Contents:
The old man answered, "Oh, little girl. Just stop doing this. Come with me and I will buy you a uniform. I was blown away by the kindness I had just seen. Someone who had so little themselves, was able to show such incredible generosity! There is a young boy in her class call him Jake who is quite overweight. As you might expect he is the butt of many jokes and is treated very badly by other kids and even by the teachers One night Emma was extremely upset about this situation, not only because Jake was picked on but that he also had no supplies.
We sat together that evening and discussed the situation in great detail. We devised a plan for Emma to engage Jake in a conversation and for her to ask Jake what he needed for supplies. The next day Emma spent some time with Jake and really came to realize that this young man had a heart of gold I started to get nervous. I knew my pocket book was in the car and I was sure I had put the money in my back right pocket.
I look at cashier with wet eyes and a confused look not knowing what to do. There were people behind me on the line. She told me to speak with the courtesy counter. I laughed and said, "Really? It's cash, no one would hand that in! She asked "How much? My face then lit up. She said, "Actually, yes, someone did! I was so surprised! I want to thank them. This one occurred a mere two feet away from me Filled by a Daughter's Love.
When she appeared at the door she had a bag that she was holding open. From that moment forward she would bring the bag and I would bring the love to the door before we left for school and work A Volcanic Eruption of Kindness in London. The story that most struck me was a call from Peter who had just gotten married the previous weekend to Maz and were due to leave for their honeymoon to the Dominican Republic but could not due to the ash cloud.
When James O'Brien, the radio presenter, asked if he was upset, Peter said: Both, the presenter and I were blown away by the beautiful answer. I spoke to the producer of the show and asked if she could contact Peter to offer him and his wife a room for the weekend at the hotel What is incredible is the sequence of events that followed after my initial offer Rescuing Dash-9, An Orphaned Dog. He was scared and would not come near any of us. Each day, I came to work I would talk to him, toss him a bite to eat and go about my business.
After about two weeks of this, this wonderful creature saw me arrive at work one evening and KindSpring is a place to practice small acts of kindness. For over a decade the KindSpring user community has focused on inner transformation, while collectively changing the world with generosity, gratitude, and trust. It is a shared labor of love. Home Stories Smile Cards Community ideas day challenge. Log in OR Sign up. Stories of Kindness from Around the World. It's not knowing whether you've been running for days or weeks or years.
It's when the sobbing slowly turns into laughter. My daughter woke me around My wife and I had picked her up from her friend Sally's birthday party, brought her home, and put her to bed. My wife went into the bedroom to read while I fell asleep watching the Braves game. My wife and I have been up with her for almost 8 hours. She still refuses to tell us where she got them. He had been given the watch on his tenth birthday.
It was an ordinary grey plastic wristwatch in every respect except for the fact that it was counting down. As the watch ticked away, the boy, now a man, lived life to the fullest. He climbed mountains and swam oceans. He talked and laughed and lived and loved.
The man was never afraid, for he knew exactly how much time he had left. Eventually, the watch began its final countdown. The old man stood looking over everything he had done, everything he had built. He shook hands with his old business partner, the man who had long been his friend and confidant. His dog came and licked his hand, earning a pat on the head for its companionship. He hugged his son, knowing that he had been a good father. He kissed his wife on the forehead one last time. The old man smiled and closed his eyes. The watch beeped once and turned off.
The man stood standing there, very much alive. You would think that in that moment he would have been overjoyed. Instead, for the first time in his life, the man was scared. When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost. We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we'd find a cup that hadn't been there the night before.
Mother had left them there, worried that we'd get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us. Among the house's original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she'd manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us. Years later, long after we'd moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse's original occupant, a widow.
She'd murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she'd hanged herself. The article included a photo of the farmhouse's living room, with a woman's body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room. On Monday, I came up with the perfect plan. No one even knew we were friends. On Tuesday, he stole the gun from his dad. On Wednesday, we decided to make our move during the following day's pep rally. On Thursday, while the entire school was in the gym, we waited just outside the doors.
