Genre Short Story. Page - 79

Today was my grandfather's birthday. He would have been 94, and knowing him, still enjoying life to its fullest. After hearing one of his favorite songs on the radio, my mind drifted back to a conversation we had just before Alzheimer's took control of that dear, sweet man. Come sit with me by the old swimming hole, as I revisit that summer of 1997 in this soliloquy, of sorts.

A short story about an 8-year-old boy with a bad case of monsters-in-the-closet.

Just Writings is mostly about what i'm thinkin bout or what i'm feeling. Ocasionally there will be something that came to mind just randomly.-Johnathan Adams-

This short story mainly tells about the need of helping people.

"We gather here tonight to honor those who lost their lives from a terrorist attack. In memory of these lost souls, please raise your candles." I raise a candle to the sky, along with everyone else.

"The land was sparse, dry, covered in Maquis shrub; juniper, myrtle, dwarf pine, wild rosemary. They were all more all or less aromatic, the beating sun releasing a heady scent into the air. He walked down the track, his boots crunching on gravel. In the bay below, the sea, a bright Mediterranean blue lazily caressed the cliffs. He was searching for geckos – sunny days brought them out to bask. Cold rendered them inactive. He thought of his wife. She was like that. Back in Manchester she’d been a different person, morose, taciturn, cynical. Here she just flowered out. It was the sun"

Recently widowed, Vera Bradshaw finds herself going through the motions of life with the painful memory of her husband's death at the forefront of her thoughts. Every moment, every breath is tinged with Jesse's presence and she does not know how to find peace. In a moment of desperation, she finds that she can see him on certain nights in a place that is exclusively special to them.

Just a little story I needed to get out.