Many stories are forgotten because they’re overshadowed by others or are simply silenced due to their sensitive or controversial content. But as Sue Monk Kidd, the author of The Secret Life of Bees, said, “Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.”
That’s why projects like the Facebook page ‘Forbidden Stories’ exist. They help us to keep the lesser-known moments of history alive, at the same time expanding our point of view. Scroll down to find the most fascinating stories, and don’t forget to upvote your favorites.
#1
Rosalind Franklin was uncompromising with strong opinions and no fear to share them. But she also loved to have fun, spending time with friends at small dinners in the evenings or going on hikes or bike rides through the mountains on weekends. Friends said she liked to tease and had a mischievous wit. Rosalind was born in 1920 in London, into a wealthy banking family. As a child, she hated dolls, hated pretend games. She was logical, literal, always seeking facts and reasons. But as the only daughter amongst three brothers for the first ten years of her life, she also wanted to be viewed as tough. She’d ignore pain, illness, once even walking blocks to a hospital with a needle stuck in her knee. It was in school as a teenager that Rosalind fell in love with science, chemistry and physics in particular. At fifteen she decided to become a scientist. She set her sights on going to Cambridge University, to which she was admitted. But her father, who didn’t believe in a university education for women, refused to pay for her to attend. An aunt, the sister of Rosalind’s father volunteered to pay for Rosalind, as did Rosalind’s mother. With three women now against his decision, Rosalind’s father backed down and agreed to pay for her university education. After college, Rosalind took a job at the British Coal Utilization Research Association in South London. This was during WWII, so to get to work she’d have to ride her bike through bomb raids. She never complained, but she was scared. Her commitment to work pushed Rosalind through the fears. And it was in her work that she found much success. She published five papers, which are still cited today, dozens of articles. Her research changed the way scientists understood coal and similar structures. And her work earned her a PHD. She was 26 years old at the time and already an expert in her field. It was also in this work where Rosalind learned that she needed to understand X-ray technology, so that she could better understand physical matter, the matter from which the universe is made of. She studied, became an expert, and then because of her expertise was offered a position at Cambridge to help analyze X-ray photographs of DNA molecules. Focusing on determining the molecular structure of DNA, she took X-ray photographs that were considered the most beautiful of the time. And just as in her previous roles, she made critical discoveries, including the double helix structure. Her work helped build an understanding of DNA. But because of gender issues of the time, Rosalind received little credit for her work. The research she helped shape would earn a number of men a Nobel Prize, and they did little to credit her for the valuable research she did. Rosalind dedicated her life to science. She never married. Even her love of children was set aside for science, as she couldn’t imagine the thought of her children raised by nannies while she worked. Rosalind Franklin had her life cut short when she passed away from ovarian cancer at only 37 years old
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#2
Today at Walmart, an elderly man came up to me and asked, “Does your phone take pictures?” I said, “Yes, it does,” not really understanding why he was asking. He then said, “Let me see your phone.” I handed it to him, and he said, “Now let me take a picture of this moment.” I was a bit surprised but agreed, even though I don't like pictures of myself. My daughter Aubrey was shy and didn’t want a picture, but I decided to give it a try. He took a picture of me and my daughter in Walmart, even though she wasn’t smiling. Afterward, I thanked him and said, “Nobody ever takes pictures of me with my kids.” He smiled and said, “I knew that, because you’re the mom.” He added, “Time goes by so fast. These are the best moments of your life.” He told me he was 85 years old and would do anything to have more moments like that, taking his kids on shopping trips. I was speechless. A complete stranger stopping to care meant so much to me as a mom. It’s so rare to get pictures with your kids. His kindness really touched my heart and reminded me to appreciate every moment. What a beautiful soul he has!
