Walt Trizna's Blog, page 3

TRUMP and the NOBEL PEACE PRIZE

THE PRICE of the NOBEL PEACE PRIZE for TRUMP – UKRAINE.

WEBSITES FOR WRITERS

                         WEBSITES FOR WRITERS

Every year WRITER’S DIGEST published 100 best websites for writers. I took the list published in 2025 and selected what I thought were some of the best for this year and not repeated from last year. Here is one of them.

                            Language Is a Virus

                            LanguageIsAVirus.com

This website states that it helps cure writer’s block. Also, it can release you from your current project for a while.

It helps to inspire creativity with interactive writing games, story writing, poem writing and various other writing topics including writing prompts. It also provides creative writing exercises. Helpful in generating characters and plot twists. 

MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM: THE FINISH

                              MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM

                                                                        10/16/2021

Millie was losing even more weight, and her arthritis was causing her great pain. She hadn’t eaten for two days. So, I made one of the most difficult calls I have ever made in my life. I called the vet’s office and said it was time. I drove her to the vet. Went inside to tell them we were in the parking lot. As I walked back to my car there was Millie lying on the back seat looking at me with her beautiful eyes full of love.

A vet who has known Millie all her life came into the exam room and immediately said by the smell she could tell the problem was her kidneys.

The process went very fast. First Millie got something to make her sleep. Millie was standing and just keeled over. The vet said it was not usually so dramatic. Next came the injection which would relieve Millie of all her pain and sleep forever.

Millie is gone now but will never be forgotten.

Update                                                               6/27/2025

Since this story was first written my cat, Sammy, has died at the age of 17. I have never been much of a cat person, but after 17 years I must say Sammy grew on me. However, Sammy being Sammy, I’m not sure of Sammy enjoying having me around.

MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM: CONTINUED

She came home with us, and we crated her in the living room, then went upstairs in our split-level home to go to sleep. Millie began crying. We thought she missed her siblings, but she was missing company. Once moved to our bedroom, the crying stopped.

In September my wife went on vacation, and I was left with un-house-broken Millie. I brought Millie into the sunroom and closed the door to the rest of the house. Armed with paper towels and a host of cleaners I was prepared to clean up after Millie until she learned where to do what had to be done. Eventually she learned to go to the back yard and do her business. Before she left on vacation Joni said Millie should not go on the couch in the sunroom. I figured, okay, I would lie on the couch and Millie would lie on my chest. The rules were met somewhat. To make a long story short that couch was one of her favorite places. She loved to lie down with her head on pillows. She loved pillows. The couch is now heavily stained with ripped cushions. But Millie was happy on her couch and that is what mattered.

Joni enrolled Millie in a dog training school. I went along with them but had to stop. While all the dogs were walking in a circle on leashes Millie would come over to me to say hello.

As with most dogs Millie became more than a pet. She was a member of our family.

 I remember when our cat did something unacceptable. Joni sprayed water on the cat, and the criminal ceased the activity. When Millie did something Joni did not approve of she sprayed Millie. Millie loved it. During the winter Millie would break through ice to get to water.

Millie has such a mild personality. Sometimes our cat, Sammy, would sleep on Millie’s bed or Millie’s favorite chair. Now Millie was at least seven- or eight-times Sammy’s size, but she would not bother the cat. Millie would come to me looking up as if to say, “Dad do something.” When we would pass a barking dog on walks, Millie looked as if she was thinking ‘What’s your problem’?

When Millie grew old and somewhat confused, if she wanted me to do something she would stamp her left front paw. How she learned that I have no idea. As I tried to figure out what she wanted she would go to her bed and lie down forgetting that she wanted something.

There are two incidents in Millie’s I will never forget.

One day Millie went to the backyard when nature called. She began barking. Millie never barks. I went out to investigate and there she was challenging a groundhog which had reared up on its back legs. Not a good sign. After I saw what was going on I went into the house and got a broom to chase the groundhog away. But for some reason I chose a different tactic. I hit Millie on the head to get her attention, allowing the trespasser time to escape.

The second event could have been disastrous.

Millie has only left the backyard twice, crawling under the fence. She barks when she wants to be let back in. One day, no barking. She was outside for a long time, so I went out looking for her. No Millie. We live on a very busy street. In was close to Christmas so the street was busier than normal. I heard horns blaring and went out front to see what was going on. Traffic was stopped in both directions and there sat Millie on the double yellow lines. How she got there without getting killed I’ll never know. I called her to come, and she did with what I thought was a guilty look on her face.

