#oldstories

[wemhall]

Cheese Fondue

Last Christmas Eve, I was talking with our nephew Casey. He mentioned a visit he’d made to our home as a young boy, and then asked “Do you remember making cheese fondue at the cabin? That was so cool!” The memories of that weekend, and our ‘70s era burnt orange fondue pot came flooding back.  Continue reading Cheese Fondue

[rosiers-promise]

□cncd0m

“I know you hate life darling, but thats why I am here.” He traveled half way across the world to meet her in her homeland. She was nervous, but he was right. In the last couple years she had lost her friends. She was in university but classes were kicking her ass. That, combined with the recent issues with her family, threw her in a downward spiral that only seemed to get worse.

And here he was. In a coffee shop just a few from her home, offering to get rid of all of that. “I have two first class tickets back to America, and I want you to come with me. I have the money to take care of you. You won’t need a job, won’t need school.” He grabbed her hand and she felt safe. He really cared about her.

“Now, when your visa is up, I know you won’t want to go back, and I want to help hide you. But that means we can’t go through the airport together, and you have to leave any electronics here.” She looked down at her phone and he let her think. Her friends hated her. Her family was always fighting and never really reached out unless they needed her. She really didn’t interact with anyone anymore, and if she did she could just log on to her social media over there. She nodded. “Ok.”

He smiled “Very good. You have two days to pack. I can help if you wish.” She nodded with a smile.

Two days later he plopped down into the seat next to her on the plane. He barely acknowledged her, but she knew it was for the best. She had two suitcases, plus his, packed with clothing and small trinkets to remind her of home.

Her six months were amazing. They went out constantly on dates, out to bars, picnics, restraunts, and as many places as possible where they needed ID. He informed her how she wouldn’t be able to show her identification after her visa expired. Not only did he take care of her, buying her food, cooking occasionally, letting her live in his massive house, but he also lavishly spoiled her. They had hot passionate sex, and she couldn’t think of a place in his house they hadn’t fucked. She was living her best life.

A week after her visa expired, he woke her with a soft kiss on the lips. He was never the one to get up first, it was suspicious, but he seemed excited. He led her outside and to a cellar door she had never spotted before. He brought her down and entered a cold concrete room, sealed shut with a prison-like metal door. Inside was a bed, and little else.

He brought a chain down from a loop in the ceiling and opened up thick metal cuffs. “Wrists.” He said, his voice still soft.

“What are you doing?” She asked, her voice still filled with early morning confusion.

“Wrists.” He repeated, his voice unwavering.

She sighed and held out her wrists, only for them to be wrapped in the cold thick steel. Not a second passed before he yanked on the other end of the chain, walking towards the door. She was pulled to the center of the room.

“Hey! What are you doing! Stop!” She squeeled, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He continued to pull until she was hoisted off her feet, her weight resting on her wrists. He hooked the chain into the wall. A knife seemed to magically appear in his hands as he walked towards her, circling her as he dragged the tip against her bare abdomen, around her sides, and up her back.

“You want me to stop? I’ll gladly hand you over to immigration. Let you get deported and rot in jail.” His blade flicked backwards and her shirt fell forward, and just before she could say anything, he sliced off the arms of the shirt, knicking the back of her biceps, and watched as the shirt fell to the ground and exposed her bare back.

The knife danced on her back, making her jerk as he etched the small cuts of a design she couldn’t see into her back. She was stuck. No phone, no internet, no family, not even the government would help her. What other choice did she have?

“We are going to work really close together. Once you are nice and trained, you earn that bed over there.” His knife slid down the back of her legs, this time stinging much more.

She couldn’t help but cry. What more could she do? No words would help. As he stepped around her and collected her clothes from the ground, her sobbing dropped her head to see the blood trickle down the back of her legs to hit the cold floor.

He left the room with her clothes and came back with a bullwhip. “You know how much I love you, princess. And how much it hurts me to see you hurt. But I need to hurt you worse than you can imagine, so you know what I can do. Otherwise you won’t listen.”

He circled behind her as he stroked the whip. “Just know this isn’t even close to what I could do.” He said, as the first strike of the whip hit the back of her bare thighs and filled the room with her ear-piercing scream.

