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The twenty-first century of modern earth no longer exists after global heat scoured the earth and an ice age cultivated what remained. Space evacuees consider earth to be just another useless planet, and having no means of returning, remained exiles. Floating ocean habitats became the arcs for preservation of the human species. Satellites, computers, electronics and the conveniences once considered a necessity no longer exist. Hate, war, crime, greed and mankind's faults has caused earth's destruction. Thousands of years has lapsed, and the earth is in rejuvenation as the ice age retreats to the poles. Descendants of the original ocean inhabitants emerge to reclaim existence. Settlers live a pre-industrial and pre-electronic life style. New world inhabitants venture forth to settled, though unable to populate. Evidence of prehistoric twenty-first century existence of mankind lays buried in the tilled landscape of receding glaciers. A new existence of mankind upon the earth may have a new beginning.

A person's life is a daily accumulation of events, emotions, dreams, true stories and fictional stories. At a point in time when an advanced age is achieved, memories become mingled and sometimes facts become blurred, that of truth and fiction, and sometimes, as is the case of a writer, made-up stories. This book is a collection of stories that I have accumulated over the years, presented as fragmentation of life, what was experienced, observed, and created from an imaginative mind. I present adventure, drama, comedy, true stories and fiction. It will be left to the reader to decide which story is true and which is fiction. Quotes:This is what I like, short stories that have depth, and can be read over and over, and I never tire of selecting a story and reading again. Mystery, adventure, comedy, children stories, crime, drama, inspirational, mystic, and tall tales, the writer covers all. Theses stories are so varied that I am eager to get to the next story. A fulfilling read.

I remember, remembering that I have repeated my past over and over, and over. For what reasons are there, to explain why one's life is in need of a repeat. Do we repeat life, for the purpose of getting it right, to correct a past mistake, to change the outcome of a situation to suit our egos? For what-ever reasons, we do re-live moments of our lives. Some of us have fleeting memories of those moments. I remember, remembering to rewrite these lines, or did I? Or is it only my mind playing visual games? For moments like this we use the Déjà vu. Quotes: Shivers up my spine after, during the reading of every short story. I will have nightmares . . ., thanks! Goose-bumps, shivers and a constant look over my should when reading these stories in an empty house.

Cuthburt, Duke of Wales will stop at nothing to sustain his placement and status in the Royal court and will vengefully dispose of Baptist who has assaulted the Duchess of Scott. Across continents of the eighteen-sixties and the cultures of British aristocrats and the uncivilized west of Canada, Cuthburt will demand retribution. Cuthburt alone will demand that only a true bloodline exists and that his son, Duke Winston, and Duchess of Scott produce a child to carry on the royal lineage. Baptist, a trapper, is thrown into a mix of deceit and revenge, yet holds true to his easy-going nature and ability to foil a nemesis who tries to rule all beneath his Royal position. Cuthburt shall fail.

Cuthburt was the only weak link in a suitable situation for all. He alone could demand the termination of birth. Unlikely, for this would bring out the possibility of a scandalous exposure. By demanding that everyone keep their mouths shut then no one outside of Cuthburt's inner circle would know. Would he love the child and embrace as a true bloodline? Edmond Baptist definitely thought not. the impression of Cuthburt's affections was cold, caring only for protocol and what reflected well upon him. Given the opportunity, Edmond surmised that Cuthburt would overthrow all procedures in favour of making Winston of Scott the next King of England. Claiming the throne himself would allow himself to be able to formulate means to decide who would be his successor. Quotes: The royal family is redundant, and maybe this story will plant the seed of change. I think this has happen in the past history of all royalty and I think it just could happen today. I would root for the under-dog. Long live the commoner.

