Showing results by author "Frank Senia" in All Categories

As you enter your senior years, you may come across a situation that transforms your perspective. The decision is yours, languish or embrace new challenges.

I sit alone on my old brown and gold wooden antique rocking chair with a soft brown cushion under my rear. This chair was a gift from my wife on my four fifth birthday. Rocking slowly, back and forth, I see my reflection in the front yard window. The cold outside meets the warm air on the opposite side. I question,” Is that an image of me?’ I remember my son saying, “As I look out the window, I gaze at my reflection. The world outside looks like the world inside. Darkness falls as the night grows long and dark. The only vision is my home.”

The regrets we have during our lives follow us around like a lonely dog who is hungry and needs attention. One that has been abandoned, left to find help for himself, seek shelter, and hide in dark places for safety. Is that what we do to escape the truth, images, and failures in our lives? After years, we go down to sleep each night having a new vision, an incident that brings to our attention past events that we cannot take back or correct today.

Tales of Antonio is a delightful and insightful audiobook told from the protagonist's point of view in the present tense. This audiobook artfully captures Antonio's temperament and aspirations through conversations and observations about other characters. The story structure balances spoken dialogue with thoughts and unspoken discourse from recalled interactions. We learn who Antonio is through his thoughts, deeds, and hallucinations. It's an entertaining narrative with memorable characters.

Tom Richards is lucky he didn’t die—but maybe he should have. When he wakes up in a strange room in a city he doesn’t recognize, all he can recall are two bottles of whiskey and the open road. But after rifling through his car to find his phone, the first thing he does is head straight for a bottle of vodka. He’s never had blackouts like this before. Why are they getting worse? As he starts to piece together the previous night, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, it’s finally time to get some help.

I lie here on my deathbed in Saint John’s Hospital, having flashbacks of the ordeals I have experienced. Each time I close my eyes, a vision of my past horrors appears. The hospital staff is doing their best to reduce my pain. Nurse Florence appears before my eyes every few hours, holding an injection and inserting it into my IV line. With each infusion of fentanyl or morphine, I drift off and remember a painful past event.

The old man and his boot—Pete, the old farmer, and his wife, Mary—struggle through life's difficulties. His imagination helps him make the correct decisions that bring happiness into their life.

Hello! My name is Peaches, and I am a proud, orange, short-haired, tabby Cat. I have touches of white and lightly brown all over my coat. I have a white tip on my tail that people like to reach for and touch. My white whiskers are long, and they stand out straight. I am about 11 pounds, a healthy weight for a cat my size, I am told. My owners feed me well, both with wet and dry food. The kennel says I am eight months old.

Our home is cold inside. Drapes and blinds are closed tightly, keeping out the bright light from the full moon. I awaken suddenly, hearing the sounds of the fireplace crackling as the wood burns down to ashes. The bed under my body feels cool, then a warm, abundant flow of liquid starts moving toward me.

An older man becomes obsessed with an attractive younger woman fleeing her abusive husband from Las Vegas. Their secrets take them both on an adventure of their lifetime.

Trees move swiftly past as I run through the woods, hearing the gunshots and several bullets passing my ears. I always knew this day would come, being a corrupt individual both in business and my personal life, but it came too soon.

Peter King was an ordinary high school boy, tall and thin with long, flowing brown hair hanging over his protruding ears. I could see his family's mansion from my park bench seat. Built with the enormous profits from the coal mine, the house was like one of those celebrity homes you see in Beverly Hills. Peter was an exceptional boy from an uncommon family. However, I later found that he and I had some similar qualities though we both came from different sides of the track. We could re-experience the past and see the future.

Our home is cold inside. Drapes and blinds are closed tightly, keeping out the pale light from the full moon. I awaken suddenly, hearing the sound of the fireplace crackling as the wood burns down to ashes. The bed under my body feels cold. A warm, abundant flow of liquid moves toward me. I feel a syrup-like substance, the texture warm and smooth.