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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The Laws Paradox

They bind the hand that reaches for the throat,

They tame the storm, the selfish, vicious goat.

A fence erected in the wild green space,

To keep a certain peace, a measured pace.


They say, "This far, no further," to the strong,

And grant the weak a place where they belong.

The wild wood cleared, a path is neatly laid,

A promise in the daylight, unafraid.


The chaos of a million warring wills,

Subdued by silent paper, on the hills.

But oh, the hand that's bound, it can not reach

For gentle touch, a kind and earnest speech.


The fence that holds the monster in its place,

Can also hide the sunbeam from the face.

The measured pace, a slow and weary stride,

For those whose hearts can't find a place to hide.


The path so straight, it never takes a turn,

To find a secret lesson it can learn.

And in the order, beauty dies away,

A price for safety, paid in shades of gray.


So here we stand, a paradox held tight,

Between the ordered day and primal night.

We trade a measure of our wild desire,

To keep the savage shadow from the fire.

The cage we build to hold the darkness in,

Is also, strangely, where our lives begin.

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