The Summer of ‘98-A Short Story

I remember the summer of ‘98 like it was yesterday. The sun was a relentless tyrant, and the air was thick with the smell of cut grass and dusty sneakers. The neighborhood kids, a motley crew of preteens with scraped knees and boundless energy, spent every waking hour playing street soccer in front of old Mr. Atley’s house. He hated us, and we loved the thrill of annoying him. He was the grumpy Goliath, and we were the plucky Davids, a soccer ball our only sling. The best player on the street was Kevin. He was a year older than the rest of us, with a mop of sandy hair and a cocky grin. He was faster, more agile, and had a way of dribbling the ball that made it seem like an extension of his own foot. He knew it, too, and his constant showboating drove me crazy. I was a decent player, but Kevin always found a way to make me look like a clumsy oaf, stealing the ball from me with a quick flick of his ankle or nutmegging me with a cheeky grin. One day, our game intensified. It was just Kevi...
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Memorial Day



Knights thou are

Galant soldiers you fought

On land, in air, and sea

The deep trenches your home


Whether fallen or standing

Your lives freely given, in civil and international combat

Securing freedom for all

In the name of the country you loved


Lives shortened so others may live

In blood the price is paid

In battle, peace you brought forth

Many a beneficiary, forever remain nameless to thee

Heroes are ye, agree with war or not


On this day we recall

Ultimate sacrifices you made

Visiting cemeteries, as flowers we lay

Families will gather, nations stand in silence for honor your due

Homage we pay, thou deserving, flags be hoisted

In the annals of history, stones in town squares, statues in prominence, memories included  

Your names shall survive

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