Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

The fire nearing a small town where they had friends, consisting of more ancient homes, rickety cabins than sturdy recently built structures. Panicked pounding on the door made him jump.

The breath of innocents must become our guide— our only guide through death and life’s uncertain tides. That breath leads us to distant places, to wonder at the rolling skies where the mystery of our heart lies.

“Ms. Stafford,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry to startle you, but they told me at the hospital that you found me that morning and called for the ambulance. You saved my life. I wanted to stop by to thank you.”

I am flawed and imperfect imbued with conflicting emotions with extreme polarities in thought my anxieties instill fear and my fear breeds anxiety