I was to use the gun on whoever walked out first. Then he would take the gun and go into the gym blasting. I walked up to Mr. Quinn the guidance counselor and shot him in the face three times. He fell back into the gym, dead. The shots were deafening. We heard screams in the auditorium. No one could see us yet. I handed him the gun and whispered, "your turn. I followed a moment after. He hadn't hit anyone yet. Kids were scrambling and hiding.
I ran up behind him and tackled him. I wrenched the gun out of his hands, turned it on him, and killed him. I closed his mouth forever. On Friday, I was anointed a hero. It was indeed the perfect plan.
All things must have balance. Without one, the other cannot exist. Of course he fights evil. I am Dartalian, one of His most Holy and Righteous angels.
I roam the Earth, disposing of evil wherever I find it. I kill the monsters you don't ever want to know about. I crush them completely so you can sleep at night. You humans have no idea how many of you live because of the work I do. The ones I destroy are What's funny, is while I would wager you never have heard the name Dartalian in any relegious texts, I bet you have heard of me.
Americans, for example, have their own name for me. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. There was no pearly gate. The only reason I knew I was in a cave was because I had just passed the entrance. The rock wall rose behind me with no ceiling in sight. I knew this was it, this was what religion talked about, what man feared.. I had just entered the gate to hell. I felt the presence of the cave as if it was a living, breathing creature.
The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed me. Then there was the voice, it came from inside and all around. I've lived as good as I could". The silence took over the space as my words died out. It seemed like an hour went by before the response came. I never believed any of this", I uttered "Is that why I am here?
The cave trembled with the words: It was one a. He hadn't moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right, and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement.
Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run, you idiot? He'd never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? You can afford a lawyer. Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him.
There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. His body trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. He let out a defeated sigh. Let me —"I am terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your son's bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I'm very sorry for your loss. Have you ever walked into a room and found a vampire? No, not the sexy kind, but a foul creature with bony limbs and ashen skin?
The kind that snarls as you enter, like a beast about to pounce? The kind that roots you to the spot with its sunken, hypnotic eyes, rendering you unable to flee as you watch the hideous thing uncoil from the shadows? Has your heart started racing though your legs refuse to? Have you felt time slow as the creature crosses the room in the darkness of a blink? Have you shuddered with fear when it places one clawed hand atop your head and another under your chin so it can tilt you, exposing your neck? Have you squirmed as its rough, dry tongue slides down your cheek, over your jaw, to your throat, in a slithering search that's seeking your artery?
Have you felt its hot breath release in a hiss against your skin when it probes your pulse—the flow that leads to your brain? Has its tongue rested there, throbbing slightly as if savoring the moment? Have you then experienced a sinking, sucking blackness as you discover that not all vampires feed on blood—some feed on memories? But let me rephrase the question: Have you ever walked into a room and suddenly forgotten why you came in?
The doctor pulled the stethoscope ear tips out and hung the device around his neck. Weatherby, all of your tests have come back negative and my examination shows nothing abnormal. A psychologist can help They seem to have a life all their own. I can't hold a job. I'm under investigation for assault. I almost killed my neighbor. This can't go on. I'll try anything at this point. He was convinced that despite what the doctors said, it was not a psychological problem. That night, a frustrated and angry Adam sat in a chair and drank bourbon. Drunk and hopeless, he stumbled to the garage and started the table saw, then slowly lowered his wrists toward the screaming blade.
Detective Armstrong entered the garage where several uniformed officers stood over the blood-soaked body. He apparently chopped off his hands with the table saw and bled to death. I don't know why I looked up, but when I did I saw him there. He stood against my window. His forehead rested against the glass, and his eyes were still and light and he smiled a lipstick-red, cartoonish grin. And he just stood there in the window.
My wife was upstairs sleeping, my son was in his crib and I couldn't move I froze and watched him looking past me through the glass. His smile never moved but he put a hand up and slid it down the glass, watching me.
With matted hair and yellow skin and face through the window. I couldn't do anything. I just stayed there, frozen, feet still in the bushes I was pruning, looking into my home. People started falling from the sky by the close of the decade. They were never clothed, always naked, always a petrifying grin on their faces.