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#3
I was unsure if I should post this or not but I said f* it. 151 days ago i found myself shaking in my kitchen trying to cook eggs. I turned the oven off and collaped on my knees with tears running down my face. I lost the game of life and thinking this is who i am. A alcoholic trying to raise two kids as a single father. My body hurt. I was consistently drunk every night and functionally hungover every day. My liver was shutting down and I was dying from the inside out. It was that very moment I picked up the phone and called everyone. My mom, my sisters, and even my ex-wife. I asked for help. Not money, not for someone to tell me its ok, just for someone to tell me i can do this. February 20th was the first morning I woke up without being hungover. I went through 2 weeks of hell before feeling somewhat normal. Night sweats, body temors, and nauseous 24/7. But I f'n did it. March 7th was the first day I woke up hydrated, full of energy, and the motivation to conquer the world. I look back at that day almost every day and remember that feeling. The feeling of nothing can stop me. It took me 20 years to get sober for me. I'm proud of where this journey is going and I wouldn't change a thing about it. Thank you to all the people who stood by me and have watched me go through this. Life is good. Thank you mom, my sisters, and even my ex-wife for answering the call that day. My name is Dan and I am sober. One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went though and it will be someone else’s survival guide.’ – Brene Brown
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
Behind the Facebook page ‘Forbidden Stories’ is GonzoToday, a collective of writers and artists dedicated to promoting self-expression, truth, and freedom. Founded by Clayton Luce, GonzoToday “is an open, source multimedia, educational, grassroots PR and marketing platform, which places value on the individual and not the dollar,” their website reads.
“Our mission is to provide an alternative model to corporate mainstream media, which operates under one fundamental difference: the currency we use to measure our bottom lines.”
#4
In the 1930s in the United States, sacks containing flour and grain were made of cloth, primarily cotton. The Kansas Wheat company, in the midst of the Great Depression, realized that the poorest families were reusing them to sew dresses for women and girls, so to make them more captivating they decided to print them with floral and colorful motifs. The initiative was a huge success: they made sure that the ink used for the logos would fade after a simple wash, and some bags even had the patterns already drawn on the fabric, ready to be cut and sewn. A marketing tactic that helped American families get through a particularly difficult period, also useful as a source of income for women who would later sell their recycled models
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#5
In 1915, Effie Hotchkiss bought a new Harley-Davidson and attached a sidecar to carry her mother, Avis, as a passenger. The pair then set out from Brooklyn to see the Panama Pacific International Exhibition in San Francisco. Avis had instilled confidence in her daughter, and when asked if she had fears about the arduous cross-country journey, Avis replied, “I do not fear breakdowns, for Effie, being a most careful driver, is a good mechanic and does her own repairing with her own tools.” The pair were the first women to cross America by motorbike, at a time when the roads, where they existed, were simply horrendous. After visiting the Pacific Coast, the pair rode back to Brooklyn, for an epic 9,000-mile journey
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#6
Most people know the tragic story of the Titanic, but few have heard about Jenny — the ship’s resident cat, and possibly the only soul on board who sensed what was coming. Jenny wasn’t just any cat. She was the Titanic’s official mouser, brought aboard to keep the rodent population in check. During the ship’s sea trials, she gave birth to a litter of kittens, and was lovingly cared for by a shipworker named Jim Mulholland. Jim made a cozy nest for her and her babies near the ship's galley, close to the warmth of the boilers. He even shared kitchen scraps with her during breaks, and their quiet little routine brought him a sense of peace amidst the chaos of preparing the most luxurious ship in history for its maiden voyage. But something strange happened. Just days before the Titanic was set to depart from Southampton to New York, Jenny’s behavior changed. She began acting restless. And then — without warning — she started picking up her kittens one by one, gripping them gently by the scruff of the neck... and carrying them off the ship. Down the gangway she went. Again and again. Until all of her babies were safely ashore. Jim stood and watched her. And in that moment, something clicked. "This cat knows something… something we don’t." Trusting his gut — or maybe trusting hers — Jim packed up his belongings and quietly left the ship. He never boarded again. The Titanic set sail without him. We all know what happened next. Years later, Jim, now an old man, shared the story with a journalist. He credited Jenny with saving his life. Her instincts — ancient, silent, and unshakable — may have been the only real warning that ever came. Sometimes, heroes don’t wear uniforms. Sometimes, they have fur, whiskers, and a heart that just knows
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
Their mission statement claims that they don’t use money as their bottom-line measure of success. Instead, “Its projects, resources, and efforts are achieved through a concept of communal bartering and shared exposure. We put in the pain communally, we reap the gain communally. We provide opportunities and resources for people to produce content that might not be allowed in traditional media, with a freedom of speech and expression unparalleled anywhere in the media industry,” they tell us in their ‘about us’ section.
