• Marigold Pikehawk

    This is the story of my life. I am Frank Kuhn. I lived in Palonka, Hungary until 1911 when I came to the United States of America to find a new life. In 1911, I was working with a Catholic priest in Palonka when I was sent to get a gas bottle to put the bubbles in the beer; however, I didn’t have any money to buy the gas bottle. Because I had no money, I was accused of stealing a twenty dollar gold piece. I was innocent. After I was accused of this crime, of course I offended and hurt, I took my bicycle and clarinet and left Hungary without anybody knowing, not even my parents.

    When I left Palonka, Hungary, it wasn’t safe for me to sleep out in the open when night came. I didn’t want anything to happen to me, so I dug under a hay stack and …

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  • Marigold Pikehawk

    Another story I wrote a few years ago... This one was written with a friend - kind of like a fractured fairy-tale. I wrote the first half and my friend wrote the second half.

    “Hey Ken! How’re ya doin’?” I questioned after I caught up to my friend who was exiting the grocery store. Many people would probably laugh at the site of us together: a twenty-two year old, muscular mechanic who seemed to barely fit through the doors of the grocery store walking beside a trim, brown eyed brunette who could pass as a model at the age of twenty.

    Ken glanced down, surprised to see me, and answered, “Oh! Hey Steph. I’m doin’ pretty well, I’ve been busy with work. How’ve you been doing?”

    “Oh, I’m good, also busy…as usual. The business is good.”

    “That’s great! …

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  • Marigold Pikehawk


    February 2, 2011 by Marigold Pikehawk

    This is a story I wrote a while ago... It needs to be edited again, so please keep that in mind while you're reading it.

    It rang out through the night, muffled, but still audible in the unmoving darkness. Being drug to consciousness by the piercing sound, Justin’s dark gray eyes opened wide, trying to see into the inky blackness. Trying to decipher where the sound had come from...and trying to remember where he was.

    Justin Black was new to this small farm town and was staying at a little bed ‘n’ breakfast that was set up on a large farm. Everyone seemed to know everybody here and news seemed to spread like wildfire in California. As Justin’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the realization of what the sound was hit him like a Mac truck. A guns…

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