Showing results by author "Dan R. Fowler" in All Categories

"Walter, you old rascal," chuckled the barista as she placed the steaming cup of black coffee on the counter. Walter Shively raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've told you, young lady, it's not polite to call an old man a rascal," he said with a wink, taking the coffee in his weathered hands. The warmth was a comforting contrast to the chill outside, and he took a sip, savoring the bitter taste that brought him back to life every morning. The barista, barely in her twenties, giggled.

Alexander, Alex to his friends, sat on a wobbly wooden chair much too large for him. At his kitchen window, he spent time alone watching the raindrops slide slowly down the uneven window panes and fall onto the window sill. His childhood wrecked by turmoil and deprivation, was not unlike all of the other children in the coal camps that filled the hollers. The houses, nothing more than lap siding and rusting nails, held many dark secrets, many untold stories, and many hateful words.