Every picture tells a story. What’s yours?
(7 votes, average: 3.57 out of 5)
Loading …“There it is!” shouted Dr. Perlman. He directed the small party’s attention toward the white building piercing through the gloomy green of the delta hills rising before them.
“It’s beautiful,” said Kate, turning in her seat to catch the full view. “Are you sure it’s safe here?”
“Trust me Kate, there is no one within a hundred miles from here,” Dr. Perlman reassured her.
(7 votes, average: 4.14 out of 5) Loading …We were always poor, only I didn’t realize it until I was six.
I remember the time Benny and I went to the fair.
My mother had gotten some free tickets from the church on one of those rare occasions she went there to get groceries from the food bank. I still remember the glow of colored lights and the assortment of strange people, the smells of popcorn and animals, the sound of kids squealing and crying and the synthesized tunes from the spinning, flashing rides. We would watch parents buy cotton candy for their kids and hand it to them with fistfuls of tickets to be spent on various attractions. How I wished I was one of those kids, especially the ones who tugged on their parents’ arms, pointing and begging them to let them ride on the back of one of the magnificent ponies.
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