A Short Story about an Old Man and his Money

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The old man saved every penny. It was as if he vacuum-sealed his wallet and every tug on his purse-strings unraveled pieces of his soul and frayed the edges of his peace of mind. When the old man was young and he got his first job as an engineer, his paycheck was so big that it scared him. But he still took the bus to work, and continued living in the tiny one-bedroom apartment that he rented in his last year of college.

When he started a new job that…

A conversation between two elderly cousins.

Photo by Kenrick Baksh on Unsplash

Marvin and Viere

Marvin leaned over the kitchen counter, with his phone in “speaker mode” on full blast. Marvin was talking the ears off his eighty year old cousin Viere, who was five years his junior. Marvin lived in Philadelphia, and Viere lived in Washington DC, but the often conversed about their humble beginnings in Trinidad. Marvin had left their rural seaside town, Moruga, when he was 16 years old, and hardly ever went back. His cousin Viere moved away when she was 21, and maintained strong connections with her home town. …

Photo, All Rights Reserved, © Dave Anthony

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Sybrina, through tear-filled red eyes, looked down at the water that pooled at her feet. It formed a stream that flowed endlessly. The water was strikingly clear, but had an innate morose hue. Sybrina was an empty vessel, filled only with loss, the loss of her son. Sybrina’s grief was amplified because in the eyes of many, her son’s life was not even worth a single tear. So Sybrina felt marginalized and abandoned. The weight of her pain left her numb and inanimate. Sybrina felt as though she was drifting, carried only by the winds of sorrow.

Then, in the…


I totally agree. In my poem, "Black is an Underlying Condition" I touched on this,

"Black is an underlying condition,

That pecks away at our souls,

Microaggressions and other transgressions,

Dehumanizing at levels untold."


Photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

Alone in my shell, safe from the world,

Like living in hell on a cold concrete stone,

Time floats by at a slow eerie pace,

As I sing life’s song in this somber place.


Numb to emotions, the take us for rides,

After they peak, they surely must dive,

This gift from a God, divine and true,

Who gives us life and the air that we breathe,

And the sun that reflects on the seas of blue.


So those who love, laugh and live,

Are showered with gifts from heaven above,

But hiding nearby is sorrow and pain,

A Short Story about Marriage and Escape

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“You never listen to me.” Ester said. “I am so angry with you right now. You waited till the temperature reached 80 degrees to go take the fans and the air conditioning units out of storage in the attic.”

And the more Esther spoke, the angrier she became, and her wiry body shook as if jolted by miniature bolts of electricity. Even her fine silver hair seemed to stand up on its ends.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s always about 20 degrees hotter in the attic…

Dave Anthony

Intellectual Property Lawyer, Engineer, Story-Teller/Writer, Reader, Music Lover, Picture Watcher, Broke Father, Rich Daddy. Working on first novel.

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