With advancing age Millie became more and more confused and developed arthritis. And not long ago she stopped eating dog food. She was losing weight. The vet told me I should cook for her. I made her scrambled eggs or pancakes for breakfast and pork chops, fish sticks or chicken for dinner. But eventually she ceased to eat human food. I could see the end was approaching, fast.

A COMICAL LOOK AT THE FUTURE, BUT WHO’S LAUGHING

MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM: A PETS’ STORY

Recently, my cat, Sammy (Samantha), died. She will probably be the last pet I have. And this will be the first time this house has been without a pet in about 35 years.

We’ve gone through a host of various types of animals as pets over the years. There have been lizards and snakes. I had a ball python for 25 years. We’ve had gerbils and a hamster. The hamster was found by a friend around Christmas time. The girls named it Noel. There was a hermit crab named Shelly. We have also had three dogs and four cats as pets one time or another. I’ll save most of their stories for the future.

This story will concern the last two pets who lived in this house. Millie, a fantastic dog and Sammy who would demonstrate an attitude when she wasn’t sleeping, which was most of the time. But no matter what their personality, they were part of the family.                                           

                              MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM

This is a story about my dog, Millie, and my cat, Sam. Both remarkable pets.

 My wife, Joni, and I adopted an SPCA dog. He was a terrier of an unknown mixture named Whitey for obvious reasons We loved him and had him for years. I would be sitting in a chair in the living room, and he would sit in front of me. I would say, “He’s coming up” and he would jump into my lap. Of course, he was white, but when he got a haircut portions of grey skin would show.

When Whitey died Joni said, “No more dogs.” Whitey’s death was grieved by the entire family.

My brother’s wife had quads, and they already had two kids at the time. We went to my brother’s house to celebrate the high school graduation of Lauren, Katie, Christopher and Andrew. All went on to get degrees, and some of the kids, advanced degrees.

When we arrived at Mike’s house the first thing he said was that we should go into the garage. He had a female Chocolate Lab named Haley. She was gaining weight, so Mike cut down on her food. His daughter, Jessica, came home from nursing school and said, “Dad, she’s pregnant.” When we walked into the garage there was Hailey nursing nine pups of various types. There were Chocolate Labs, Yellow Labs and pups colored brown and white. Mike did not know who the father was but my money is on a German Shepard. The pups were born at the beginning of June. Joni could not resist having one of these pups. Who could? At the beginning of August found Joni, my daughter, Lynn, and myself driving to my brother’s house to select one. 

 At that time there were seven or eight left. They were outside when we got there running around in a pack. Falling, jumping but always staying together. The pups were let into the house and we all sat down to have lunch. Joni had her eye on a Chocolate Lab named Chubs because he was the largest of the liter. As Joni was eating her lunch, and the pups were playing, a brown and white pup came and sat next to Joni.  We did not pick out a pup. The pup picked us. I wanted to name her Molly, but Lynn wanted Millie. From the title of this piece, you could see who won.

UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER IX

                                                   UNHOLY GROUND

                                              THE BARN

 Moonlight illuminated the night.  A full moon hovered over the rolling Pennsylvania hills as Chris and Junior snuck out of their houses to carry out Chris’ artistic callings.  As Chris made his way down the road, he could see Junior up ahead.  Finding the barn by daylight was difficult enough, at night, if Chris was alone, it would be impossible.

“How’s it going, Junior?  Ready to do a little painting?”

“I’m telling you, Chris, this is not a good idea.”

Junior could see the determination in his friend’s eyes.  Armed with five cans of spray paint and flashlights, they made their way down the dirt road toward the barn.

Initially, the boys let the moonlight guide them.  Crickets filled the night with their song, joined by the occasional frog.  When they were farther along, they illuminated the forest to their right with their flashlights.  Chris knew it would be difficult to find where the path branched off the road.  Junior told him, “There are two tall maple trees, one on either side of the path.  Keep a lookout for those trees.”

The walk seemed longer than the last time to Chris.  Maybe it was the night or maybe it was doing something that Junior and old-man Alexander warned him against.

