Drumright Historical Society's Short Story

The Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History is an institution that authentically depicts the journey of not only Black Americans, but the United States as a whole. From ancient beginnings in Nabta Playa to today’s influential Black innovators, this museum provides realistic recreations of both the plights and

The National Museum of African American History and Culture is a Smithsonian Institution and showcases African American culture and community. With thousands of artifacts on display, this informative museum explores how American values are reflected in African American culture. Hosting interactive exhibitions and informative stories, this museum will educate and enlighten all

June 8, 1944: Mary sat at the kitchen table staring out the window through the freezing rain at the old, rusty mailbox. It had been two weeks since her husband had left for Europe. The war was raging on and more men were needed, so her husband had joined the war effort. His final words to her were “I’ll see you again, my love.” She had read the paper that morning, and she was petrified.

I've already told you about our mission here at Birmingham Magazine to find the best gas station food in Alabama, and Wednesday night I set out on my first adventure.

Bull assisted yanking down his boxer briefs as the Doctor knelt behind the Sergeant and parted Bull’s fuckable ass.

Coates took another sip of coffee before going out and returning with Kia Bennett. She introduced her to Akiona and

ONE Sheriff Eldritch Meeks straightened his hat and emerged from the Chevy Bel Air. Its beacon singed into the back of his neck. Red. Eldritch watched thin sheets of dust sweep down the highway. Everything was fuzzy. He wiped rain from his eyes and took a deep breath. The knife twisted harder into his brainstem. Headaches. The pain was getting worse. Stabbing. Pinching. Wriggling. Eldritch needed a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He needed a fucking detox. But it would have to wait.

When Vivian revealed her face, Cecilia had taken in every inch of it. It didn't show on her, but she was still scanning her old muse. Her old lover. Her old slut. Sure, they'd done rough things, and played around with punishment, but Cecilia had always been careful. She probably would always be so, but there was something else inside of her now, that weren't there back then. An aggressive obsessiveness, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to wrestle free of. She'd lost Vivian, when she'd needed her the most. She wasn't going to let that happen again. She couldn't. A part of her realized then, just how much she needed Vivian. How much she loved her. That love was still there. Only the trust was still stained. Tainted. But trust could be

Arken chuckled softly as he ghosted his fingertips across her trembling forearms. “My gods, you’re so strong ...” he purred, and the huskiness in his voice almost made her gag.

Alice’s voice commandeers my thoughts. “He’s a player.” A wave of fury heats my chest, melting the icy fingers. However, I can't determine who I'm more enraged with, him or me.

Maggie was out of town for the next two weeks at a law enforcement conference across the country.

She'd been in his apartment a matter of minutes, and Elena was already naked and about to drop to her knees to blow him. Brett felt a touch guilty as his erection throbbed in his pants. Not accustomed to paying for sex, even though there was a purpose behind it on this occasion, it didn't sit well. Nor did the knowledge that the girls dates usually accompanied them to a gala event that under other circumstances they'd never access to, or at least wined and dined them first. Sex was, of course, expected, but only as dessert rather than the entree itself. Brett was also a man who liked to take his time and ensure the women enjoyed the experience as much as he did.

Uh, young Hannah, oh the poor child. Her laughter turns to tears and her candy gets stolen. This is the story of how she almost died trying to get back what was hers and capture the thief.

While the rest of the team had fallen asleep, I still laid awake lost in thought. We have already been on this plane for nineteen hours and thirty minutes. Which means we only have 20 minutes left on this horrible flight. I started to consider if we should've chosen a different airline, but then I realized I only dislike the 20 hours on this plane. I probably would've enjoyed this plane more if it wasn’t 20 hours. I don’t really know why, because I do enjoy the peacefulness I find on all planes.

" Y'ARE very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, green leather armchair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his... stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn't imagine. Made a nuisance of himself to his friends, they supposed ... Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and