Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Serve.
Once loved to death
There comes a time in marriage sometimes, like in life, where you ask yourself how much more you can take. You ask yourself if all the things wrong are real, or just in your head. You ask yourself if ending things is really the best option or if you just have not tried hard enough and you need to hang on just a little longer for things to get better.
By Wynette Richardson6 years ago in Serve
Marine Corps Stories: Sounds of the Marines
The United States Marine Corps Drum and Bugle Corps (D&B) readied their instruments, the freshly-polished brass gleaming in the Arizona sun. Their mission: supporting Commandant Wainwright’s appearance at the base where she’d served years ago as base commander, before her promotion to top Marine.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Marine Corps Stories: Frog Voice
“I’m not getting a goddamn frog voice,” Sergeant Hyer Lowell said. Light shone on his medium brown skin. He stood just over six feet tall. He was chatting with Marcos Marin, a 5 foot, 8 inch sergeant without a hair on his head, who somehow managed a friendship with the bellicose Lowell. Both Marines then sat down to eat in the chow hall.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Greyhound (2020)
January 1942. The Atlantic War has been raging for three years and the losses on both sides are high. Despite the massive expenditure of man and material, the Atlantic still has to be crossed in order to secure the supply chain for the Allied powers. Time and again, convoys with a large number of transport ships are flanked by destroyers in order to bring them safely to their destination. As far as possible, airplanes provide escort. The not so young Ernest Krause was given command of the USS Keeling shortly after the USA entered World War II. The destroyer, nicknamed Greyhound hears is supposed to bring a convoy of 37 Allied ships safely through a five-day period in which air support is interrupted.
By Streameast6 years ago in Serve
Hold onto Life
The gleaming stainless steel exterior of the 24/7 Extremist Diner in Wilmington, Delaware didn’t attract the usual crowd. This morning in August 1990, the tiny diner became the setting for a most unusual event. Most of the time, cops came there on their late night shifts with both beaming smiles and gruff mugs, but they did not appear this morning. The dancehall crowd sometimes came through with their beads of sweat and marijuana on their breath. They would distance themselves from the police. Neither appeared now. And of course at this late hour of three am, (or early to some) a most distressing occurrence befell the diner. Where everything usually worked like the female wait staff wore who extra small shirts and the males donned huge 3X tees all seemed well. It was extremist, right?
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Trying to go Home
It was two days before 1921, but rain was eternally a pain in the ass. The cloth roof on his car hadn’t been much protection and his feet rested in a good four inches of hateful cold South Carolina December rain. It was almost warmer than opening the door and letting the water out. Goggles on, to protect the one eye he had left, frozen hands on the steering wheel, he tried to focus on home, a thick warm bed, and a plate of potatoes and eggs. Smirking as dark rain dripped over the edge of his fedora, he thought about how much money he had safely tucked in his trunk, twenty-five bottles of illegally imported French wine, five bottles of Irish whiskey, and three Caribbean rums. Wind blew the cold rain back to slide down his face, winding through the maze of his unshaven face. He also had some rare and not commercially available antiseptic. He was going to make Jack happy, have some booze, make some money, which was good because Jack’s antiseptic had been ungodly expensive. If he hadn’t been stuck in Noah’s newest flood, it would have been a perfect night.
By Duointherain6 years ago in Serve
Marine Corps Stories: Stained Heroes
The late afternoon sun blazed across the Arizona sky above the Yuma Marine Corps Air Station. “We swore an oath,” Sergeant Kayla Bennington said. Cocoa brown skin enveloped her. A toned figure and freckles all over her face created a portrait of beauty. Her regulation braided reddish brown hair completed her comely appearance.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Marine Corps Stories: Brain Housing Group
“Don’t make love to it.” The voice seemed knowing, comic, and sharp all at once. The man who uttered the words possessed the rank of Sergeant of Marines. Sergeant Danté Haverford looked down at the private tirelessly attempting to replace the tire on the unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV).
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