Junior found the two maples.  Now their flashlights have become a necessity.  The dense forest blocked the moonlight just as it did the sun.  The nighttime forest had an intensified air of mystery, more sinister than during the day.  The soft rustlings on either side of the path only served to increase the sense of dread.  More than once, Chris considered turning back.  But he could not, would not give in to the seeds of fear planted by the locals.  As he walked next to Junior, he sensed a tension in the forest, something he had not felt during his daytime visit.  He also knew Junior was terrified.  At one point his friend was actually whimpering.  Then the boys thought they heard distant voices.

“You hear that, Chris?  Let’s turn back.”

Chris shoved him in the back.  “Keep going,” he said.

Up ahead, Chris saw a moonlit area through the trees.  He knew he was approaching the clearing and the barn.  The boys stepped out of the forest.

Chris walked up to the barn.  Junior hung behind shaking with fear.  From his backpack, Chris produced cans of spray paint and began to deface one side of the wooden structure.  He laughed as he painted his name in outlandish letters and added a multitude of designs.  The painting went on until the cans ran dry.

He turned to Junior.  “Now that is what I call art.”

Junior’s response was, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

                     * * *

For the next week all Chris could think about was how great it felt to spread his graffiti over the white walls of the barn.  With the image of the three remaining virgin walls in his mind, he decided to purchase more paint and complete the project.  He approached Junior and asked, “What do you say we decorate the barn a little more?  I’ll let you share bragging rights when we go back to school.  I’ll meet you tonight.”  Chris turned, not giving Junior a chance to reply.

The boys met on the road.  This time the moon was only a sliver, and they had to use their flashlights much earlier.

“This will be awesome,” Chris told Junior.  He could see his friend shaking with fear while he experienced an adrenaline rush.

The boys made it to the clearing and the barn.  Junior elected to remain amongst the trees while Chris approached the barn.  “Shit, what the hell?” Chris said.  He looked in disbelief.  There wasn’t a sign of the painting he had done.  The wall of the barn glowed a pristine white.

Then he heard voices coming from within.  He could see blood-red light through the joints in the wall.  He wanted to confront whoever spoiled his artwork.  Something was taking place in the lower confines of the building.  Suddenly, the place just didn’t feel right.  Chris’ courage dissolved in a need for flight.  That’s when his eye caught a figure standing before him where none had been a moment ago.

It was a boy dressed in an odd costume – old fashioned.  Even more peculiar was that the boy glowed from within.

“My name is Thomas Young.  My family and I have been waiting for a visitor, someone to help us protect this ground”

Junior shouted, “Chris, run!”  But Chris was frozen to the spot.

The boy continued, “I welcome you to the land of the Ancients.  You have angered them, and it is with them that you will dwell forever.”

The glowing youth stepped closer.  Soon the boys stood face to face.  As Chris stood stark still, the boy took another step and went through Chris.  He suddenly felt cold; falling to the ground he underwent the conversion to a sentry of the Ancients. 

“You are one of us now.  You will dwell in this barn and guard the land.  To leave this clearing is to enter oblivion.”  Thomas turned and walked through the barn wall.

Chris stood alone in the moonlight, unable to comprehend what had happened.  He looked toward the welcoming forest, and in an instant, felt the loss of his life and his future, feared the existence that awaited him.

Junior ran back into the forest, never to enter the territory of the Ancients again.

               * * *

Junior never told anyone about the incident at the barn, even when the police questioned him about his friend’s disappearance.  Never said a word until one day his grandson asked, “Gramps, do you know about the haunted barn?

                     THE END

A SAD REALITY

The ballroom is supposed to form Trump’s legacy.

Some money could be saved. His legacy had already been formed.

UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER VIII

                                                  UNHOLY GROUND

Old-man Alexander

 “Get the hell out of here,” came a shout.

“Shit,” said Junior.  “It’s old-man Alexander.”

“What the hell is he doing here?  I thought this place was sooo scary.”

“I don’t know,” said Junior.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Chris replied, “This is turning into a regular convention.  I want to know what he’s doing out here.”

The old man stumbled toward the boys dressed in his standard uniform.  Years ago, the sweatshirt he wore had been gray; now it was a mottled camouflage of grime.  His worn stained bib overalls completed the outfit.  As he approached, he took sips from a large bottle.  The boys could see that his eyes were glazed, and they could smell the alcohol on his breath as he weaved toward them.

“I said what the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Chris.

