Series

TUS NUA - ch 54
TUS NUA – ch 54 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) With many hugs and tears, Ali found her goodbyes were more difficult than she imagined. While eager to start her new life with her sister and brother-in-law, she found comfort and love with the family she formed in Tus Nua. “New Beginnings”, she thought. Now, she was embarking on yet another ‘new beginning.’
By Margaret Brennan24 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 14.
In late March 2020, New York City began to drown. The number of COVID-19 patients surged with terrifying speed. Each day, more than three hundred new patients were admitted to hospitals across the city. Ambulances howled endlessly through the streets, their sirens piercing the air day and night, racing from one emergency to the next. Their cries became the soundtrack of a city under siege.
By Peter24 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 13.
When the COVID-19 pandemic descended with merciless speed, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention—known to most of us simply as the CDC—finally released its first official public guidance. Citizens were instructed to wash their hands frequently, using soap and water for at least twenty seconds. Not a casual rinse, but a deliberate ritual: palms rubbing palms, fingers interlaced, nails scrubbed, the narrow spaces between fingers carefully cleansed. Foam, they emphasized, was essential. Soap bubbles could penetrate and disrupt the virus’s fragile outer layer, rendering it inactive and stripping it of its ability to infect.
By Peter24 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 The Reunion
In the lingering silence, Megan felt a surprising swell of empathy, a recognition that the bitterness they had both cultivated over the years had been a shared defense against their own insecurities. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that,” she said, her tone softer than she had intended, the words sliding out like a tentative bridge across a chasm of former animosity. “Leaving someone you’ve built a life with isn’t easy, but it sounds like you’ve finally found the strength to choose what’s right for you.” Valerie gave a faint, grateful smile, the kind that seemed to release some of the tension coiled around her shoulders. As the two women stood there, the distant sound of a band beginning to play a familiar song, the reunion took on a new dimension—one where old wounds could be acknowledged, where former enemies could glimpse a shared humanity, and where the simple act of speaking truth could, at last, transform rivalry into a quiet, unexpected camaraderie.
By Forest Green25 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 The Reunion
Megan lingered beneath the flickering string lights of the community hall, the hum of clinking glasses and half‑remembered laughter weaving around her like a familiar tapestry. She had arrived early, hoping the anonymity of the early hour would allow her to observe the shifting dynamics of the once‑tight circle without the pressure of an immediate greeting. The reunion was meant to be a celebration of the decade that had passed since graduation, a chance for old friends to reconnect, but for Megan it also represented an uneasy truce with the past—a past that still held the sharp sting of Valerie's betrayal when she had spread rumors that nearly ruined Megan’s time at Lincoln. As she scanned the room, a sense of quiet anticipation settled over her, a feeling that something, or someone, would soon disturb the fragile equilibrium she had painstakingly built.
By Forest Green25 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 The Reunion
“I can’t believe they’re actually here,” he whispered to himself, feeling a surge of anticipation that mixed with the faint scent of stale gym mats and fresh rosemary from the catering staff. In that moment, the years melted away, and the teenage versions of himself, Peter and Scott, seemed to be waiting just beyond the rim of the glass.
By Forest Green25 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 The Reunion
As the venue—a refurbished community hall with twinkling fairy lights draped across its vaulted ceiling—came into view, Joan felt a flutter of butterflies cascade through her stomach. She adjusted the strap of her dress once more, smoothing the fabric as if it could erase any lingering doubts. “Do you think they’ll still have the same punch bowl?” she asked, half‑joking, half‑curious. Scott glanced at his watch, noting the time, then responded, “If they do, I’ll be the first to dive in—just like we used to do at the cafeteria’s pizza day.” Their laughter, low and genuine, echoed in the car’s interior, a reminder that some parts of their teenage selves still lived beneath the veneer of adulthood.
By Forest Green25 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 12.
I woke early that morning—not because I had work to go to, and not because I had anything urgent to do—but because fear had stolen the night from me.
By Peter25 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 11.
We stayed home to avoid the virus—not to avoid hunger. No matter how dangerous the world outside became, the body still demanded its daily tribute. Food was not optional. It was the quiet law of survival, older than fear, older than disease.
By Peter25 days ago in Fiction
I Pretended to Be Strong So My Child Wouldn’t Worry. AI-Generated.
The hardest part of being a parent is not the work. It’s the pretending. Not pretending to love your child—because that part is easy. Love comes naturally. It grows quietly in the spaces between bedtime stories, school lunches, and small conversations about homework.
By Jenny 25 days ago in Fiction
We Never Said It Out Loud, But We Were Struggling. AI-Generated.
There was a time when our apartment looked normal from the outside. The lights were on every evening. Dinner was cooked most nights. Our child laughed while watching cartoons in the living room. Sometimes we even joked with each other about small things—burnt rice, forgotten groceries, a misplaced phone charger.
By Jenny 25 days ago in Fiction
My Child Is the Reason I Keep Going. AI-Generated.
The alarm rings every morning at 5:30. For a few seconds, I lie still in the dark, staring at the ceiling. My body feels heavy, as if sleep has glued me to the bed. Outside the window, the city is quiet, caught in that brief moment before the first subway trains begin rumbling beneath the streets.
By Jenny 25 days ago in Fiction