[bungamakrifat]

Tentang Kamu

(Sebuah tulisan lama yang ingin kuabadikan) Malu sekali rasanya, ketika lagi-lagi aku gagal menyembunyikan perasaanku dan bersembunyi dari mengisahkanmu. Iya, ini tentangmu pria dingin. Aku tak bisa berkata tidak rindu, meski sebenarnya aku tidak boleh begitu. Maafkan aku. Maafkan karena gadis bodoh yang sedang mencoba memahami dien-Nya lebih dalam ini, malah belum juga bisa mengendalikan hati.…

[sonjatwogreyhounds]

the #sighthound #bulletin

[shanna254]

@railwolf91 😏😏😏😏😏🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 I love Angela and Nyla

[hellenhighwater]

Okay Malice got of my hands and computer. Sorry. A number of the videos (though not all) did get tagged as #artprize and #oldstories , so that's probably the best way to look for that video.

I saw a short video once – and haven't been able to find it since – it was a sculpture of the young minotaur in the maze, and it was put to the song "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" by the Smiths and it really resonated with me and when I asked my family if they'd seen it too and maybe had it archived, my brother sent me to you! Would you happen to be the one I'm looking for? The video was of the sculpting process, and if I recall there was text overlaid telling the story of the minotaur. It was so beautiful and it really resembled your work and your genre.

Almost certainly me! you might have an easier time finding that video on my tiktok or instagram--I dont remeber what i titled it and the hellsite is hard to search

typing v bad sorry ,malicve on hands on laptiop

[sliceoflife-stories-blog]

Re-presenting Real-Life Heroes #SliceOfLifeStories 🎧

🎧 Slice Of Life Stories #RealLifeHeroes

#Hero #EveryDayHeroes #HeroMoments #Heroism #Inspiration #Courage #Strength #Kindness #Compassion #Selflessness #BeTheChange #Changemakers #Makeadifference #FirstResponders #InspirationalStories #InspirationalSpeeches #RoleModels #Mentors #OldStories #RepublishedStories #ClassicStories #StoriesToTell #TimelessStories #PodcastStories #StorytellingPodcast #PodcastersOfYoutube #SliceOfLife #SliceOfLifeStories #SoLS.

▶Masterclass 00:00

▶The Eyes Have It 12:26

▶Kerbside Angels 24:39

For more story updates follow us @

Soundcloud : https://soundcloud.com/sliceoflifestories 

Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/show/2Gina4RpRz6u3Qn9uYIKOp 

iTunes :https://podcasts.apple.com/in/podcast/slice-of-life-stories/id1358225468?mt=2 

Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/sliceoflifestories/?hl=en 

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/sliceoflifestories/ 

Twitter : https://twitter.com/sliceoflife466 

Subscribe and Stay Tuned !

[bitrss-news]

#Crypto #News:

#OldStory.. https://t.co/3D6FkqxOtv

— BitRss News (@RssBit) Mar 26, 2023

[wemhall]

Glacier Skiing

In the summer of ‘87, my folks visited us in Germany. We had a grand time touring Germany, Austria, Northern Italy and Switzerland. One of the highlights was Glacier Skiing at Sölden, Austria and then afterwards, hanging at the Lodge drinking bier, while Cathy worked on her tan. On our first tour in Germany from ‘79-83, Mom and Dad visited once for a vacation in the summer of 1982. I was a…

[qrakity]

i love how my grandmother talks about her childhood stories. i feel like as if i’m living in the moment.

[ukamericanabartvshowpodcast]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by UK Americana Bar Show (@ukamericanabarshow)

Traveller - Old Stories - The UK Americana Bar TV Show Here’s the second song @trav3llerband performed for us, ‘Old Stories’ Thank you to @taylorteasleymusic for the introduction to the video! You can view the full video from our YouTube Channel (link in bio) Don’t forget to LIKE this video on here and on Youtube, and SUBSCRIBE to our YouTube Channel (link in Bio) . . . . . #Trav3ller #OldStories #BlankPage #TaylorTeasley #ukcountrymusic #countrymusic #americanamusic #ukamericana #singer #music #acousticguitar #steelguitar #countrymusicfestival #singersongwriter #songwriter #americana #country #altcountrymusic #countryartistofinstagram #bcma #countrysongwriter #altcountry #unsignedartist #nashvillemusic #musiclover #ukcountrymusic #scottishmusic #scottishband #musician #instaband https://www.instagram.com/p/CBvqsCLhBOk/?igshid=8pw2go2u962h