This stopped the old man; his withered face formed a grizzled smile.  Swaying, he said, “I like places where no one else is.  I likes my privacy, my drinking privacy.”

              * * *

As a teenager, Kermit Alexander had few friends.  He was a loner, kept to himself and was already making his way down the road to alcoholism.  He was sometimes teased, “Go out to that old barn in the woods.  No one will bother you there.”

That’s what he decided to do.  He had heard strange stories about the barn.  None of which he believed.  Kermit decided to trek out there and check things out for himself.

He had trouble finding the structure.  He eventually stumbled into a clearing and there it stood, looking like it had just been built.  As soon as he entered the clearing, he felt strange, frightened.  He couldn’t figure out why.  Kermit’s fear became so intense he ran back into the trees.  “Shit,” he said to himself, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Kermit had recently developed a taste for wine.  “Next time, I’ll fortify myself on the way through the woods.”

From then on, during his journeys to the barn, his fear was replaced by numbness, a numbness he would maintain for the rest of his life.

             * * *

Aren’t you afraid to be out here alone?” asked Junior.  “Doesn’t this place give you the creeps?”

“Nope,” said Alexander.  He held up his bottle and said, “I bring along my courage.”  The old man mellowed as he began to talk about his past to the boys.

“Started coming out here when I was about you boys’ age.  Matter of fact started drinking about that time too.  First couple of times I come out here I was sort of scared; don’t honestly know why.  Then I started priming the pump as I walked through the woods.  By the time I reached the clearing, I wasn’t scared of nothin’.  ‘Cept one time had a little too much courage.  Fell asleep.  Voices woke me up.”

“What voices?” asked the boys in unison.

“Don’t rightly know.  It was near dusk.  The voices were coming from the barn, strange voices.  They were calling me.  Got my ass out of there fast.  Never stayed late again.”

Chris asked, “Sure you weren’t hearing things, old man?”

“Don’t shit with me, punk.  I know the stories about this place.  Damn barn sits on unholy ground, Injun ground.  No one comes out here at night no matter how much courage they had.”

“Let’s go home,” said Junior.  “I’ve still got chores to do.”

The boys turned and left.  Behind them, they could hear old-man Alexander laughing.

Once they were deep into the forest, Junior remarked, “I told you that was a scary place.”

“Right,” Chris said sarcastically.  He was pissed that the old man was laughing as they left.  It only made him more determined to revisit the barn.  Chris could not get those pristine white walls out of his mind.  Those walls were just screaming to him to be decorated.  And now that he knew they were protected during the day, so daytime visits were out.  He also knew that no one would be there at night.

“What do you say we visit the barn at night?” Chris asked Junior.

“Are you crazy?  I’m not going there at night!”

“You’re going to let the stories of an old drunk scare you?  Didn’t you hear how he was laughing?  He was laughing because he thinks he frightened us away.  Let’s check out the barn at night and see what’s really going on inside.”

Junior replied, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“I do,” said Chris.  “I’ll meet you on the dirt road tonight.  Bring a flashlight.”

Junior shook his head and turned for home knowing he could not let his friend down.

UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER VII

                                                  UNHOLY GROUND

“Bullshit,” Chris screamed when his parents told him of their plan to move to the country.  “Philadelphia is my home.  I don’t want to live with a bunch of hayseeds that get their kicks watching corn grow or whatever the hell they grow out there.”

Chris was tall and lean with a shock of red hair and a face full of freckles.  He resembled his dad and had his dad’s forward manner.  Bob was irritated at how much his son was like him, especially in ways he wanted to change in himself.

“Now listen here,” Bob said.  “The decision is made, so you might as well accept it.  And watch your language.  The attitude you’ve taken lately is one of the reasons we made this decision.

“And furthermore, I’d rather see you keep company with hayseeds than those hoodlums you call your friends.  I did not enjoy picking you up at the police station after you and your friends were caught spraying graffiti on that old warehouse.”

Chris said sarcastically, “We were just being artistic.”

“Well son, your form of art is considered vandalism.  There are no two ways about it.  We’re moving to Pinebrook to make a new start.”

Chris grumbled up to, during and after the move was completed.  His attitude improved when he met Junior Dawson.  Junior had a talent for getting into trouble and nothing scared him.  Well, almost nothing.

