Series
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
The logistical challenges of timing the speeches loomed large, prompting Joan to draft a detailed itinerary that allotted precise minutes for each segment. She allocated thirty minutes for the high‑school reunion’s opening remarks, followed by a fifteen‑minute icebreaker that encouraged alumni to share “most embarrassing moment” anecdotes, a tradition that always sparked laughter. Immediately after, the schedule called for a ten‑minute tribute to Mrs. Wilkes, delivered by her long‑time assistant principal, who would recount her impact on generations of students. The plan also included a “memory lane” walk, where guests could peruse a curated display of yearbook pages, class photos, and a timeline of Mrs. Wilkes’ career milestones, all while refreshments flowed. Megan, noting the importance of keeping the energy high, proposed that the final hour be reserved for dancing and a celebratory send‑off, complete with sparklers for the retirement portion and a nostalgic “class of ’01” banner unfurling at the climax, ensuring both groups felt equally celebrated.
By Forest Green7 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
Megan drifted into Joan’s kitchen with a tote bag slung over her shoulder, the faint rustle of recycled school yearbooks still echoing in her mind. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm amber glow over the mismatched tableware that Joan had gathered for the upcoming gathering. As they set down mugs of steaming tea, the two women fell into a rhythm of conversation that quickly pivoted to the logistics of merging two seemingly disparate events: the high‑school reunion for the class of ’01 and Mrs. Wilkes’ long‑awaited retirement celebration. Megan, her eyes bright with the thrill of nostalgia, suggested they treat the day as a “dual‑honor” affair, allowing the former classmates to reminisce while simultaneously honoring the beloved teacher who had shaped their adolescent lives. Joan, ever the pragmatist, began to sketch a timeline on a scrap of notepad, noting the inevitable conflicts of crowd flow, dietary preferences, and the delicate balance required to honor both milestones without one eclipsing the other.
By Forest Green7 days ago in Fiction
Above From Below: Part 5
Red skies appeared slowly over the Texas horizon as the morning suns brought new life to the area. The roads weren't as saturated as they were to the north, and 1970, black, Challenger sped through the desolate part of the state as it headed to the area Nico was killed. Rick's weary eyes were heavy from driving straight through. He'd only made one stop near any form of civilization.
By The Man Behind The Mask7 days ago in Fiction
YNs
2025 Water cascaded in the shower. Memories of traveling in the sunlight illuminated in his mind. In her mind, she considered the future and what would shine in her soul. Gertz Lockman felt his body but his mind kept traversing the streets of Wilmington, Delaware. Julisia Montoya thought about plans to come up amongst the spasms of ecstasy she experienced with the water on both of their bodies. Lockman felt the rush of his mind speeding up the vehicle over the streets. Julisia sustained those pangs of pleasure even more as she looked at the calendar in her thoughts. Then, the day switched back in time to the day they had recognized the weight of this act and she slammed the calendar shut in her head. Lockman stopped his car in his own at the apartment complex.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
YNs
2003 The tan 2002 Audi 80 parked near her English teacher’s 2000 Hyundai Sonata. Hazetta Vertick leaned back and steamed an L with her boyfriend, Rondell Boyler in her leather seat. He was fit as a wrestler where he had won championships for Delaware. A grey sweatsuit and blue jeans and butter Timberland boots enveloped his person. Both aged eighteen, they saw graduation from high school on the horizon and wanted desperately to just graduate and get it over with already. College would separate them by a few miles as she would matriculate to New Sweden University and he to First State Community College. She looked pitch black with blue eye contacts. Her cheek bones and nose all corresponded to an image of grace and harmony. A green blouse with a slim gold chain clung to her frame and hung around her neck, respectively. She wore icy white Adidas sneakers to compliment her black jeans. Her hair had flowed down to her shoulders and she wore cherry red lipstick. It was May 2nd. They listened to Get Rich or Die Trying on the car’s CD player. She looked over to him.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
YNs
1994 The spider crawled to the fly. She played with it. Then, she started to take in the essence of the paralyzed flying insect. Dophilius Holmes swept away the spider and the web. He walked off his Wilmington, Delaware porch. He kept sweeping with a vigor and intensity usually reserved for circus acts or skilled marksmen.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
YNs
1999 Smells of peppermint and mold pervaded the space. The church held within it a charm and a grace that belied its low budget and even lower income. The Wilmington, Delaware location sat a few blocks from the Boxwood Funeral Home. Forty-year-old Pastor Patrice Mennon studied himself in the mirror. His six foot frame and dark features made him look larger and loom with a complexion akin to black sand. He glanced at his sermon notes and prepared them for Sunday service the next day. In walked Delton “D-Ware” Haynard. He was about five foot seven inches tall. He was seventeen. He knocked on the door to the pastor’s office.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
YNs
1987 Her Fila sweatshirt struggled to bely the breasts that protruded like torpedoes. She had just returned from the Bahamas and possessed about thirty kilos of cocaine which she hid in the ceiling of her Wilmington, Delaware home. Tanned and giggling at the video game she played, her mirthfulness, her playfulness didn’t match her fifty-eight years on this planet. She felt tickled at the thought of the three million dollars she stashed in a safe and forgot the combination.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
YNs
1989 Blue and yellow made green. The Glad baggies carried the product. Nadine Horford, 19, bagged up the work at the Marriot. Two Uzis tucked behind her, embracing her waistline. She stood at five foot four inches. Her cocoa butter brown skin and her soft features could lure any man. She had to handle the work with one eye shut. Everything she did contributed to the care and precision she used with the scale. Flaky and white, the cocaine seemed like fishscale. Zatavian Acton, 22, cooked the product in Pyrex on the stove in the suite. He possessed two 44 magnum pistols behind him, too. He was five foot eleven inches and had the skin color of burnt toast. By standing over the stove and forming it into tiny morsels, it seemed like he prepared quiches for a bake sale, he brought the heat to the baking soda infused product. The ready rock hung to dry and she coupled the pigeons in the refrigerator. Once she finished up on the last baggie, she licked her thumbs. They had a system.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
YNs
1995 Construction knives carved into the tennis balls like slices into limes. Each ball received two baggies of five grams of powder cocaine. The cut remained along the seam, which made it easier to reseal. Vardajario Jenkinson, 15 held them in his hand and walked towards his Schwinn BMX bike lying on the pavement outside of his house in South Bridge, Wilmington, Delaware. He picked up the bike and steered it out into the street. With agility, he balanced the tennis balls in a Jansport bag and guided his chariot.
By Skyler Saunders8 days ago in Fiction
