Death, Love and Ghosts

Anthony Raggio, 34 year old descendant of the Family Raggio, wants nothing more than to participate shallowly in his life, letting it unfold around him. Fate has other plans for him, as he discovers the ghosts of the past, secrets buried, and an urgent need to solve a medical problem before his Godchild dies. Stem cell research is buried in laboratories, and children are dying all around the world without recourse to medical intervention. The past is coming to greet Tony and demand that he do something, or live with the consequences.Stephanie was so weirdly normal. That was her trick. She could look calm and collected at all times. They all knew it, and gave in to her with only small mutterings of “Bossy. Always thinks that she knows what is best.”

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Giovani's War

In the 1860’s Italy, only the capture of Rome would make the Risorgimento complete. Giovanni Raggio’s young life holds many new experiences as he yearns to become a part of this momentous event. The people in his family, his home town, his priest, all have their own beliefs. He has yet to test his own.  The excerpts from this work can be viewed, incomplete, and on their own, much like Giovanni’s own life, as he travels through Italy, determined to be a part of a secret support to the cause.Although he had not known her well, barely more than a casual acquaintance, really, Francesco Trametti spoke with confidence to her father when asking for her hand. Under the edge of the table, his thick thumb and forefingers clenched together in a plump knot that concealed a slight twitching. He felt as though he carried a slightly sour odor, and worried that he should have washed up before he left his house. He had made up his mind, however, and sensing his moment, plunged ahead.

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January 3, 2013

Quiet. It is all around me. No presents. No need. No urgency. No plan. Just enveloping my morning warmth in a steamy cup of tea, and pleasurable lassitude.

What is this? The phone rings, trilling it's insistency.  I wait. Perhaps I don’t have to answer it, I am not a machine to be ordered about, a slave to jump to the chirping of digital crows. No, I am not.

I continue my tea.

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