               * * *

In his fifteen years, Junior Dawson had never strayed far from Pinebrook.  For vacations, his family would seek out campgrounds in nearby Pennsylvania state parks.  He seldom visited a big city.  When Chris moved to Pinebrook, he brought Junior a window to a world he barely knew.

Junior liked Chris’ swagger, his whole attitude.  No one in Pinebrook had an attitude, that is if you didn’t count old-man Alexander, who was perpetually pissed off.  In Pinebrook there was no reason to have an attitude.  People just lived their lives and accepted what came their way.

The two boys were neighbors, but with the size of the farms, their houses were not within sight of one another.  Although they were in different classes at school, they became fast friends.  One lazy Saturday afternoon, Chris asked Junior, “What do you do for kicks around this place?”

“Oh, we hike and fish.  And when it gets warm, we swim in the lake.”

“Shit, John-Boy, I’m talking fun, not Boy Scout camp.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Junior replied.  “There’s not much to do around here.”

“No shit,” answered Chris.

“Listen, when I lived in the city, me and some of my pals used to get cans of spray paint and decorate the walls of some vacant and not so vacant buildings.  Then you could walk by anytime you wanted and look at your artwork.”

Junior said, “I know what graffiti is but what are you going to paint around her’, the trees?  All the farms are busy places.  You can’t even sneak up on them at night for all the dogs.  There aren’t any vacant buildings except…                                         ‘

“Except what?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!  Except what?”

“Well, there’s this old barn.  Sits all by itself in the middle of the woods about a mile or so from here.  People around here don’t talk about it much.  It’s a strange place.  I’ve been to it once and don’t want to go back there again.”

“Man, it sounds perfect.  What could be so strange about an old barn in the middle of nowhere?  I bet it’s just screaming for a paint job.”

“No, it’s not, Chris. Believe me, it’s not.  No one knows how old the barn is, but it looks like it was built yesterday.  And although no one tends to it, the forest just grows up to about twenty feet from the barn and stops.”

“Oh, that sounds scary,” Chris said with all the sarcasm he could muster.

Junior said, “I’ve been there once, with a couple of friends during the day.  The place gave me the creeps; a strange feeling like someone was watching me.  Like someone was about to yell at me.  We all high-tailed it outa there.  We all felt the same thing and it didn’t feel good.”

“Now you’re really getting me scared, Junior.  There’s an old, abandoned barn in the middle of the woods that everyone around here is afraid to visit.  Shit, it sounds perfect.  We can paint to our heart’s content, and no one will ever disturb our work.  Maybe we could make it into a kind of clubhouse, a kind of drinking and smoking clubhouse.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea, Chris,” Junior said.

“I do.  Let’s go.”

After more arguing, Junior finally gave in.  The boys headed down the dirt road that separated their properties.  Fields of wheat and corn bordered the road, with an occasional stand of trees.  The air was full of the smell of a country afternoon and insects, which the boys would swat away.  Once past their farms, Junior slowed and began looking for a trail that would lead off to the right.  He finally found what he was looking for.

“Here’s the trail to the barn.”

“You call that a trail.”

“I told you no one comes out here.  We shouldn’t be here either.”

“Don’t pussy-out on me now, Junior.  Take me to your scary barn.”

Following the path was not easy.

“I can’t believe how dense this forest is.” said Chris.

“You want to turn back?”

Chris shoved Junior in the back and said, “Keep going.”

They walked for half an hour, crossing streams and glancing up at the giant canopy of trees blocking the sky.  If anything, the trees became denser as they walked making the going extremely difficult.

“Oh, Junior, this place is so scary even the bugs won’t come here,” Chris said.

This only added to Junior’s fears because the bugs really were gone.

Suddenly, up ahead there appeared a clearing.  In the middle of the clearing stood a barn, painted white.  The doors and shutters surrounding the window of the loft were painted black and closed.

“You are sure this barn is old, Junior?  It looks brand new.”

“I told you this was a strange place. And I’m sure it’s old.  My grandpa said his grandpa told him about it.”

Chris immediately observed how clear the area was around the building, and asked, “Who keeps the area around the barn free of trees?”

“No one,” answered Junior.  “I told you.  It just stays clear on its own.”

The boys stood at the edge of the trees. 

“Can you feel it, Chris?  Like we’re being watched.  Like we’re not alone.”

Looking off, Chris pointed to a figure emerging from behind the barn and said, “We’re not alone.”