“We provide shared affiliate networking; syndication within the growing community of GonzoToday sites, personalities and contributors; exposure to a working newsroom; and the ability to get involved in projects and collaborations that are usually closed to most creative talents.”
#7
So I’m walking into Starbucks for the 2 o’clock caffeine craving and I’m greeted in the lobby with this girl holding her hand up, clearly for a high 5. It caught me off guard because I walk through that door all of the time. I give her my best athletic high 5 and she belts out, “Thanks for saving our lives.” The lobby patrons burst into laughter, recognizing the overflowing cuteness and full smile. To say she made my year is an understatement. I asked her name and she said, Jasmine. She said, “Can I get a selfie with you”? Soooooo cute. I had to take a selfie with my phone too. What a sweetie.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#8
In the final years of his life, Red Skelton slept only four or five hours a night. He would rise at 5 a.m., then begin his day writing stories, composing music, and painting. Skelton once shared that before he left this world, he wanted to leave behind as much of his work as he could—for the world, for the people. He was also a passionate gardener, having created his own Japanese and Italian gardens, and nurturing bonsai trees at his home in Palm Springs. Beyond the spotlight, he found solace in nature. He owned a 600-acre horse ranch in Anza Valley, where the pace of life was slower, quieter. After a lifetime of bringing laughter to millions, in his final years, all Red Skelton sought was peace. And in that peace, he continued to create, to give, and to quietly remind the world of the beauty of a kind and generous heart.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#9
A few years ago, he came home in tears after being bullied - again. And I remember sitting at my crafting table, just trying to hold it together while I worked on orders . He sat nearby, quietly watching me make wreaths, resin bookmarks, laser signs, and little crochet animals. I didn't know it then, but something was stirring in him. One day, out of nowhere, he asked if he could try making a wreath. Just like that - no fear, just curiosity. And I’ll be honest, I almost cried right then. Since then, he hasn’t stopped. Ribbon rolls, mesh cuts, bow loops - he's into all of it. He said, “I want to make people smile too.”Because this isn’t just my business anymore - it’s ours. Every wreath we sell now has a piece of his heart in it. And every time an order comes in, I see his face light up like he just won an award. Crafting gave me peace. But it gave him pride. Purpose. And maybe even a bit of healing. So yeah - he’s the best crafting partner. Not just today, but every day
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
The GonzoToday team is truly doing a service to society by diversifying the media landscape and granting opportunities for people to express themselves freely. In fact, the Gonzo part of their name refers to Gonzo journalism, an unconventional style of journalism that is subjective and often includes the reporter as part of the story in a first-person narrative.
The gonzo journalist becomes part of the story, presenting facts and events through their lens. These stories usually critique society and the self, so certain aspects are often exaggerated or profane, making use of hyperbole, humor, and sarcasm.
#10
In the myths of King Arthur, the legendary sword Excalibur was gifted by the Lady of the Lake, emerging from the waters to choose its rightful wielder. But in 2018, life imitated legend when an 8-year-old girl named Saga Vanecek pulled an actual ancient sword from a lake—stunning historians and capturing the world’s imagination. Saga, a Swedish-American girl, was playing in the waters of Lake Vidöstern in southern Sweden, where her family had a summer home. The lake had receded due to a drought, exposing parts of the muddy bottom. As she waded through the shallows, her hand brushed against something long, thin, and sharp. At first, she thought it was a stick or an old piece of metal, but when she lifted it from the water, she realized it had a hilt and a blade—it was a real sword. Excitedly, she ran to her father and said, "Daddy, I found a sword!" What she had discovered was not just any sword—it was a 1,500-year-old relic from the pre-Viking era, dating back to the 5th or 6th century. Experts from the Jönköping County Museum confirmed that the blade was remarkably well-preserved, complete with its wooden scabbard and leather straps. Swedish media quickly nicknamed her “The Queen of Sweden,” joking that she had fulfilled the Arthurian prophecy. The discovery was so rare that archaeologists searched the lake further and even found other ancient objects nearby, suggesting the site may have been a ritual offering place in ancient times. Despite the fairy-tale comparisons, Saga took her newfound fame with humility, saying: "I didn’t want to be a queen. I just wanted to be a scientist or an archaeologist." The legend of Excalibur may be a myth, but Saga Vanecek’s story is real. A young girl, a hidden lake, and a sword lost in time—sometimes, history has a way of writing its own fairy tales
