The water bubbled in the coffee maker and the black liquid slowly dripped into the pitcher. He leaned up against the small marble counter, his foot tapping rapidly against the tile floor, and closed his eyes.

“How you doing today, Jim?”

He opened his eyes and saw a man with a yellow tie standing in the center of the room holding a coffee mug.

“We ready there?”

They sat at a small round table next to one of the dirty glass windows and drank their coffee beneath the steady hum of the air conditioning. A small stack of papers sat in the middle of the table.

“This was a bad idea,” he said.

The man with the yellow tie put his hand firmly down on the stack of papers.

“You can take your contract back, if you’d like?” he said. “This isn’t some joke or gimmick. Our teaching staff is held to a higher standard. We are leaders. We have to set an example. Homosexuality doesn’t belong in God’s world and it doesn’t belong at Shorter.”

The man with the yellow tie cast a cold stare at his colleague who slowly sipped his morning coffee.

“I’m just saying,” he said. “That Shorter University may be a little… short, on leaders after this.”

The man with the yellow tie checked his watch then looked up at the big clock that hung above the door.

“It’s early,” he said. “Another thirty minutes until the first bell. And look.” He picked up the stack of papers. “Least six people have already joined the side of positive change.”

He dropped the papers against the table and stood up, stretching his back in the cool morning sun. He could see the students walking through the yard in sport jackets and slacks, skirts and white blouses, and a yellow school bus parked out in the street.

“These kids are the future,” he said. “We have to show them what’s right and what’s wrong. If we have to do that with six teachers instead of 60, well, we’re better for it.”

The long hand of the clock clicked closer to the top of the hour and the man in the yellow tie finished up his coffee. He picked up the stack of papers and tapped them against the edge of the table.

“I’ll be in my office,” he said. “You better get to class.”

He sat in the empty teacher’s lounge with his feet up on a chair and watched the doorway that sat beneath the black and white clock. The minute hand ticked another inch closer to the top of the hour and he took a sip of his cold coffee.

“Looks like its a leaderless he world,” he said to himself as a grin spread across his face.

The bell rang. The students filed into their classrooms. And he slowly walked down the hall and out of the building.

************************************************

A Georgia college’s controversial “personal lifestyle statement” which includes rejecting homosexuality has led to an exodus of faculty members. – Huffington Post

At the corner a man stood holding a sign in the hot sun.

“Store closing,” it read. “Everything must go.”

There was an arrow, even though he could see the store from the street, and he turned his truck down the road and into the mall. The parking lot was nearly full. He found a spot at the back underneath a flickering street light and walked across the black tar to the big sliding door that sat underneath a white banner. The doors opened and he walked through a wall of cool air and into the store.

“Hello,” a man in a blue shirt said. “Welcome to K-Mart.”

He waved and nodded and pushed a cart with one squeaky wheel across the tile floor.

It was a few hours before closing time and the lines at the registers were long. Still, the clothing racks were full and employees were carrying out boxes from the back, opening them, and placing the merchandise on the shelves.

“What do you do,” the man asked. “To everything that’s left?”

A man with a mustache and his name written in black letters across a gold bar on his chest replied:

“Everything must go. If it doesn’t… It gets purchased by power buyers at a discount who then sell it back to stores in other locations.”

The man bit his bottom lip and watched as a woman across the aisle held a blouse up across her chest. She put it back on the rack then picked up again, holding the price tag in her hand, then dropping it down onto the floor.

“How have you guys done,” he asked. “Will there be a lot left over?”

The mustached man dropped the clipboard against his leg and looked up and down the aisle.

“We did OK,” he said. “Could have done better.”

The man smiled and walked down the aisle, slowly filling up his squeaky cart, and made his way to the front of the store where a young woman swiped his merchandise across the counter.

“$74.23,” the woman said.

He reached for his money but stopped when a strange thought crept into his mind. He bit his bottom lip and scratched his chin with the soft leather of his wallet.

“Everything must go?” he smiled.

“Yep,” the woman said. “It’s all got to go.”

He leaned over the counter and looked at the woman like he had just fallen in love.

