey winced and turned away.

As he did so, through the window, he caught sight of a stable in a cave just behind the inn.

Anyways it was time to get back to Jerusalem.

Pompey got on his horse and pointed it in the direction of Jerusalem.

The horse started to walk but with great difficulty.

“Blessed Mercury,” Pompey sighed, “he’s broken a horseshoe.”

Fortunately for Pompey, there was a blacksmith’s shop right next to the inn.

The blacksmith was rather angry at being wakened but when Pompey showed the man what he could pay him, the man set to work.

Pompey stood watching the man pound nails into the new horseshoe and then decided to buy himself some wine from the inn.

Seeing as how the night was starting to turn cold, Pompey asked for a cup of hot spiced wine.

The wine was nice and hot, Pompey thought to himself as he put hands around the cup to warm them.

“Blessed Juno, what a chilly night,” the young legionary thought to himself, “definitely not a night for men or beasts to be about. As the gods like Augustus in Rome and the Olympians on Mount Olympus keep warm in their palaces, we of a lesser breed freeze. The cold is definitely not a place for a true god to be found.”

Pompey, warmed by the wine, decided to take a walk around Bethlehem.

There was not much to see around the town the young legionary noticed.

But as he walked he noticed the bright star in the sky seemed to be directly over the stable in the cave behind the inn.

Pompey decided to walk there and take a look.

As he stood outside the cave manger, the young legionary took a sip from his cup.

“Great Bacchus,” Pompey sighed, “I really should have been drinking it as I walked around town. The wine has turned cold.”

As he stood there, the young legionary thought he could hear a baby gurgling from inside the cave.

Pompey was familiar with the sound of babies gurgling because he had been present at his older sister’s house when his nephew had been born.

Pompey entered the cave.

And the sight he saw shook him to the very core of his being.

For inside the cave was a young man standing protectively over a beautiful young woman (probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life) who lay on straw holding a recently born baby.

“What child is this?” Pompey thought when he looked at the babe.

No sooner had he thought that question than he thought he heard again (albeit momentarily) the beautiful heavenly music of the spheres he had heard earlier on the road into Bethlehem.

“What do you want?” Asked the young man who protectively clasped the shoulder of the beautiful young woman.

The young woman herself looked at the young legionary without fear.

Great unknown god, she was beautiful, Pompey thought to himself.

A different sort of beauty from the alluring beauty of the temptress he had encountered in the inn.

A pure beauty.

A most pure beauty.

A beauty capable of capturing a man’s soul and not just his body.

The baby gurgled again.

“I thought I heard a baby gurgling,” Pompey answered the young man’s question, “and wondered what a baby was doing inside a stable inside a cave.”

“There was no room in the inn,” the young man answered simply.

The baby seemed to beckon to the young legionary.

The legionary approached.

The child then grasped the young legionary’s cup and stuck his tiny hands inside the cup and washed them.

“I’m so sorry,” the young woman gasped.

“Quite all right,” Pompey smiled and bowed, “I wish you a wonderful evening.”

He quickly left the cave.

And as he did so, the same group of shepherds he had seen earlier this evening were now entering the cave.

Astonished, Pompey started sipping the wine again.

Good Lord, Pompey thought to himself, the wine is warm again.

The wine had turned cold from his walk around town.

Then this baby had stuck his hands in the cup and washed them.

And now the wine was warm again.

What child is this? Pompey once again thought to himself.

He was still pondering that question as he finished the wine (which also seemed to have improved in taste as a result of the child touching it), returned the cup to the inn and then walked next door to the blacksmith.

Thankfully the blacksmith had finished the horseshoe and had put it on the young legionary’s horse.

Well, the young legionary nicknamed Pompey thought to himself, at least the last days of Pompey wouldn’t be spent in Bethlehem.

He returned his thoughts again to the child inside the cave.

What child is this? The young legionary thought to himself a third time.

Oh well, probably greater things to ponder in the scheme of things, the young legionary thought to himself, after all it’s not likely I’ll ever encounter this child again.

And with that, the young legionary named Pontius Pilate got on his horse and rode out of Bethlehem.

-A short story written by Christopher
Christmas Day December 25th 2018.

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Velvet Screams’ THE BOSS [EL JEFE] #SHORT STORY

August 16, 2018 at 9:01 pm (Short stories, Short Story) (, , , )

An excellent short story written by an excellent short story writer.

PROLIFIC WRITERS ACADEMY

Come over here right now!” Vuccinio retorted irately as he pushed forward and pulled a file from Noah’s sweaty palms. “Don’t you dare touch this!”he continued and then plodded to the comfort of his office chair. Noah gazed at the file next to vuccinio,his death wish urging him to grab it once more. Noah reached out for it.

Like a careless football,Noah’s head came rolling on the floor, and there came a knock on the door.

Is everything alright in there?” ..“what broke?”. People asked from behind the door and vuccinio replied

mataré a todos..sólo el diablo puede gobernar“.

————————————————-

Hey!…don’t hold it tight…it hurts!”Stefanie shouted at the hairstylist who frowned at her through the wide mirror. Stefanie turned on the Television. The breaking news was read out on TV.
Hombre encontrado muerto en una habitación de hotel…

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Herb Takes A Walk: A Short Short Story

June 27, 2018 at 9:20 pm (Short stories, Short Story) ()

Herb Takes A Walk: A Short Short Story

Herb decided to take a walk in the neighbourhood.

He decided to walk across a school field.

There was a sign warning him that the grass had recently been sprayed.

It didn’t bother Herb at all.

He walked across the field.

Halfway across the field, he keeled over and died.

Later the coroner explained the cause of death.

The sign had warned him Herbicide Application Applied Today.

Herb had ignored the sign at his peril.

-A short short story
Written by Christopher
Wednesday June 27th
2018.

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A Missile Fired, Sir Paul Reflects

August 30, 2017 at 3:30 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, News, Religion, Short Story, Vampire novel) ()

Sir Paul sat in his hotel room and watched the television showing the North Korean missile launch over Japan.

It seemed the world was getting to be a more and more dangerous place all the time.

All over the world it seemed to be a summer of violence, hatred and terror.

Sir Paul picked up his guitar and played a song he hadn’t played in a long time.

A song he had written so many years ago.

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

And when the broken-hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer
Let it be

For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Yeah, there will be an answer
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me
Shine until tomorrow
Let it be

I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
There will be an answer
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
There will be an answer
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

His critics often wondered what that song meant.

He wondered often what that song meant.

He had dreamed about his own mother Mary (who died of cancer when he was 14) coming to him in dreams when he was going through a rough time recording a particular album.

Others thought that the Mother Mary referred to in the poem was the mother of Jesus.

But, Sir Paul reflected, it was possible for a song or any work of art for that matter to have more than one meaning, even a meaning that the original artist hadn’t foreseen when he/she created his/her work.

Sir Paul looked at the North Korean missile flying over Japan.

He saw the terrified faces of people in the streets looking up.

Then he looked at the painting over one of the chairs in his hotel room- a painting he had just noted for the first time.

This is what he saw.

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me…

-A short story
written by Christopher
August 30th 2017.

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