And one more from mo cohen…
The ship glided silently through the Corinth Canal and we hardly dared breathe. The sides were so close we reached out and touched them. The night was black, the stars infinite beyond imagination. We had talked for many hours. You whispered “You are Sartre and I am De Beauvoir. This canal is our birth canal.”
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This story comes from Cameron Pool.
“Go,” said the voice in the near distance.
“I’ll never forget” he says, leaning to her ear. “Shh, don’t say a word; nothing you could say will help me to understand.”
“Good!”
“I will always, love you.” Bang!
A tear; it’s flawless.
“I hope he appreciates what I’ve done.”
“You’ve got the part, I do.”
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We start this weekend where we left off… with a story from mo cohen.
Do you remember, Michelle Louise, the day we walked home from the Biblical Zoo in the first rains of Jerusalem winter. We were nineteen and in love and we splashed our way through every puddle from Romema to Katamon. That night an electric lightning storm split the sky and you swore you’d never leave me.
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Theo leaned forward to study the board in front of him, mapping out pieces and moves, calculations and iterations.
Gary leaned back and casually sipped his water, silently watching Theo’s eyes dart about the board.
Theo made his move and looked up.
Gary smiled, slowly leaned in and made a move of his own.
“Checkmate.”
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He lay in bed, lights out. He was drenched in sweat and his nerves were shot. The lone thought racing through his mind: “Could he score again before it was too late?”
His wife walked into the bedroom and started to speak. “Hon-”
“Not now!” he cried. “It’s 1 – nil with only five minutes left.”
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Balancing on his toes, four year old Timmy stretched his left arm as far as it would reach toward the artifact glimmering and twinkling atop the craft supplies in the corner. As he walked away, proudly clutching his shiny, new treasure, the baskets crashed to the floor behind him spilling their contents across the room.
John couldn’t breathe. He was stunned by what he reading. The details were too familiar, too fresh for the truth to be anything else. How could this be? He had always thought his marriage a happy one, but the anonymous blog on monitor in front of him was as plain as day:
www.ihatemymarriage.com
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Our final story of the weekend comes from mo cohen.
We crossed the security road just before midnight and took position about twenty meters from the border fence, eight boys all under twenty setting an ambush in the dark waiting for El-fatah terrorists to cross the wire. Someone coughed and we opened fire. Nineteen seconds and forty five hundred bullets later we were killer heroes.
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This morning’s story comes from Logan Kipp. Thanks, Logan!
The two held each other with a compassion that only childhood lovers could recall. As the moon rose high in the grey winter sky, He laid a gentle kiss upon her lips. Somehow, through their hectic lives, they found peace from the other.
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Our next story comes from Nick Light.
Dad, surviving war for 7 years, was home. Playing soccer with his boy was a great joy. Kicking the ball to his excited boy, it went off the side of his foot. Dad, laughing, ran into the street to get it. He didn’t look both ways. He didn’t see the car coming.
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