“Let’s give it all away,” he said. “All of it.”

He walked down to the other cashiers and told them that he was paying for everything. He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed: “Everything must go!”

The man with the mustache ran down the aisle as the registers started beeping at a furious rate. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, forcing him to drop the clipboard to the ground, and said:

“Get everyone. Get everything. I’m taking the store with me.”

The store buzzed and the cash registers rang and six hours later he leaned up against the wall and admired the hulking pile of merchandise that sat near the big sliding doors.

“It’s time to give back,” he smiled. “Everything must go.”

***********************************

A Kentucky businessman has bought out the entire stock of a closing-down Kmart store and donated it to charity. – Daily Mail

The road bent behind the trees and she kissed him softly on the neck as the car rolled down the highway beneath the soft blue sky. She grabbed his thigh and he smelled the sweet perfume of her loose brown hair. The white dashed line passed quickly beneath the headlights and she unbuckled the belt from around his waist.

“What are you doing?” he said.

She bit the bottom of his ear softly and trailed her hand down the center of his chest. He tightened his grip around the wheel and swallowed the nervous spit that collected beneath his tongue.

The road stretched out between two rows of tall dark trees and his foot fell heavy upon the gas. He ran his fingers through her soft brown hair and fought his instincts in order to keep his eyes open and on the road.

When the lights appeared in the rear view mirror he had no idea how long they had been there. The red and white light spun on top of the blue Crown Vic and he tapped his wife on the shoulder.

“Honey,” he said. “Stop. Get up. Shit. Shit get up.”

The woman lifted her head. The light of the silent siren ran across her tan brown face as a small giggle seeped through her worried smile. She sat back in her seat. She pulled the seat belt across her lap. He shook his head and struggled to button up his pants.

“It’s not illegal,” she said. “Well, I don’t think. Is it illegal?”

“Well I don’t think it’s safe.”

He pulled the car over to the side of the road. The lights of the oncoming traffic pass through the trees and they waited for the officer to walk up to their car.

She put her hand on his thigh.

“It’s going to be OK,” she said.

A wide and embarrassed smile spread across his face and the officer knocked on the window. He was wearing a flannel shirt and blue baseball hat. He held a flashlight up in his right hand and slowly dragged the light across the woman’s body.

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “Continue if you’d like.”

“Excuse me,” the man said. He shifted in his seat and the officer flashed the light in his eyes.

“Don’t play dumb boy,” he said. “I know what you two were doing. Driving at 70 MPH with your dick in her mouth and your mind anywhere but on the road.”

He stuck the flashlight in his teeth and pulled a small pistol from the back of his pants. He leaned against the window, the barrel of the gun pointing inside the car, and watched as the couple squirmed in their seats.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “It was stupid. We won’t do it again. I promise. It was a mistake.”

The officer shook his head.

“They always apologize when the gun comes out.”

He fired tho the gun into the car and listened to the woman scream.

“Now ma’am,” he said. “I promise you that the road is now a safer place.”

She grabbed the handle and hurled herself out of the car. He fired the pistol at her back and watched her fall to the grass at the side of the road. He put the pistol back into his old blue jeans and walked back to the blue crown vic in the eerie flashing light of the silent siren.

*************************************************

Police stations across Mississippi are warning drivers to keep driving if they notice flashing lights in their rear view mirrors. The announcement comes just days after two people were shot dead near their cars, a situation police believe occurred after someone impersonated an officer. – Inquisitr

He had never heard such noise.

The group walked around a skinny patch of grass that ran along the side of the road. They held colorful signs and yelled at the cars that passed.

“Mom,” the boy asked. “What are they doing?”

He held his mother’s hand and looked over his shoulder at the protesters as she pulled him along the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry about them,” she said. “Just protesters.”

The boy was walking backwards now, his arm twisted over his shoulder, trying to read all of the signs that were hammered into the grass.

“What are they protesting?”

The woman stopped and untangled the boys arms.

“I don’t know,” the woman said. “They’re always protesting about something.”

“About fags?” the boy said.

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t hate them.”

“Who?”

“Fags. And I don’t think God does either.”

