Brooke Duran

by:Virginia Allen Finnegan fished through the coins in his pocket to find the largest one, a shiny red quarter with the year 1996 stamped on it. He grasped it out to the man before him. “Heads, I murder you,” he started his deal. “Tails, I give you the gamble to flee before I kill you.” The man quivered. “You know, it doesn’t have to be this way.” “Be quiet!” Finnegan swung the butt of the gun against the man’s right temple, knocking him out. He set the gun on the table behind him and returned his attention to the coin. He tossed it midair and let it fall back to the floor. He bent down to get a closer look at George Washington’s profile staring back up back at him. Finnegan grinned, satisfied. He handpicked the gun again and held it to the man’s head, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to release. “It’s all over,” he said bluntly. “Don’t prepare for that.” The voice belonged to a female who was lying in a grave because of the man in the seat. Finnegan turned, taking in t...

I still remember that dismal dream. It was the strangest that I had had yet, and that is saying something, since I am the ripe, old age of 60 and hold a strangely lengthened dream memory. At least that was what my husband, Anders Sleigh told me while we were both still alive, God rest his soul. I still remember the very first dream I had, on my fourth birthday, down to the dot (March 20, 1965 was the day, if you happen to be a mathematician who wishes to know), the first thing about the dream was that it smelled of pink cotton candy and was full of a make-believe cast, with characters such as Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile from the classic book written by Bernard Waber of the mouse from another book written by Beverly Cleary. They were all sociable, and I was taller and larger than them in every way because of how close I was to my fourth age. When I would learn how to read later that year, who knew what books I would invest myself in the storylines of? I would put away the Fox in the Socks cre...

Heartbreak Island By Virginia Allen “Great Grandma is here, Great Grandma is here!” Lucas and Louise hollered when they saw old Ann Baliff’s silhouette through the taxi cab window; it reminded them of black ice. Even though she was 100, Ann needed no help getting out of the maize colored cab. Ann was ecstatic to be at her great grandchildren’s house. Her feet crunched the leaves on the ground while she gradually walked towards the giant, but friendly looking house. Ann lifted and dropped the lacteous knocker. When the door opened, she was welcomed by the smiling face of Lilly Baliff. Somewhere in the house, you could hear little feet hastening to get to the entryway. “Stop tripping me, Lucas!” someone shrieked after a great crash. Seconds later, Lucas Baliff entered and panted, “Louise knocked over the lamp and broke it, on purpose!” Louise stomped in and denounced, “You better run, you weasel!” Lucas did his chortle of confidence, ...

Throughout her experience with homelessness, Gloria learned an important lesson: you must be able to humble yourself. Gloria came to Atlanta Mission’s overnight shelter “Home Sweet Home” looking for answers—she had been a hard worker all her life, she also was determined, but she just hadn’t been able to take that next step in her journey to ending her story of sad homelessness. The team at Home Sweet Home works and worked together with each woman and child to address their unique and specific needs. Ultimately, for women like Gloria, the goal is to find a job that will provide a sustainable income that eventually leads to a humble housing. She says she was at Home Sweet Home for about two and a half years, and while at the shelter she joined the Atlanta Mission @Work program. Atlanta Mission @Work is an extension of Atlanta Mission that specializes specifically in workforce development for clients who are ready to take the next step in their journey of ending homelessness. The pro...

By: Virginia Allen The woman sitting down at the desk could have certainly had a better day. She pushed her large, black-rimmed glasses up her too flat nose once again (she had already repeated the action about a dozen to a million times; she had lost count long ago) as if that would help clear her mind, or fill it full of ideas, more like. She could have been doing about a million things, other than grow ditzy with her blank canvas of a mind, the more you observed her. She had frizzy brunette hair which she hadn’t bothered to run her aquamarine come through before she shoved it behind her ears, she obviously hadn’t finished washing off her makeup by the streak of mascara you saw smudged off her face in her sleep (as if she would ever), or her plain throw-on clothes of old sweats topped with a T-shirt that said “I’m not an old, I’m a classic.” Maybe she should find an escape in a story created by herself, she obviously needs it just by her mundane appearance. She was like “The Little...

Don’t Change By: Virginia Allen I was ready. I was so ready. I was more prepared than usual. I was more prepared for life, love, heartbreak, and disappointment, more so than any other ordinary, plain, monotonous day. Would that be a bad thing? Is that a bad thing? Was it a bad thing? (Give me a moment.) Like I said before, it was a dull mindset that never changed. I was always in anticipation of something big because who knew? Today had to be better than yesterday, I was constantly fantasizing. Always ambitious and always let down. I should really be used to this expectant verdict that my unchanging life held within Thomaston, Georgia. The most beautiful cerulean blue was my shade in the sky. The most aqua, and seemingly Irish shade of green was what my feet lie on in the grass. It was perfect. It was what people dreamed of, I assumed. Why wasn’t I counting my blessings? Maybe I got tired of the little cute rusty red-bricked houses too quickly. The forever seemingly forever green tree...

By: Virginia Allen I am known classically as the trickster god. Yes, sometimes I am mischievous, but I haven't really been malicious...that often. The giants are evil, but me, little innocent Loki, am only the son of a giant, and you don't always grow to be what your father was (just don't tell Thor or Odin). It seems my appointed job was to stir things up when things were going well. You're welcome. It's a type of action that one wishes to avert when telling an actor to break a leg before a performance. I'm a star. I'm a blessing in disguise. Honestly, I was disturbed by all the gaiety and decided to do something about it, so in disguise as a disgusting old hag, I traveled to Frigg while she was at Fensalir taking a break from the festivities, only for a little fun. "What is going on at Gladsheim?" I asked her. She said it was some happy celebration of the god Balder. I quickly asked, why, then, were people throwing weapons at him? Frigg exp...