I’ve met a lot of men on my search for love—some charming, some sweet-talking, but most of them left me worse than they found me. They always came into my life saying all the right things, making big promises, but in the end, they just left me broken, like a car after a crash. My heart has taken hit after hit, and there were times I thought maybe love just wasn’t meant for me. I even considered giving up completely, joking to myself that I’d just become a cat lady and stop trying. Then Amos showed up. He was different.…
Author: town gist
Orlando was a four-year-old boy who lived with his parents in a small home. To anyone looking from the outside, they might have seemed like an ordinary family. But behind closed doors, things were tough. His parents weren’t wealthy—in fact, they were deep in debt, owing money to banks they could never seem to pay off. They worked long hours at jobs they didn’t enjoy, jobs that wore them down, but they had no other choice. These jobs were the only way to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. They didn’t have time to dream…
The sun was shining brightly that afternoon in Ouagadougou, the busy capital of Burkina Faso. President Ibrahim Traoré had just wrapped up an unexpected visit to a nearby school. As he made his way back to his official car and security team, something unusual caught his eye. By the side of the road, a man was sitting quietly against a dusty wall. He had a small tin cup placed in front of him, hoping for a few coins from passing strangers. His clothes were worn out, full of holes and dirt. His hair was sprinkled with gray, and his face…
The heat was relentless, the sun casting a harsh glare over the dusty road as President Ibrahim Traoré and his convoy pushed forward. Their day had begun at dawn, packed with public engagements—visiting communities, making appearances at ceremonies, delivering speeches, and exchanging countless handshakes. The energy had long begun to wane among the group, weariness settling in like a heavy fog. Yet, for Ibrahim Traoré, there was something else gnawing at him—an emptiness in his stomach that had grown unbearable. He sat in the backseat of his sleek black SUV, sweat beading on his brow despite the air conditioning, his…
It was a bright and peaceful Monday morning in Wagadugu, the capital city of Burkina Faso. The sun slowly climbed into the sky, spreading a warm golden glow across the buildings. At the presidential palace, a guard stood watchfully at his post as President Ibrahim Troué came outside. He was dressed in a simple, clean outfit — a dark brown shirt and matching trousers. His face showed calmness, but there was a clear sense of purpose in his expression. This wasn’t going to be a regular day filled with meetings, speeches, or official visits. Today was different. The president had…
Her name is Zuri. Just 11 years old. No father, no home—just her pregnant mother, her unborn sibling, and the unforgiving streets. Every day was a fight for survival: searching for food, dodging danger, and clinging to hope. But one tragic afternoon, everything changed. A reckless hit-and-run driver struck her mother, leaving her bleeding and barely conscious. They rushed her to the nearest hospital, only to face another cruel blow. No deposit, no treatment. Zuri had nothing. No money. No family to turn to. Desperate and on the brink of losing the only person she had left, she was told…
The general hadn’t walked for 15 years—until the new black soldier did the impossible. “Private Carter, step aside. He doesn’t need help.” Nyla didn’t move. Kneeling on one knee in the soft grass, she held the tensioned straps of the general’s knee brace with both hands. Steady, calm, sure. Around her, other soldiers paused their drills. Some whispered, others just stared, unsure what they were witnessing. General Allan Strickland, silver-haired and stone-faced, sat in his wheelchair, stiff in his dark navy dress uniform. His hands rested on his thighs, unmoving. His expression was unreadable. Everyone knew his story. Fifteen years…
Morning light poured through the tall white curtains and turned the polished floor into a shallow lake of gold. The house was too perfect—quiet, immaculate—the kind of quiet that made a little girl’s silence feel heavier than it should. Emma Carter, a white toddler barely past her second birthday, sat near the windows with her legs tucked under her, tracing circles on the floor with one small finger. She wore a soft beige short-sleeve top and matching beige leggings—clothes chosen because they never rubbed her skin. The therapists had said comfort mattered when you were asking weak muscles to try.…
The reason was, Cole Harrington didn’t expect to come home early that night. The gala had ended sooner than expected—a dull affair stuffed with wine, politics, and people who measured success in gold cuff links and tax shelters. He had smiled, nodded, signed a six-figure check for a children’s hospital, and left without a word. It was nearing midnight when he stepped into his penthouse. He loosened his tie with one hand, the other pulling the door shut behind him as quietly as possible. He wanted silence, a drink—maybe just five minutes of stillness—before collapsing into a bed he hadn’t…
Desmond Carter wasn’t supposed to be home. It was meant to be another long day at the International Finance Summit in Dubai. But when the closing session ended early, he did what any grieving father missing his daughter might do: he boarded a redeye flight without telling anyone. No press. No schedule. No driver. He just wanted to see his little girl. By 9:47 a.m., he had stepped into the quiet, sunlit foyer of his Los Angeles estate. The mansion smelled faintly of fresh polish and linen candles. Everything looked normal. Too normal. His polished shoes tapped across marble floors…