The woman knelt down in front of her son and placed her hands on his shoulders. She thought about reprimanding him for using the derogatory word, but instead, she pulled him briefly in against her chest.

“Let’s go,” the woman said.

“Can I protest?”

“Anyone can protest,” she said. “It’s one of the freedoms we have in America. You get to speak your mind.”

“Even if it’s wrong? Or hateful?”

She nodded and pulled the boy along the sidewalk as the crowd chanted and yelled behind them.

The boy stopped and bent over, sliding his backpack from his shoulders, and pulled out a notebook and a marker.

“What are you doing?” his mother asked.

“You said I could protest.”

He scribbled something on the paper and ran down the street to where the protesters walked in circles. He checked for cars, crossed, then walked up to the dozens of colorful signs and loud voices.

“God hates fags,” a man yelled, holding up a bright yellow sign. He waved the cardboard square above his head and the little boy looked up in awe.

“Do you really believe that?” the boy asked.

The man nodded and yelled something into the window of a passing car.

“Of course,” he said. “Homosexuality is the work of the devil.”

The boy held his sign in front of his chest and nodded.

“I don’t believe that,” the boy said. “God doesn’t hate anyone.”

The cars drove down the Kansas road and the boy held the sign high above his head as the man explained to him God’s hatred.

“God is love,” the man said. “But he doesn’t love all. Does he love the people in hell? Does he love murderers? Prostitutes? Faggots?”

The sun fell behind the trees and the boy stood in the passing glow of the headlights. His mother waved from across the street and the boy folded up his sign and put it in his pocket. The man yelled at the passing cars and the boy walked along the sidewalk with his mother as the dreadful noise slowly faded into obscurity.

********************************************

The way Patty Akrouche tells the story, her Mother’s Day gift arrived a day early Saturday when her young son mounted a quiet counter-protest to the pickets of the Westboro Baptist Church. – Augusta Chronicle

She kissed the envelope and placed it under a large brown rock at the top of a cliff that overlooked Watsons Bay. The water crashed violently against the large stone wall and the woman slowly walked over to the ledge.

She wiped a tear away from her cheek as her toes found their way over the edge of the cliff, her blonde hair flailing wildly in the wind, and bent over and to see her fate below.

Behind her, and unbeknownst to her, stood an old man wearing a wool cap.

“Excuse  me, miss,” he said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The old man smiled and slowly stepped toward the woman on the cliff. She turned and brushed the blonde hair away from her face.

“It’s just,” he said. “You look so sad. I thought you might want to talk. Would you like to talk?”

The woman looked back toward the water as a strong breeze brushed over the cliff. A stone fell and she watched it’s silent descent until it disappeared without a sound into the tumultuous sea below.

The old man walked over to where the woman had placed the envelope and sat down among the rocks.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he said. “But I’m here. I’m right here. For you. If you would like to talk. Or maybe, my house is just down the road. You could come over for some tea? A beer? Dinner? Are you hungry?”

He took the letter from underneath the stone and pressed it against his chest.

“This is yours?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

The woman stood with her heels against the open air and watched as the old man read her note. A tear fell down his old wrinkled face and he folded the sheet of paper and placed it in his chest pocket.

The old man stood and smiled.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he said. “I know it’s hard to see sometimes and unfortunately I can’t show it to you. But I can offer you this.”

He pointed to the smile that stretched from ear to ear across his face.

“And I promise you that you’ll find one of your own someday.”

He put his hand on his chest and pressed the note against his heart as he started walking along the stone path that bordered the cliff. He turned and over his shoulder yelled back at the woman.

“Just down the road,” he said. “It’s a small house. The only one for miles. I’ll have your tea, a smile, and an ear waiting for you.”

The old man sat at his kitchen table for hours waiting for the woman to show. The day grew darker and the tea grew cold and the old man watched as the sun fell from the sky into the constant waves of the Tasman sea.

He put the letter in a wooden drawer that was full of similar notes at the side of his bed and fell asleep hoping that a knock in the middle of the night would rip him from his slumber. Instead, the sun rose and the old man woke with a nagging pain in his heart.

