Category: Short Stories

“Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us. Submit yourselves for the Lord’s sake to every human authority: whether to the emperor, as the supreme authority, or to governors, who are sent by him to punish those who do wrong and to commend those who do right. For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people.” 1 Peter 2:11-15 NIV

During my final semester at UMass Amherst this spring, I was taking two course, Public Anthropology and Historical Archaeology, that involved social justice as a central theme. We looked at how whole systems of injustice and oppression arise and develop, and how most people unknowingly contribute to oppression. Many of the readings about the systematic injustice perpetrated every day throughout the world left me saddened and angered. I started thinking of how these ideas relate to 1 Peter, where Peter demonstrates what a life changed by Christ looks like, and realized that one of the foremost ways, perhaps THE foremost way, of demonstrating how Christ has transformed my is to care for and pursue justice for the oppressed. These thoughts all started to coalesce one day as I was working in the Franklin Dining Hall kitchen, and I came to the conclusion that it is impossible to be a Christian.
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On August 3, 2014, my grandfather, Albert Lindenschmid, passed away at age 95. This biography is written in honor of him.

Born on February 14, 1919, in Ennahofen, Baden-Würtemburg, Germany, Albert grew up with two brothers and a sister, Greta. He developed an interest in flying, and eventually joined a private flying club. After WWII broke out, Albert and his brothers were drafted into the military. Albert served in the Luftwaffe, the German air force, and during this time took a correspondence course in mechanics and learned to fly sailplanes. Both his brothers eventually died in battle, and thus, per German military policy, he was allowed to avoid the front lines. Instead, he worked as a mechanic, overseeing the maintenance of several planes. He attained the rank of corporal, but turned down a promotion to sergeant since most sergeants ended up on the front lines. He eventually was captured by American forces and held in a French prison camp until after the war.
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This is a German assignment from last semester (spring 2013). English translation at the bottom:

Der Mann, der Berg, der Eintagsfliege, das Kind

Kenneth Mick

26. April 2013

Es war einmal ein viel beschäftigter Mann, der wenig Zeit für etwas hatte. Er dachte über das, was Zeit eigentlich war, und er wanderte durch  die Landschaft um eine Antwort zu suchen. Er kam zuerst auf den Berg, und fragte ihn: “Was ist Zeit”
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Well, I basically have posted all of my old material, so from now on all of my posts will be up to date. But now I want to relate to you a short story about a rather bizarre and in retrospect rather humorous incident last night. At around 1:40 last night, I suddenly started screaming for I don’t know what reason. I was only partially conscious and completely bewildered. At that same time, my brother leaped out of bed screaming. I was already imagining that the curtains in my room were filled with shadowy shapes closing in on me, and now that my brother was yelling too I was sure that “they” were coming to get us. My brother was now next to my bed screaming, and had knocked over our space heater (it has been off for weeks, so don’t worry about that). I was just laying there in bed disoriented, screaming as loud as I could. Our dad came in and asked what was wrong, and at that point we became fully conscious and had to explain that we had no idea. Apparently, what had happened was this: My brother was having a dream where he was being entangled by a plant, and felt it pinning his arm. At that moment, he heard me screaming and thought there must be something happening to me. He leaped out of bed still asleep, and only woke up after he knocked over our heater. I still have no idea what set me off, obviously there was some type of bad dream. The situation might never have happened except that both of us had a bad dream at the same time, which triggered this panic episode. In retrospect, it was quite funny, and I even thought so last night once I figured out what happened.

Why Do You Take Comfort in the Day of Justice?

A Parable of Judgment

Light beams stream down. I walk down Amos Street, alone on a tree-lit path glowing green from filtered sun. In the distance looms the courthouse, Justice with her sword and scales, looks down on me with covered face. All await dear Lady Justice, for when she comes, crime shall pay the paupers it robbed, and all will be put right. When Justice comes, she will smile. Brilliant light will greet me, so as to make the spring green hue that now surrounds me look pitch black by comparison.

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This was from a history assignment two years ago. Short historical fiction essay:

Pulchrum Barbarus

– Approx. 80 BCE


A noble cursed me today. I do not know his name, but he mocked my mixed ancestry. What does it matter that a distant relative was a Gaul? I’m a Roman as much as him. I thought commander Sulla proved that. Why must our family be forever cast with this stigma? The way of the world is strange.

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This is an old piece I did two years ago in English Comp I:


You walk up solid concrete stairs, your footsteps echoing in the small, concrete chamber. The heavy stairs are lifeless and dominating. Sunlight pours in from the small domed skylight, mixing with the artificial light of fluorescent bulbs. You continue upward, one hand sliding along a cold, metal railing covered in chipped black paint. At the top of the stairwell, you open a heavy door made of glass and some unknown metallic material, which is covered in blackish grey paint that reveals chips of blue beneath it.

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This is an old story that I wrote for one of my English assignments, and used a shorter version of in speech class. This is a true story:

9 in a Canoe

The idea had started that morning. I was an assistant counselor at a Christian camp, and it was the second week in the high school program. I am a quiet person, and fairly shy.  My co-counselor and cabin leader Jon, however, was not. It was only a few days into the week, and already Jon had us doing some wild and crazy things. I guess I should have seen it coming.

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