検索キーワード： 著者 "David Boyer" すべてのカテゴリー

Whether it be a police officer or fireman or hospital employee or retail workers or mail carriers or the nice guy next door who helps you feed your kids or lets you borrow his lawn mower, there are so many heroes, often times right under our nose, that we don't even seem to notice exist.

I'd had too much to drink again. The demon alcohol, always there, tempting me to have another drink. He knows that if he just tempts me enough, pushes me enough, I'll give in. I always do. Because I am weak, and I am a coward. At times, I've wondered if the demon alcohol was really the Devil incarnate. How else could he always win the battle between good and evil, using only a bottle of cheap liquor? Evil does exist, my friends; never, ever have any doubt of that. I know from experience; I've shaken hands with the devil and lived to tell the tale....

When Sampson came back from the war again, he wasn't sure how happy his remaining family would be to see him, but there was only one way to find out. Who knows? They might welcome him back with open arms. Then again, they might hide up in the trees and take potshots at him with their hunting rifles. He hadn't exactly left his old home on the best of terms. His own father—or what almost passed for a father—had called him a demon. As if he had any reason to act self-righteous. But no matter now; he was back home again, and he had important things to take care of.

The saddest day I can recollect now is the day I left my clan alone. My brethren. I'll never forget the look on the faces of my clan; one of fear and anxiousness and most of all, sorrow. It wasn't only that they feared for my safety, either; they were afraid of being without their Master, their keeper. Their hero and best friend. We had not only developed a rapport with each other over time, but a genuine love for one another as well. Love, respect, and loyalty. And now I was leaving them behind, even if only briefly, to risk my life for them.

Sometimes, guardian angels can show up in the most unexpected places....

Our woodland had become a utopia; an wonderous place of ideal perfection. To us, at least, it felt this way. We had no concern what others thought of our world. They were considered nothing more than interlopers, threats, and were not welcome there. All was calm and peaceful. That is, until I'd found a trail of fresh blood, and determined beyond a shadow of a doubt it was not human blood, but animal blood, with spent rifle shells littering the ground nearby. It at that moment I knew that once again, our peaceful solitude was about to be interrupted by mankind's lust for blood.

Marvin was sitting on the hood of his car on the edge of town, watching the sun come up over the horizon. He closed his eyes and tried hard to remember the last time he felt even remotely human–or at least what would pass for human–but, as always, he came up empty.

Ray Striker was a Gulf War veteran turned street vigilante who guarded his own neighborhood like it was his own family. But too many years chasing ghosts and taking the law into his own hands now made it impossible to chase his own inner demons away.