It had been just a few at first, but then hundreds and thousands would fall at a time, destroying cars, homes, blocking off highways. Strange discoveries were made upon research; they were human, but lacked any blood, intestines, even a heart. No one could explain the hideous grins they had, or even where they came from. It was a woman in Costa Rica who made the latest and most disturbing discovery. She recognized one of the fallen bodies as a long dead relative, one who died back when she had been a teenager.
Then more and more identifications were made. Soon people were picking out their long dead loved ones amongst the video feeds, cadaver piles, and crematoriums.
No one could explain why they were coming back, falling from the sky. Even more distressing, after disposing of the bodies, it wouldn't be long until that same body came plummeting from the sky again. You could not get rid of them, no matter what. People were getting killed by the higher volume of falling bodies, and soon after burial, they too, began to fall. My mother was killed when a body landed on her car, crushing her. The next week, the news reported on a body that had gotten lodged in an airplane windshield.
They say when hell is full; the dead shall walk the earth.
I watched as my soon to be father-in-law held his daughter's hand as he walked down the aisle. Tears streamed down his face as the wedding march that played in the background reminded him that, in a few minutes, he would be watching me hold his daughter's hand and slipping on her ring. He walked up to the altar and I took hold of her hand, grinning from ear to ear. It was the happiest day of my life. My bride's father got down on his knees and started begging. Just please give my daughter back. Panicked, I run through the abandoned farm.
I can't find her. Not in the old house. Not in the barn. I run into the empty field, heart racing. As I scan the area, I run into a mound of dirt and trip, sprawling to the ground. Getting up, it hits me. I tripped over freshly tilled earth. Crouching down, I start frantically clawing with my hands. Scooping handfuls of dirt, I hit something hard. I hear muffled cries. I start digging again, but realize it's taking too long. Looking around, I see a garden shed. I sprint to it, ripping the door open. I see a shovel, still caked in dirt.
Probably the same one that bastard buried her with. Running back, I started digging with purpose. Soon the wooden box is exposed. I toss the shovel, and rip open the crate. She stares back at me, eyes wide. I sigh with relief. I reach into my bag, pulling out my rag and chloroform. I crouch down, placing it over her face.
I toss her over my shoulder. You almost had me though! Where did you put her? Drowning's an issue though. I smile, watching him go. I love adult Hide and Seek. Look, I'll be the first to admit I'm a complete bastard. I'm only here to find the idiot, because there's almost always an idiot. This support group is pretty typical. We connected online, decided on a quiet place, and now we're all sitting cross-legged in a circle.
Jerome takes the lead, pouring everyone a cup of tea as he starts talking. You can drink your tea, but only after explaining why you're here. I can see why—the guy's ugly as sin. He sips his tea while the mousy chick speaks next. She's probably not the idiot. Next to talk are a legless veteran, a broke businessman, a needle-tracked junkie, and a diseased old crone. Then it's my turn. Afterwards, we're all sitting quietly when Jerome keels over.
Then Miyu's eyes roll back and she slumps forward. Only the fat kid reacts. No one wants to die alone, kid. These suicide meetups are a sadist's dream, and I never have to lift a finger. Little Emily vanished last year. Now they're pouring new sidewalks in my neighborhood, and I've found her name in the wet cement, written in remembrance. But it was written in reverse. I bought a new house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap, but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the city.
A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker. While I had managed to get him arrested, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes just constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind.
The house itself was big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap. However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since then, and all of them were very happy with it.
I loved the house. Its interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable. The people of Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or inviting me over for dinner. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much as I breathed.
Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a few nights. It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he couldn't fall asleep if he didn't feel like he was being watched.
He was finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the night. Only it wasn't a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old girl, just so her corpse could stare at him. The story gave me shivers, and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes just watching me no matter how I turned. Today, however, was the first day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes. Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged itself into the wall.
As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde. I've been watching the police peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they've found pairs of eyes in little glass jars. The scariest thing is, each and every one was staring at me. Cradling my four-year-old daughter in my arms, all I could do was listen as the screaming outside the house got louder and louder, interspersed with sounds of violence and horrible, horrible wet thuds and the unmistakable echo of muscle and sinew resisting the force that was slowly tearing them apart.
It started just three days ago.