He emptied the cold tea into the sink, put on his old wool cap, and walked out to the cliffs of Watsons Bay. He walked along the dirt path in the morning sun to the spot where the woman must have met her death the night before and found a note underneath one of the large brown rocks.

“To the angel of the gap,” it read. “I apologize for not joining you last night for tea. Maybe in the future.”

The old man pressed the note against his heart and walked slowly along the cliffs of Watsons Bay, hoping that he wouldn’t meet a new friend.

**********************************************************

The “Angel of The Gap”, Sydney’s Don Ritchie, has died aged 85. Mr Ritchie spent 50 years coaxing desperate people back from The Gap, the notorious cliff at Watsons Bay where hundreds have died or thought about taking their lives. News.au

The door to the screen porch slammed shut and the woman looked up to see her son dragging mud across the floor. He stopped when he saw his mother and slowly backed out of the kitchen.

“Sorry momma,” he said.

She followed the boy outside onto the old wooden porch and put her hand up to her forehead to block the sun from her eyes.

“Where’s you sister?” she asked. “She’s always home before you.”

The boy kept his eye to the ground as he removed his muddy sneakers from his feet. His mother looked out onto the dead grass of their yard and shook her head.

“She’s always home by now.”

The boy slipped back into the kitchen and the woman stood out in the hot sun with her hand shading her eyes. There was a forest at the end of the yard that stood tall and green beneath the sky. A small dirt path cut through the middle and the trees swayed in the light summer breeze.

“Kris,” she called out. “I’m going to go out to the neighbors. Maybe she stopped there.”

She waited for a response but when it didn’t come she stepped off the porch and onto the sun burnt grass. The day was hot and she could feel the sweat start dripping down her back.

“Katelynn,” she called. “Where you at, girl?”

The dirt path cut through the woods then dropped down to a small stream. There was a stone bridge running across the water that her children had made when they were little. It was the long way to and from the neighbors but it was the way the they most often chose, so she made her way over the slippery rocks. She saw two sets of footprints in the mud of the bank and called out again for her missing child.

“Katelynn,” she said. “It will be dark soon. It’s time to come home.”

The little girl was standing in the distance beneath the branch of an old tree. The woman grabbed her chest and let out a deep rush of anxious breath.

“Oh thank God,” she said to herself, then louder: “Katelynn honey, it’s time to go home.”

A strong wind blew through the woods and the woman watched as the girl’s body slowly fell to the side. Her feet swung up slightly in the air and her body swayed back and forth beneath the branch.

The woman walked slowly at first, afraid of what she knew, but soon was carried quickly over the forest floor to where the little girl swung lifeless from the tree. A crude knot was tied around her neck. Her muddy shoes dragged across the dirt.

The woman carried the girl back across the stream and down to the path to the old wooden porch. She laid the girl across her lap and stroked her soft brown hair. Her son sat on the bench next to her and soon the dusk sky was filled with the red and blue lights of police cars.

The boy put his arm around his mother and his head against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry momma,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

************************************************

A 9-year-old Ragland girl died Thursday night after she was found hanging from a tree, a homicide St. Clair County officials said they believe was deliberately performed by the girl’s 14-year-old half-brother. – AI

She couldn’t see it, but the boy could. The steel string stuck against the neck of the guitar and a strong vibration shot through the air.

The boy stopped in his tracks. He stumbled backward.

A hoarse and melodic voice rang out over the cobblestones and Jacob slowly made his way down the street holding his mother’s hand. His feet started to bounce, his body started to sway, and the music grew louder as they approached a bearded man who was sitting on an old crate on the curb. Jacob pulled his hand away from his mother’s and began to clap.

“The sheriff will grab you,” the man sang. “The boys will bring you down. If you’re not careful, well you’ll be prison bound.”

The man’s foot stomped against an old box on the ground and he thrashed his fingers violently against the strings. The noise exploded out into the street and Jacob stood in awe in the singer’s shadow.

His mother draped her arm around his shoulders and they rocked back and forth to the rhythm of the music.

“Let the midnight special,” the man sang. “Shine a light on me. Let the midnight special. Shine a lot on me.”

