by LVDIII on April 15th, 2009
“…and in Jesus’ name we pray. Amen,” said Reverend Kelley. He signaled for the casket to be lowered into the grave.
I tried to hold back the tear at my eye and wiped my nose with my sleeve. My father put his arm over my shoulder and we walked away in silence. My mother and Scooter followed. Read the rest of this entry »
by admin on April 6th, 2009
We here at LVDIII.com would like to welcome aboard our brand new fellow author, Izzie Crossen! Check out her first post entitled “Meeting Molly.”
by Izzie Crossen on April 5th, 2009
I’m wondering again what the hell has become of my life. Standing in front of my mailbox in the lobby of my apartment building, I stare at the scarred sticker that bears my name: Molly Welton. I’ve lived here for a couple of months now, but can’t for the life of me, remember why I moved here. I hate the city with all of its noises and bustle and crime. In fact, I’m not much of a fan of Cleveland itself. I hate being cold and that word, along with all of its synonyms, is the essence of our weather forecasts.
My home is an old stone-front building on East 105th Street that the city renovated into apartments a few years ago. In her youth, she was probably stunning with her sand-colored stone walls, high arched windows, and the iron lattice-work that adorns the front walk. The developers had hoped, I suppose, that yuppies and all of their money would move in, but when that didn’t happen, they lowered the rent and let in just about anyone who was willing to live here. And though recently painted, the lobby still emits a mixture of must and that antiseptic stench of a hospital. It’s depressing to live here, but I cling to that desperate feeling, hoping that it will make me a better writer.
by Jud Pratt on April 3rd, 2009
Pretend Jesus strode down Hollywood Boulevard in a burlap robe eating salad from a plastic container. He smiled beatifically at tourists and the tattooed kids standing outside the tattoo parlor as he munched down lettuce and baby tomatoes. He wondered if there was anything more divine than crisp lettuce and succulent baby tomatoes on a mild spring day in Los Angeles.
by LVDIII on April 1st, 2009
Molly Ravenhardt had recruited me to help her collect corn stalks for the high school art department’s annual Halloween “Witch Walk” since I was sixteen, thus able to drive.
I pulled the Impala out of our driveway and across the street to the Ravenhardts. Molly stepped out of the door wearing a red jacket and a black beret.
“I didn’t know I was picking up a little French girl today,” I said as she climbed into the car.
“En Francais!” replied Molly. She was just a little too into the French language class we shared in high school.
I put on a bad French accent and mangled the language in a way that would have caused the Frenchmen worldwide to drop their cigarettes and declare “Zut, alors!” had they heard me.