by Valorie Quesenberry | Jun 30, 2018 | EMT, fireworks, July 4th, missions, romance, short story
It really burned. As many times as Callie had attended fireworks events on the 4th of July, she had never had a spark fall on her until now. It had been an unusually beautiful burst of color. She had been absorbed in watching it until the last glimmer faded,...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Jun 23, 2018 | bicycle, dog tags, orchard, repair, retirement Florida, romance, short story, summer, war
Stella couldn’t imagine life without her bicycle. As she pushed her ten-speed down the sidewalk toward the repair shop, she had to smile to herself. She could practically chronicle her life in bicycles. She remembered the first bike she ever...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Jun 9, 2018 | grandma, Great Smoky Mountains, honeymoon, mountains, short story, streams author, Tennessee
Lilly Jean hiked her skirt to her knees and dipped her toes into the water. Ooooh, it was cold. It could be hot outside as bacon sizzling in her mama’s cast-iron skillet and the mountain stream still felt like water dripping off an icicle. She stuck her other...
by Valorie Quesenberry | May 10, 2018 | beach, daughters, mothers, shells, short story, weddings
“I’m going to walk along the beach.” I drop the words over my shoulder as I walk past the recliner where my husband sits. I touch his arm; he half-smiles, his eyes lazy with fatigue. “Okay. But don’t stay too long; I want to take you out for supper.” I...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Mar 23, 2018 | Easter, Good Friday, Gospel, history, Jesus, Roman, seal, short story, soldier
Claudia adjusted her toga as she approached the garrison. Maybe she would see him today. She absently fingered her new coif and hoped that the hairdresser had woven the cords tightly around her cluster of curls. She had to look her best for Vitus. She had scarcely...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Mar 2, 2018 | bomber, dry cleaning, father, jacket, romance, short story, world war 2
( a story set in vintage times)There was a hole the size of a saucer in the bomber jacket. Allison Jean Hopkins stared at it and wanted to weep. The steamy finishing room was almost intolerable by this time of day, and her frustration meter was already in the red...