The boy broke free of his mother’s grasp and slowly danced his way toward the musician. He teetered back and forth on his wobbly feet, his blind eyes staring at the vibrations of the steel strings, and clapped out of rhythm with the music.

“Let the midnight special,” the man sang as Jacob reached up and felt the hot wood against his fingertips. “Shine a light on me.”

He felt the music pulse from the strange instrument and pulled his hands back in against his chest.

His mother touched his shoulder lightly and the boy reached his hand out again. The music was faster and louder now and the boy felt the vibrations ring through his body. He danced on the street next to the bearded man as the music washed over him.

“Let the midnight special,” the man sang. “Shine a light on me.”

***************************************

Our eight-year-old blind-autistic son Jacob enjoying some fine acoustic guitar by a musician in downtown Lawrence, Kansas… Thank you so much for letting Jacob feel the music! – Tyler Gregory

“Quiet,” he said holding the gun up to his lips. “Stay down.”

They laid on their stomachs on the backside of a hill that rested in the middle of a heavily wooded forest. The two girls were to his right. They were blonde, and small, and covered in dirt. Kyliyah was crying. Alexandria’s eyes were filled with fear.

“It’s going to be OK,” he said. “Daddy’s going to take care of everything.”

The fear temporarily faded from the girl’s eyes and her voice rose above a whisper.

“You’re not my father.”

He pressed the gun into her side.

“You don’t mean that,” he said. “I know you don’t mean that. You have to keep your voice down. OK? They’ll hear us. OK? It’s like playing hide and seek, see, we’ve got to hide now.”

He took the gun from her side and slowly raised his head above the hill. He could see three officers scattered through the trees. A dog barked in the distance and he ducked back down against the small embankment.

“Shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He held the gun against his chest and looked over at the little girls.

“It’s going to be OK,” he said. “It’s going to be OK.”

The loud voice of a bullhorn sounded through the woods and the man rolled over and put his arm around the two girls.

“Put your hands up,” the voice said. “It’s over, Adam Mayes. No one has to get hurt.”

Twigs snapped as the officers shuffled around the words and his hand wrapped tightly around the gun.

“Put your hands up,” the voice repeated. “Let the girls go.”

The noise of the barking dog grew closer and the man stuck his head back over the hill. He saw four officers now. They had their guns drawn. The dog was pulling at a leash and the man with the bullhorn made his plea again.

“You don’t listen to them,” the man said. “You’re my daughters and you do what I say, OK? They’re not going to hurt you.”

Alexandria placed her hand on her little sister’s back. Her dulled sobs shook her body and she looked up at her sister through pink eyes.

“It’s time to go home,” she said.

The little girls stood up and put their hands up in the air. The man grabbed the little girl’s ankle.

“Don’t leave me,” he said. “Don’t leave your father.”

He clutched the cloth of the girl’s dirty jeans and started to cry.

“I’m your father,” he said. “I’m your father.”

The girl’s walked up the hill and the man laid on his back among the leaves. He heard the little girl’s footsteps quicken as they ran to the officers and listened to the bullhorn call out its last threatening plea.

He sobbed into the dirt of the hill and placed the gun against his temple.

“I’m never going to see them again,” he thought as a loud gunshot rang through the forest.

The little girls turned back toward the hill. The dog barked and the officers put a big blue blanket over their shoulders.

**************************************

Authorities who tracked down a fugitive accused of kidnapping two girls and killing their mother and older sister said they repeatedly ordered him to surrender, but he instead pulled out a pistol and shot himself in the head. – NY Post

She clipped the plastic bib around his neck and told him to open his mouth. He grabbed her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this probably isn’t comfortable for you. I had scheduled this… And, we said. After all. You said. We could still be friends…”

She put her hand over his lips and feigned a brief smile behind her green surgical mask.

“It’s OK,” she said, pulling the plastic tube down over his mouth. “We wont have to do much talking anyway. Ready?”

The man nodded and she twisted the nozzle on the canister of gas that sat next to the chair. The hiss filled the room and the woman grew blurry in his sight. She was holding something. Maybe metal. But then everything went dark.

