Sliding door

closer to the doors now that the lot was emptying of the visitor and patient cars that had parked all day. She looked at the display on her phone, Dylan should be getting moved back to his hospital room from recovery, it was seven fifteen and the sun should be sliding to sunset, she

As the American political landscape continued its transformation from generation to generation, the focus of the era was on the best possible implementation of the 14th Amendment to the United States Constitution, and the interpretation of its language. This focus became a clear codified interpretation in 1990, following the same strain of thoughts as the Civil Rights Act of the 1960’s, advocates of the disabled community lobbied for the equal protections that had been previously granted to racial

It was dark. No city lights were visible from the forest trail; the only light source was the dim light of the crescent moon in the clear night sky. A lone hiker walked down the trail in the night. The trail was nothing but a pale brown streak that wound through the endless canopy of trees. Leaves glistened with droplets of water that shimmered in the silver moonlight. Water soaked earth soiled and froze one's feet with coarse sandpaper like dirt and icy water. All was quiet except for the constant

impatiently, surrounding the dirty, white side door attached to the garage of Grandma and Grandpa Pinegar’s home in Orem, Utah. An automatic lock is screwed to the door. We all take turns punching in the code into the lock. The buttons have an orange glow to them, but is only visible in the dark. Little black numbers were once printed on the circular buttons, but have now peeled away as a result of the constant rubbing and pressing on them. The door has always been a pain to get open. The lock constantly

“Evan, I’m so ready for this movie,” Kennedy yells at me. “Me too, oh my gosh I have been waiting for like 8 months ever since the trailer came out,” replies Lauren. “Same! It looks so amazing!” says Lexi. It was December 30th 2017, my 13th birthday, I just needed this day to go the way I wanted. Last year my 12th birthday, was probably the scariest day of my life. It all started on our way back home from my Grandma Suzie's Christmas in St. Louis, just about a three hour drive from our little town

the house. Why? Do you need something?” “Is there any way you can go to Mother’s after you fix the roof to look at her front door?” Emily asks. “It’s sticking again, and she’s having a hard time closing it.” “Sure, not a problem. Let me finish this, and I’ll go over there.” Tomasz says. Tomasz finishes the repair on the roof. He puts the toolbox near the front door so that he won’t forget it. He hangs the ladder back on the side of the shed. He knows he will need his block plane to

Detective Cory McKenzie sighed as he leaned back in the plush red armchair. This was just a routine psych evaluation -- for a situation that had been anything but routine. It was precinct policy that officers who killed someone on the job were mentally evaluated within the same week that the killing happened. The precinct psychologist behind the oak desk in front of Cory smiled indulgently. He had dealt with cases like this for years. Some poor cop, unsure of how to deal with a situation, jumped

another stupid adventure with Jackie. Thirty minutes later, Jackie’s silver Mustang convertible swung into our driveway, and Jackie was leaning on the horn before the car came to a full stop. Grabbing my coat from the couch, I walked out my front door with all the enthusiasm of a man going to stand before a firing squad. As I took my first step out of the doorway, I felt the ice below my feet and heard the wind whispering in

cracked as a tear rolled down his red face. Then I knew something terrible had happened. As we arrived at the hospital, which I now know was Palos Community Hospital, my dad threw the car into park and we piled out. We walked in the revolving glass doors and walked up to the nurse sitting behind a tall counter. “Hi, we're here for Steven Hawrot, he was just

apologies to Tina Turner, you might say, “We DO need another hero! We need a champion!” With that thought in mind, we come to Bill Porter. Most of you reading this post will no doubt be unfamiliar with Mr. Porter. Many who saw him walk his daily door-to-door sales route in Portland, Oregon did not think much of this relatively non-aesthetic man. Anyone familiar with the sales profession knows instinctively that the determination to persevere through obstacles is essential for success. Few in the