Ronyx

I awoke early and crawled out of bed so I wouldn’t disturb Trent. I wanted to make a good breakfast for him and Hayden. I wasn’t planning to go in at my usual 6:30. I hoped that Mrs. Thatcher would understand if I wasn’t there. Besides, Mr. London probably assumed that I would be late. I know Hayden likes omelets because we prepared them for the students and staff one day. He even asked me for seconds. I took the eggs, sliced ham, onions and cheese from the refrigerator. I also grabbed the

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“What is that?” Trent asked as he thumbed through the papers on Mr. London’s desk. “Who were those men?” Just then, Mr. London stuck his head in the door and asked if we were okay and if he could come in. Trent looked at me and I nodded. I looked at Trent and asked, “Do you remember me telling you about the old man I lived with when I ran away the second time?” He said he did. “I left when he died and moved out. That’s when I started living on the streets.” “What does that have to do w

Matt Stevens- A Life of Experience by Stephanie Harding We sat on the sofa, and Trent read the article to me. Stephanie told what had happened to me after running away the second time. She wrote about my parents, and how their strict religious beliefs had made it impossible for me to remain in their home. It was difficult to listen to Trent read about my life on the streets. The drugs, alcohol and sex were a part of my past, but there were still deep and lasting scars. She descr

After dinner was served to the students, Trent and I got in his car and headed to his place. I still can’t call it home yet. I’m going to need some time to see if we can actually make this work. After all that has happened to me, my instincts tell me to be cautious. However, my heart is telling me something else. When we pulled out, Trent gripped my hand and squeezed it. “I still can’t believe this is real.” I smiled and replied, “I was just thinking the same thing.” He squeezed

We awoke at five-thirty the next morning when the alarm rang. Trent sleepily rolled over and muttered, “Damn. It can’t be time for work.” He then turned back and kissed me gently. “This has been the best weekend of my life,” he said cheerfully. “Mine, too,” I responded as I returned his kiss. I crawled out of bed and ran to the bathroom before he did. I had been holding it in for several hours. I had been afraid to get up because I didn’t want to awaken Trent. “Move it,” he pounded on

“Where are we?” I asked as Trent pulled up in front of small house. It was located in a neat residential area. It was an old neighborhood, and most of the homes looked to be built during the 1960’s or 70’s. I remembered visiting the home of one of my mother’s friends who lived a couple of blocks away. She had lost her father, and my mother thought it would be nice to take her a cake. The house was white with blue shutters. There were cute flower boxes under the windows filled with petunias.

As Trent and I made our way down the hall to his office, Mr. London opened his door and stepped outside. “Matt,” he spoke softly, “I would like to see you in my office.” I looked worriedly at Trent. He patted me on my shoulder and winked. When I entered his office, Stephanie was sitting in a chair against the wall. She smiled, and I took a seat beside her. Mr. London pulled a chair in front of us, sat down and smiled. “I’ve got to say, Matt,” he began, “I have never seen anyone talk t

When we finished, Trent rose from the bed, grabbed the three empty boxes and announced, “I’m going down the hall to get you a blanket.” He turned to Evan and asked, “Do you want Matt to stay with you tonight?” I smiled when he said he would like that. When Trent left, I told Evan that he should lie down and get some sleep. “It’s getting late, and you’ve had a busy day.” He smiled and replied, “Busy? I think it has been more than that.” I patted his hand and assured him that things wer

If you know someone in need, The Trevor Project is an excellent organization that helps LGBTQ youth. The Trevor Project

As we pulled off, the reporter extended her hand and said, “I’m Stephanie Harding with the Daily Gazette.” I reluctantly shook her hand. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way. She looked young, like she might have graduated from college recently. She had long brown hair which was pulled back into a ponytail. She didn’t appear snobbish like most people I’ve met with college degrees. After spending years on the street, I developed a sense of who to approach. I tried to avoid young people dressed

Excellent article, Comsie. I write what I call from Point A to Point B. Point A is where the main character/protagonist is experiencing something serious that has happened in his life. He is facing what he see as an unbearable and life-changing situation. Point B is where he finally overcomes it. The middle involves taking the reader on an enjoyable and suspenseful ride with them sharing and becoming emotionally involved in the protagonist's struggle as the story moves along from A to B. The story must be realistic and relatable to the reader. This is very sound advice: Have your protagonist make conscious decisions about he wants to proceed to the next part of his journey. Don't leave him ten steps behind throughout the whole story and deprive your audience from ever feeling like he was in control of his own destiny from the very beginning. It's literary suicide.

Haha. I try to write at least one chapter a week, and I've been failing to met that the past few weeks. I want to take a week off to catch up so I can continue to post weekly chapters. It is summer, and we've taken some weekend excursions which has slowed me down. So, @Chipplette @Mattyboy @drsawzall I knew you would understand.