He felt her hand brush against his forehead. He felt her fingers pull against his jaw.

“Just relax,” she said. “It’s going to be OK.”

She pressed his head back against the padded chair and watched his eyes twitch as the gas consumed his consciousness.

She pulled the green mask down from her face and stood up above the chair. She poked him in the chest. She slapped him lightly against the cheeks.

“Out cold,” she said. “You son of a bitch.”

She pulled the metal tray of tools to her side and swung her leg over the man’s waist. She straddled him and leaned up against his chest, clenching a pliers in her fist, and tapped the metal edge of the tool against his teeth.

“Friends?” she said. “Friends? You little shit. You fucked her and you want me to what? Forget about it. Forgive you? Give you free dental treatments?”

She laughed to herself and pried open the man’s loose jaw.

“I’m having a hard time remembering,” she said. “What did you come in here for?”

She put the pliers in his mouth and ripped a tooth from his gums. Blood poured from his mouth and she held the tooth up against the light.

“Was this the problem?”

She dropped the tooth into the tray and wiped the blood from the man’s lip.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think that was it.”

She pressed the pliers back into the man’s mouth and one by one extracted his teeth. About half way through his eyes began to flicker and she placed the mask back over his bloody mouth.

“Quiet my love,” she said. “Just relax. It’s going to be OK.”

When she finished she placed the teeth into her pocket and the bloody bib into the trash can. The man laid back in the chair. Beside the blood that had dried to his cheeks, he looked completely at peace. She kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the room.

“I’m going to lunch,” she told the woman at the front desk. “There’s a man in room four. When he wakes up. Tell him that his friend will call him later.”

*********************************************

A dentist in Poland, dumped by her boyfriend, got payback by removing all of her former lover’s teeth — leading his new lady to dump him, too. – NY Daily News

[Story revealed to be a hoax -MSNBC]

“Just take it,” she said. “I hope you don’t have to use it. But come on. It just isn’t safe out there for you. That’s the sad reality of it. I’m sorry that the world is the way it is but I’d rather you be prepared than hurt.”

The boy sat on the stairs with his arms crossed. His hair was permanently wet, sweeping down the left side of his face. His eyelashes were long and his lips were glossed.

When his mother held out the stun gun he rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s easy. You just leave this in your bag. And if anyone gives you trouble. If you ever feel unsafe. You take it out and you show it to them. You won’t even have to use it. Just press this button and they’ll see the electricity. They’ll leave you be after that.”

She clicked the button trigger and a flash of blue ran across the tips of the gun.

“See,” she said.

The boy turned the gun over in his hand. He clicked the button and watched the small jolt of blue intimidation spark, and then fade.

“I’ll get in trouble,” he said.

The woman took a seat on the step next to her son and put her hand on his knee.

“I know,” she said. “I know. But you’re not going to use it unless it’s absolutely necessary. And if it’s absolutely necessary. Well, I’d much rather you get suspended. Then…”

The boy stood up an put the gun in his back pack. His mother wiped away the tears that had started dripping down her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“It’s not that bad,” the boy said. “I’m going to be fine.”

The boy walked quickly, with his head down, with his hands tucked into the straps of his back pack, down the small Indiana road. A pick-up truck tossed dirt into the road and he heard a voice scream “faggot” through the dusty clouds.

“I’m going to get suspended,” he said. “It’s just the way it is.”

He kicked a stone on the side of the road and walked to the school thinking about the inevitable events that would soon unfold.

They’d pin him up against the locker. They’d call him a “fag” and a “bitch.” They’d tell him to take off the lipstick and when one of the teachers walked by they’d put their arms around him and tussle his hair.

And when the coast was clear one of their fists would hit him in the ribs. He’d gasp for air on the ground and they’d stand over him shouting “pussy” and “homo.”

He’d reach into his bag and pull the gun. He’d pull the trigger and they’d run away from his flexed muscle.

He’d be suspended. They’d be the victims.

He closed his locker and sighed, ready to face his small and miserable world.

*************************************

An openly gay Indiana high school student whose mother gave him a stun gun for protection against bullies faces possible expulsion for bringing the weapon to school. – NY Daily News