D_W_Pederson's profile

It had been another bad night for Jack Repnik. A visit from his dad had ineffably turned into an argument between his parents. The same thing happened any time his dad visited. His parents seemed to fight over every little thing these days. They were now separated, living apart but his father would sometimes visit him, usually after he had been drinking. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been any other night, but the next morning he had finals in his high school math and science cl...

Alan Stone awoke the next morning, determined to see Angelique again under better conditions. He arranged with the captain to have the day off, in order, as Alan put it “To sort out things in my head.” The captain was reluctant, but he sensed Alan was dealing with a perplexing internal conflict, so he let him go. “You might as well go. It seems I won’t get any good work out of you otherwise. Go get yourself a good mug down at the bar and just take it easy, but what ev...

Slowly he walks up the steps like so many others; shoulders hunched, head down, a priest at his side. He comes here to take his punishment, but what if he is innocent? They say the crime was hideous, one not spoken of, except in whispers. Surely he deserves this punishment, but what if he is innocent? The due process has taken its course. Judge and jury have found guilty without reasonable doubt, but what if he is innocent? Step by step he nears the top. He lifts his large round head and lo...

Grass grew through the skeletons of rusting cars and the scattering of old parts in the corner of the lot; hidden treasure to some, discarded castoff’s to most, but among the jumble, one other prize. This was the treasure the three boys were after. "My dad said she was up here somewhere," a tall redheaded teenager yelled. Two other boys followed closely behind him, one a medium build brunette and the other a slightly stubby teenager with jet-black hair. “There she is,&rd...

  Rain and wind beat against the cold granite pillar. A solitary man in a Pandora and rain slicker overcoat stood staring at the names carved in its face. Slowly he mouthed the names of the dead. He shivered with cold and pain as he came to that beloved name “Angelique”. His eyes moved down to the date inscribed in the rock, November 1868. Had it already been a year since that fateful day? How could anyone predict such a tragic end to lives so innocent, so joyful? And how was...