Soaring freely on wings of silky canvas fabric, a colourful kite is barely seen against a clear blue sky. Higher than any of the other kites, twenty assorted kites jostled for manoeuverability. Higher above them floated a sky flyer, its fabric skin taunt against a warm updraft and wind. Stressed to the breaking point, the tethered line held fast to the kite's structural frame. Lazy dog day afternoons are meant for relaxing,and will be recalled in declining years of age. The Sky Flyer waved its long tail of spinning fan blades. Competing kids unreeled in line, in hopes of matching the sky flyer's height. Eyes fixated on the height of the sky flyer. Kids cheered, and town's folk paused, all awed with delight. Some wished that their childhood could have been as adventurous and playful. This September of Nineteen-Ten Is a momentous day. Quote: Boy, kids had fun back in the olden days. Modern kids are missing out on life. At sixty, I want to go fly a kite!

BADLAND TRAILSMy pony's bridle lays across a hay bail. A black saddle straddles a fence post rail. From blurry eyes a tear drop may fall. Ghostly apparitions of a memory to recall. In days of youth mounting from fence rails,rider on pony would wander endless trails. My mount would forever faithfully guide,when crossing haunted badlands at a stride. Quotes; I am delighted by the romanticism of the poetry, making light of the hardships. I want to be a cowboy and live in the romantic era of open trails and endless plains. The cowboy life is humorous when looked at by Mr. Cheeks-Too-Soft.

War affects countries, and the lives of residents and messenger pigeons. History is filled with stories of the average, the heroic, and with historical facts believed to be true. Not only were human participants there by choice or by conscription, there were animals conscripted to assist their human benefactors. If given a choice would they believe in a cause and volunteer? What about the common pigeon, the birds of flight that delivered messages across the battle fields. For every successful messenger there were countless ones that fell under the barrage of enemy fire. Who protected the messenger pigeons? Meet Dodger, a breed of pigeon adept at tumbling, rolling, and the majestic art of aerial displays for entertainment. Tumblers were not messengers or racers, yet they held their part in the protection of messengers, acting as rescuers, and diversions to protect the messengers from harm. Meet, Johnathon 'Dodger' Wentworth-Tumbler, a First World War Rescue Pigeon.

Where is the passion for the playing of the game, the quality of play and the proudness of achieving the Stanley Cup? I must admit that every era of hockey has faults, corruption, integrity, pleasures, success and defeats. For me it is the illusion of a child's imagination of what the game meant that is lost. Currently, attention to hockey has been the status of jokes, that the Leafs will never win the Stanley Cup again. Yet fans of the Leafs are steadfast and true. Imagine the bragging rights of true fans if the Leafs succeeded. Not one to be boisterous I would be one to root for the underdog and be pleased to see the Leafs win. How?Headlines blossomed when the end of the Twenty-twelve regular season left the Leafs at the bottom of the basement in points. A frustrated owner, when bombarded with innuendoes, sneered. A mad dog's growl and foaming jowls silenced the bravest person when the Leafs' owner, Mr. Smithe sputtered a marketable quote. "e;Basement bargain price, Leafs for sale!"e;

I had walked out of the bush an old man. How Old, I did not know? The years had passed without the need to celebrate the remembrance of a birth date. There was something familiar about the place. I noticed a man rocking lazily on an open porch. The old man resembled the face I have when I gaze at my own reflection. We pause and stop, our eyes studying each and every feature of the other. He is familiar; I search my memory for names to place with the face before me. He seems satisfied that after consideration, he has placed a name to my face. I have not placed a name to suit his likeness. "e;Thomas?"e; "e;Yes, I am Thomas Chapais."e; "e;Thomas, I am . . . Nicolas."e; Two old men stood there dumb-founded with nothing to say but to repeat each other's name with favour, contempt, anger, sadness and an undying love that only kinship knows. Without an embrace, nor a handshake we bonded as brothers need to. Our eyes were reluctant to gaze away for fear of the image disappearing.

