vintage
Vintage content about relationships, unions and romances past.
Little Miss Perfect
Ask anyone at my high school and they will tell you that Clair Alexander is perfect. She’s hot, smart, athletic, popular, and good at everything. However that’s not true, I suck at being patient, minding my own business, and keeping my mouth shut. So I’m not good at eeeeverything, but most things. My life is perfect. I get good grades, I’m really popular, the best athlete at school, I have lots of friends and the perfect boyfriend. As far as I could see my life was going to be amazing.
By Victoria Hill5 years ago in Humans
The Little Black Book
It was ninety-five degrees outside, and a hundred and five inside the lower barracks. I fought long and hard this morning with Mom about going out to the fort on such a hot and humid day. Summers in coastal North Carolina are the southern cliche of hot, humid, and sticky. To put it short, it's a terrible day to be outside, much less deep inside Fort Macon's inner structure.
By Charlotte Russell5 years ago in Humans
At A Quarter Past Noon
To him, life and his craft were a similar construction - easily measured and assessed. Like the shadow of a plumb line, it was the straight lines that gave both strength and purpose. Banty Aynesworth was a man governed by precision. He always arrived on time, his mule lurching in worn traces maneuvered artlessly by the taciturn man perched in the buckboard. But what he lacked in grace he made up for in practicality. Who knew what drew him to such a macabre profession? His stepfather, by all accounts, had been boisterous and dependable. Later in life, however, he would share his son’s penchant for keeping to the roads. Instead of putting Banty’s hand to the plow, he had put it to the saw, and taught him to tame thickets of wild-grown oaks and pines into sleek boards. From his stepfather also came Banty’s personal creed: “A man honors his commitments and see things through.”
By Ria Carriger5 years ago in Humans
Evening Train
May 31, 1933 Kansas The train lurched and Iris Hazelwood opened her eyes. It was not a station stop, just another of those mysterious bumps familiar to regular railway passengers. A trifle to hardy souls who traveled by train across America’s vast western prairie. But Iris hadn’t boarded a train for years and she was unaccustomed to unexpected jolts and irregular motions.
By Donald Paul Benjamin5 years ago in Humans