[foglibruciatisparsi]

Nell'ora più calda, i raggi e la luce del sole dissolvono i confini delle curve che delineano il suo corpo e quelli della città desolata che è invasa dalle fiamme, che è un rogo in cui la sua anima ardente danza. Le fiamme diramano dalla sfera celeste verso il suo corpo, penetrano l'epidermide, raggiungiungono il tessuto muscolare, poi le sue viscere fino ad arrivare nel mezzo del petto, incendiando il suo cuore pulsante di sangue, dolore, rabbia, passione ed amore. Si lascia inghiottire dal ricordo. E tutto continua a bruciare, senza resa, nello spazio dimensionale, tra realtà e memoria. . . Porta temporale nel ricordo, Lo specchio di Tina & Fogli Bruciati sparsi , Autoritratto, biografia. #noir #noirphotography #oldcanon #oldstories #loveburns #bnwmagazine #bnwselfportrait #memories #selfportraitstudio #selfportrait #autoritratto #photomagazine #bnw_vision #storytelling #bnwphotography #bnwportrait #desire #solitude #passion #record #timedilation #paralleldimension #betweenrealityanddream #throughmylens #lospecchioditina https://www.instagram.com/p/B1ItKMFImbT/?igshid=15aekwwl5rlgh

[kyliesmusings419]

Ivory Keys

    It all started on Aug. 1, 1928,when the world had crashed down upon ladies in elegant gowns and men in well-fitted suits.  They came from miles to dance to the most beautiful melodies, created by graceful fingers flying across the ivory keys.

On this night one particular man had dressed the colour of shadow. The man had on a mask of black, this raised no alarm to any of the other masked guests. He had hid in dark corners where light vanished, he had the eyes of a spurned man. A man who had his heart ripped out of is chest and replaced with a cold lump of coal. The man had his eyes set on the woman playing the piano, she was bound to be the victim, for she was the one who crushed this man’s soul.

    The woman playing the piano was Anna Black, the most resound pianist in Great Britain. She was a woman of exquisite beauty, raven hair fell in soft waves down her back, with only a few strands pinned in an elegant rose shape, at the back of her head. Anna had innocent eyes that sparkled a pale green. She had skin the colour of milk, with just the slightest rose blush.  Her gown was white with a tight bodice covered in a thousand stars, which shimmered in the warm ballroom light. The gown twisted at her hip and flowed down in thick, silky, waves. She was truly breathtaking.

The man stared at her. She was the only woman without a mask, yet she still would have stood out. The passion and fire Anna had was extraordinary, she was a natural born goddess of song. The midnight piano had shimmering gold writing, and the ivory keys seemed to play on their own accord as her fingers danced across them.

The man stalked toward his prey, barely breathing. His black cloak swayed to the music. He moved closer and closer yet, no one paid him any heed. The man was mere inches from the piano. He could smell her perfume.

The next few moments were a blur. A scream, the sound of music stopping with an abrupt  thunk; the falling of a body and total chaos. The piano’s glossy keys stained in a dark crimson. Some would say that the blood looked like tears trickling down the ivory keys.

Some would say that after that, the piano was cursed. People deemed the grand instrument unplayable, because Anna’s soul was trapped inside, and if anyone dared play a single key it awaken Anna from her deep slumber.

    Years later the piano still sat in the same spot; it’s grace and beauty  ebbed away. The glossy midnight black, had faded to a dark gray. The cobwebs that encased it were the only ornamentation left. The gold embroidery had long ago faded to the colour of brass. The words had fallen off and now they were no  longer legible. Abandonment was the only song that played from the broken keys.

    The only tune the faded piano played was the ghost of past memories, rot had claimed it and now the ivory teeth were black, some were even lost. The fingerprints of passion and elegance  wiped away and forgotten by years of dust, water, and decay.

No one would ever play the instrument that was long forgotten, and destroyed. The music notes were written in a forgotten language no one could decipher, so there the piano stood in its faded glory with only dead memories to keep it company.

[successloops]

Put some fresh paint on the canvas that is your mind.

(artist credit - Marilo Cunningham)

If you like my posts even just a little 😋 please consider subscribing to my monthly muse-letter & please grab the very unique complimentary training of elite success strategies while you’re there. All the details can be found at this link https://mailchi.mp/e5b1b6e126db/success-loops-instrumental-inspiration