
“On my first day of summer vacation” was always our first writing assignment when we got back to school. This year I had a doozy of a story, and no one will believe it.
I started my essay by saying …
“On my first day of summer vacation” was always our first writing assignment when we got back to school. This year I had a doozy of a story, and no one will believe it.
I started my essay by saying …
Oh, Liz, who are you to be so bold as to write to total strangers touting Jehovah’s ways? I don’t know how you got my name or why I was chosen as the person you anonymously write to every few …
He’s a used car salesman, and I bought a lemon.
Dawn DeBraal has published over 500 short stories, poems and drabbles.…
I am perturbed with a particular selling company asking me, “Did the product you ordered meet your expectations?”
I ordered a gasket.
“Please tell us about what you like or don’t like about the product.”
Likes: It’s brown, it fits, …
Watching my husband handle telemarketers is a sight to behold. The phone rings, there is silence for a moment when I hear him say,
“I haven’t had knee pain since I had my leg amputated,” silence again; then he resumes the …
Patrick McFarland was emotional as he watched the final spike being driven, joining the Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads in Promontory Summit, Utah, in May of 1869. He was proud of the work he’d done on the most ambitious …
For Sale: Little worn wedding dress. I showed, he didn’t.
Dawn DeBraal lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband, Red, two rescue dogs, and a stray cat. You will find many of her stores, poems, and drabbles in online magazines and published …
My husband of forty-four years purposely mispronounces words to get my goat. I have especially noted this during our safe at home time. I have come to believe this is a passive-aggressive move on his part. He will ask me …
Vera climbed into her favorite spot behind the house, the branches of the large maple tree, a place of solace. Birds sang, the wind blew through the fields of grass surrounding their property, she breathed in the smell of blooming …
Sally Knaak, (the “k” is silent, why?) had so many questions about life, about boys, about adults, about sex, about the life cycle of a cicada. No one seemed to have solid answers to questions, especially the one she asked …