Trent’s office was small and cramped. There was a small desk with a large bookcase behind it filled with books, papers, folders and brochures. It was a wonder how he could find anything. There were also three folding chairs in the room. Sergeant Lattimore was sitting in one. Another man in a business suit I had never met was sitting beside him. Trent told me to sit in the empty chair, and he sat at his desk. Lattimore extended his hand for me to shake. He then introduced the other man

I kept looking in the backseat of Trent’s car at Hayden as we rode to the center. He would bashfully smile and then look down at his hands. I looked over at Trent as he drove, and occasionally he would look over and smile. I felt a warm feeling of happiness. It was soon replaced with a surge of sadness and doom. Good things don’t happen to a person like me. At sixteen, I was dealt a bad hand; and ever since I’ve been trying to get at least a pair of deuces to have a chance at the game of li

“Where are we?” I asked when we pulled into a parking garage under a large building. I had seen it many times as I wandered the streets. Dexter and I used to panhandle in the area, but we didn’t have much success. Most of the men and women entering and exiting the building were dressed nicely. The men wore suits, and the women wore professional clothes. Anyone on the street can tell you that these are the type of people you don’t waste your time on trying to get money. Their attitude is that the

“Charles?” “Matt?” He stared down at me. I couldn’t believe that after five years, our paths had finally crossed again. I often thought about what had happened to him, but I figured his life had ended up like mine. He was still attractive, and he still had a boyish look about him. He had on a white jacket, blue shirt and striped tie. He looked very professional. I looked away because I was ashamed of what I had become. How was he able to make something of his life, and I couldn’t

I left the house and went to a coffee shop I like to frequent. They were friendly with people like me, and they didn’t hassle us to leave for fear we would run off customers. Sheila, one of my favorite servers, approached with a smile. “Wow, Matt,” she cooed, “Would you look at you.” I smiled and replied, “Shut up, Sheila, and give me my regular cup of coffee.” She leaned over the counter and asked, “Got a hot date today?” I laughed and said, “You’re worse than Dexter.” I shook my

“Okay, Boys,” Will said as he pointed to the stage. “Get up there and remove your clothes. I want to see what you got.” Will is a middle-aged man about 50. He’s a little heavy, but I’m sure at one time he had a body like me and Dexter. A couple of bartenders were behind the bar getting things ready for the evening crowd. They quickly glanced at us when we entered, but they didn’t seem to be paying us any attention. I guess they had probably seen it all by now, so we were just another guy ta

@NimirRaj Regarding the sheriff pulling his gun on the boys- You have to remember he was getting much of his information from Pastor Simpson. Simpson was at the barn when they were taken into custody. He probably dramatically convinced the sheriff that the boys were evil and dangerous. Just the day before they had vandalized the pastor's home (broken window to escape) and burglarized it(taking the laptop computer,) so the sheriff thought he was dealing with two felons, not runaways.

Five Years Later “Damn sun,” I moaned as I slowly awoke. It seemed like I had only been asleep a few hours. I must have fell into bed around three. From the brightness shining into the dilapidated basement, it must be around six. Since we don’t have electricity, the alarm clock beside us doesn’t work. A body stirred beside me. I looked over to see who it was this time. Was it someone I knew, or was it a stranger I picked up off the street for a quickie. I recognized the red bea

We waited until it got dark before we decided it might be safe to leave our hiding place. The lights were on in the house, but we didn’t see anyone moving about the yard. “Come on,” I whispered to Charles as I stood and took his hand to help him up. He asked, “Where are we going?” I pointed to a nearby barn. “Let’s see if we can find a place to sleep in there.” I looked up into the sky, and I didn’t see the moon or stars. “I think we might get some rain soon. We’ll get wet if we

We continued to write for about another hour. I didn’t want to do it, but Charles insisted that it might be our way of being able to go home. “Our parents may keep us here forever,” warned Charles. I still didn’t understand what was happening. One day I was going to school. Ricky and I became friends, even friends with benefits. The next thing I know is Dad is forcing me into the car and bringing me here. I asked Charles, “How did you get here?” “It was last week,” he replied. “Pastor

We entered the kitchen and Pastor Simpson pointed to the chairs where we were to sit. I was on his left, and Charles was on his right. Mrs. Simpson was at the oven removing a baked chicken. It smelled delicious. She looked over, smiled and said, “Hello, Boys.” When we said nothing, Pastor Simpson said angrily, “When you are spoken to, the courteous thing to do is respond.” My face reddened as Charles and I said hello. “It’s okay, Boys,” she remarked as she cut the chicken and placed it

Pastor Simpson held the door open and said, “Come in, Matt.” “Why am I here?” I asked as I stood defiantly on the sidewalk. Pastor Simpson descended the stairs and grabbed my luggage. “We’ll discuss that later,” he replied as he trudged back up the stairs carrying my luggage. “Get the door for me,” he ordered. I opened the door and watched him walk inside. Hesitantly, I followed behind him. Pastor Simpson is a large man. He’s tall, and he looks like a retired basketball player. H