Historical

Basking Under Southern Light
‘Three men standing near a carcass of a basking shark.’ Taken by Alexander Lorimer Kennedy, Fowlers Bay, South Australia. 1914. Courtesy of the National Library of Australia: https://nla.gov.au:443/tarkine/nla.obj-237515598
By Taylor vvestmacott5 years ago in Fiction
Painted Blue
As we ventured beyond the outskirts of my father's farm, I caught my breath. "Are you alright miss?" asked the legionnaire riding by my side. I nodded smiling at him. My heart raced and I felt a thrill come over my. I was free. I had left my home for the first time and felt a certain freedom come over my as the markers passed us by.
By Arkady Thompson5 years ago in Fiction
Porter
22 February 1945 Elijah Porter moved the bed covers off of his legs. He looked around his bedroom. His eyes scanned over the photo of him and his wife on their wedding day. Their smiles were wide and their eyes were shining frozen in time on a small sheet of paper in a cheap wooden frame they found at a pawn shop. He stood, and picked up the photo, smiling at the memory. They had just got married a year ago, she cried as he said his vows, her brown eyes boring into his, as she grinned from ear to ear, showing her straight, white teeth. He remembered brushing her curly hair from her face as he swung her around and kissed her, sealing their hearts forever.
By Adriana Katriel Brown5 years ago in Fiction
Henry Dunant life history
In July 1887 he moved to the little Swiss town of Heiden, where he and a companion visited Stuttgart in 1881. She was (for a brief time) delegated Privileged Leader of the Heiden Red Cross in 1890 established by Susanna Sonderegger, the spouse of an instructor named Wilhelm Sonderinger.
By Sita Dahal5 years ago in Fiction
Frozen Moments
The saying goes, "A picture is worth a thousand words!" This picture is 100 years old, many of my ancestors are in it. My great-grannie took it, it was taken, the summer of 1920, the day of the annual picnic and bar-b-q that my great grand-dad did for all his family and friends. My great grand-dad is the man standing in the picture.
By Betty5 years ago in Fiction
Call him by his real name
“Don’t worry if it spills over. The patrons like it that way,” Mary Gannon explained to Breda. Mary was the Whiskey Island dance hall owner who called herself Calypso. She was teaching Breda the art of pouring ale. “’Tis better than filling the glass halfway, which induces the men to complain that they didn’t get their money’s worth.”
By Ashley Herzog5 years ago in Fiction
THE EPIGRAPHICAL BULL
I have always found bullfighting, boxing and wrestling to be the most insane and downright stupid of sports. Busted lips, busted heads, beating each other to a literal pulp and squeezing the daylight out of each other. Really?.
By Novel Allen5 years ago in Fiction
October 6th
If the pear tree had the ability to speak to her, to tell her exactly what it was thinking, what might it say she wonders.
By Cerys Latham5 years ago in Fiction
One Special Delivery
My name is Levi Meijer, and I want to be a world-famous artist. I was born August 12, 1930. I am a Jew. My family lived on a small farm near Arnhem, May of 1940, when the Germans destroyed our home. We had to run to the woods in the dead of night to escape, while the house our family built was ruined. I hate the Germans.
By Matthew Stanley 5 years ago in Fiction
Forbidden Love
In her youth, Teodora was considered by most a handsome girl. She was of average height, slender, and of fare complexion. She boasted long dark brown hair that she always kept in a braid, was well blessed in the chest, and had wide hips, good for birthing. Her deep blue eyes under her dark eyebrows were the talk of the village.
By Jason W Schaefer5 years ago in Fiction
I'll Be Seeing You
Julia wearily trudged to the victory garden in the back yard of her childhood home. An only child, she’d inherited the place when her parents died in a car wreck the previous year.
By Kat Nove5 years ago in Fiction
To the Marshal's Surprise
The jail door clattered closed behind Doc as he followed Wyatt into the dusky streets. They surveyed the surroundings then ambled up the street toward a nearby saloon. The hammering of Doc’s heartbeat began to ease as the adrenaline seeped out of his limbs. Exhaustion tugged heavily on his eyelids. He was grateful for it. Sleep would welcome itself in as soon as he lay down.
By B. M. Valdez5 years ago in Fiction