Tony S.

The barracks woke long before sunrise. For a few disoriented seconds I lay staring at the ceiling, my body already halfway through the routine it had repeated for the past seven months. I reached automatically toward the foot of the bunk for my boots before remembering there wasn't a patrol waiting outside. No briefing. No convoy. No dusty road disappearing beyond the wire. Only silence. It took me a moment to realize how strange that felt. Around me, the squad bay slowly cam

Nick looked at the empty chair once more before pulling it away from the desk. “I guess I am.” Luke shifted his backpack farther beneath his own chair, clearing enough space for Nick to sit without having to step over it. The gesture was small and probably automatic, but Nick noticed it anyway. He lowered himself into the seat, placed his bag between his feet, and took out a notebook before he could appear uncertain about what to do next. The two boys across the aisle resumed the

I'm more wondering how one would know that there was a picture in Lawrence's pocket before taking it.

The last three weeks disappeared faster than any of us expected. There were more patrols, more maintenance shifts, more cups of burnt coffee around folding tables that somehow always felt too small for six Marines. Nothing remarkable happened. No heroic last stand. No dramatic farewell to Afghanistan. Life simply... kept going. Maybe that's why I barely remember those final days. Or maybe my mind had already started living somewhere else. The morning we left, the mountai

The patrol order arrived before dawn, but nobody seemed surprised. By then we'd all learned that the final weeks of a deployment weren't any quieter than the first. The calendar might have been counting down toward home, but Afghanistan had no interest in our plans. The motor pool was already alive by the time I stepped outside. Diesel engines rumbled in the darkness while Marines moved between rows of Humvees with the practiced rhythm that only came from months of repetition. Cargo straps

What can I say? I love the twins so let's explore the time when they are teenagers. The timeline may not match with Safe Distance but let's overlook that, shall we? 🤣

At Saint Gabriel’s, shy and reserved Nick navigates high school life alongside a close-knit group of friends, facing love, friendship, family, heartbreak, and the uncertainty of growing up as they slowly discover who they want to become.

By the beginning of tenth grade, Nick Anderson no longer had to wonder who at Saint Gabriel’s High School knew he was gay. Everyone knew. Some students probably remembered exactly how they had found out. Others had only heard the story after it traveled through classrooms, lunch tables, group chats, and whispered conversations in the hallways. By now, most people likely carried the information around as one more fact attached to his name, no more remarkable than his short black hair, h

Spring arrived so quietly that none of us noticed it at first. The mornings were still cold enough to leave our breath hanging in the air, but the snow that had clung stubbornly to the distant mountains had begun to retreat. The afternoons grew warmer. Dust returned to the roads. The wind carried less of winter's bite and more of the dry earth that had become as familiar to us as the smell of gun oil. Time slipped by the same way it always did out there. Measured less by calendars

No, he's not

The first letter I wrote after the ambush took much longer than it should have. It wasn't because I didn't know what I wanted to say. The words came easily enough. It was my shoulder that refused to cooperate. Every few lines, a dull ache spread down my arm until I had to set the pen aside, flex my fingers, and wait for the stiffness to ease before trying again. The doctor had warned me it would take time before everything felt normal. He hadn't mentioned how frustrating that would be.

Military physical therapy sounds brutal! 😆

Morning arrived quietly. I woke before the rest of the ward, not because I'd slept particularly well, but because every time I rolled the wrong way, my shoulder reminded me exactly why I shouldn't. The pain had changed overnight. It no longer felt like fire tearing through my back. Instead, it had settled into a deep, stubborn ache that stretched from my shoulder blade to the side of my ribs, flaring only when I forgot myself and reached for something with my right arm. I made tha

Randy. Looking terrified. For a long moment, I couldn't understand why. The firefight was over. The insurgent lay motionless in front of him. I could still hear voices echoing through the compound, boots pounding across packed dirt, radios crackling with overlapping reports, but they all sounded strangely distant now, as though someone had buried the world beneath layers of thick canvas. Randy was still holding onto me. Or... Maybe I was holding onto him.

Thank you!