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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Miracles of Medicine

 

Through microscopic glass, a world revealed,

Where unseen threats and tiny foes once concealed,

Are now unmasked, their secrets brought to light,

By focused minds that toil through the night.

The scalpel's grace, a surgeon's steady hand,

Reconstructs the fragile body's land.

A fractured bone, a failing heart's last beat,

New life is built from science, bittersweet.


The glowing screen, a window to inside,

Where darkest truths and deepest pains can't hide.

MRI's song, and CT's silent quest,

Unveil the answers to the hardest test.

From bitter tears, a hope begins to form,

A gentle port to weather any storm.

The whispered words, a diagnosis clear,

Replacing doubt with comfort over fear.


The chemist’s art, a pill's designed release,

A simple dose that brings a life-long peace.

No longer ravaged by a fever's dread,

Or a silent plague that laid humanity waste.

The needle's touch, a hero in its form,

To shield from viral tempest and the storm.

A child's bright smile, a future whole and new,

The simple wonders that the healers do.


From ancient lore of roots and blood and seed,

To labs where patient, brilliant minds are freed,

To stitch together what was torn and frail,

And build a path where once stood only wail.

We are the miracle, both soul and skin,

Reflected in the kindness held within.

The quiet strength that mends, a sacred trust,

The modern science of bone, blood, and dust.


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