Expectations of what was to be seen reflecting off of the smooth surface of the water trough was not to be. Clear blue-green water, filled to the brim clearly showed an aged face of a man mystified by a personal image. Hints of specific features were reminiscent of Father's, the family's inherited nose, dad's black eyes in furrowed brows and even Mother's hidden silent humour. Where had the years gone? Bits of recalled memories drift in and out of the mind's eye, though not in chronicle order. Dates and years as mixed up as the faces of people at various stages of life. Faces were familiar though names were difficult to recall. Dates, years and ages were non existent. The stories were most prevalent, most vivid with minute details and background facts connected to others and their stories. Farm animals; their personalities and stories also intermingled in time frames of Ed's life, maybe more affectionate than family and close friends. Animals are funny, serious and emotional.

A man has dreams that are so convincing that he believes that events have occurred in reality. He seeks help from a psychiatrist, who in turn involves a detective and a lawyer. Everyone is convinced that the man has committed a murder, though the man states that the murder was committed in a dream, on the day that he was born.

Only two boys from Steeltown have survived. The past has affected their lives. Living and working in a steel mill town is the cause of past and future events in their lives. Salami is unable to settle down to a married life and is too eager to follow the free spirit of his friend Boo. Leaving town seems to be their only way out, an escape. To escape from what or whom? There are those who wish to even up past scores. They are willing to follow to extremes in order to inflict terror and pain on Salami and Boo. To what end is in store for two friends wishing only to escape the confines of working in a steel mill. Will they be able to escape those Steeltown Blues? Quotes: My hopes for the boys were dashed during the reading of the last few pages. I felt hurt and angry when I read about Boo and Salami, boys I enjoyed following page after page. Through the whole book, I felt as if I were travelling and living the excitement and disappointments of life alongside of the boys.

Steeltown captures the tragedies in a steel mill town. Follow the lives of four young friends struggling to overcome the pressures of growing up. Who will survive the perils of innocence? Do accidents become the mysteries of rumours of murder. In a steel town hidden behind the walls of a steel mill, murder is not an accident. Live the lives of four young men as they work their first summer in a steel mill of Steeltown. Times can be good, bad and ugly. You will laugh and cry for the boys. The women of Steeltown are not, innocent bystanders, they are sometimes the cause of man's turmoil. Steeltown will shock you. Quotes: A realistic account of young friendship. For two days of reading, this book flowed like a movie. A-one-of-a-kind novel, I was not disappointed, I could not put it down, wanting to read just a little further. After reading of the tragedies that occurred in Steeltown, I was afraid to seek my first summer job in a local steel plant.

In the rugged bush of Northern Ontario, a small bush plane crashes. On board is a ten-year-old boy and the pilot. In the early 1960's the only one capable of finding the crash site is Hag and his blood hound Wojo. Hag enjoyed the good life of living in the wilderness until events leading up to the crash and the search was hampered by his companion. Wojo has shown signs of rabies. It is too late when Hag discovers that the infected scratch on his arm was from his dog. There in the middle of nowhere a sick man and the boy he finds develop a bond that is stronger then life it self. Survival is the utmost of importance when there is a lifetime of growing up ahead. An adventure bigger than the wilderness of Northern Ontario. Quotes: A powerful story. I was shocked by the ending. As heartfelt as the movie Old Yeller. I cried for the boy, I cried for the dog and I cried for Hag. A great story Idea, it could have really happened especially here in Northern Ontario. This is truly a Canadian story.

The Author retells memories of growing up on Roosevelt Street, between 1956 to 1965. In a steel town in Northern Ontario, Canada, where kids that lived on Roosevelt Street go through their childhood years. Every kid has adventures, fun and excitement when growing up. Follow the kids as they explore their neighbourhood, the wilderness around and them selves. Read what thoughts a kid of the fifties and sixties remembers about events, friends and himself. A story for adults who want to linger back to an innocent age to remember being a kid. Kids of today will get a feeling of how their parents grew up. Quotes: Thinking back now after reading Roosevelt Street, I had a great time growing up. Similar events happened to me. Thanks for rekindling those memories. I had lost touch with my memories of growing up on Roosevelt Street. I cried after reading about myself in those stories. I am sad that I have moved so far away from home. A great simple story. There should be more books of simple innocence.