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#11
The Remarkable Life of Paul Alexander: The Man Who Lived in an Iron Lung for 70 Years After contracting polio at the age of six in 1952, Paul Alexander was left quadriplegic and dependent on an iron lung to breathe. Despite predictions that his life would be short, Paul defied the odds, spending over seven decades in the machine and achieving milestones few thought possible. His recent passing at the age of 78 marked the end of an extraordinary journey, making him the longest survivor of life in an iron lung. Using techniques like "frog-breathing," which allowed him to spend limited time outside the iron lung, Paul pursued education, earning a law degree and practicing as an attorney. His life was filled with friendships, family moments, and accomplishments, including publishing a memoir he typed himself with his mouth. Paul’s legacy is not only one of personal triumph but also a reminder of the devastating impact of polio — a disease he passionately hoped to see eradicated in his lifetime. While wild poliovirus (WPV) type 2 and type 3 have been eradicated, WPV type 1 remains endemic in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Efforts to eradicate WPV type 1 are ongoing, but challenges include access to health services and vaccination hesitancy
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#12
Private Matthew Wiese was on a flight when a 15 year old kid looked over at him and quietly asks, "Can I rest my head against you for comfort, I'm afraid of flying and I think it would help?" the young solider said, "of course". When later asked about this simple act of kindness, Pvt Matthew Wiese responded back with "This is what I love about being an American soldier in the US Army. I love that people look at me for comfort." I personally want to thank Private Matthew Wiese for his service to our nation and for having a loving heart. So many of us take for granted the comfort that our US Military grants us. It's soldiers like him who make our military great.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
This new journalism movement started in the 1970s when Hunter S. Thompson published an article that was described as “gonzo.” While the initial and exact meaning of the word is unknown, in a broader sense, “gonzo” has come to describe something that is outlandishly unconventional, outrageous, extreme, or very strange or unusual. In journalism, it became known as a style that intends to be shocking and exciting rather than give information.
#13
Like Mother, Like Daughter! Shari Lewis first introduced Lamb Chop to audiences in the 1950s, making appearances on beloved shows like Captain Kangaroo and The Shari Lewis Show. With her remarkable talent as a ventriloquist, puppeteer, and entertainer, she turned Lamb Chop into a cherished character who captured the hearts of generations. In the 1990s, Lamb Chop’s Play-Along became a major hit on PBS, standing out for its unique approach that encouraged children to actively engage rather than passively watch. When Shari Lewis passed away in 1998, her daughter Mallory Lewis stepped forward to carry on her mother’s legacy. Having worked behind the scenes as a writer for Lamb Chop’s Play-Along, Mallory embraced the role of performer and puppeteer, ensuring that Lamb Chop would continue to thrive. Since then, she has brought the character to life through live events, television appearances, and even performances for the military—keeping Lamb Chop's wit, warmth, and playful spirit alive for new generations. It’s a touching testament to the power of family, creativity, and the enduring charm of a little sock puppet with a big heart
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#14
In late June 1934, Gladys Presley learned she was pregnant. By her fifth month, she became convinced she was carrying twins — her belly was unusually large, and she could feel two babies moving. With a family history of twins on both sides, her instincts felt certain. At the time, Gladys was earning just $2 a day at the Tupelo Garment Company. Vernon, her husband, took on various odd jobs, including work at a dairy farm. After learning Gladys was expecting, Vernon borrowed $180 to build their first home. By December, the couple moved into a modest little house on Old Saltillo Road — no electricity, no indoor plumbing, but filled with hope. Just before dawn on January 8, 1935, Elvis Aaron Presley was born. Earlier that same morning, his identical twin brother, Jesse Garon Presley, was stillborn. Elvis would become Vernon and Gladys’s only surviving child. The birth was traumatic. Gladys nearly died, and both she and baby Elvis were rushed to the Tupelo Hospital. When they returned home, something in Gladys had changed. Losing Jesse made her deeply protective of Elvis — almost fearful. She rarely let him out of her sight, pouring all her love and hope into him
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#15
At the shelter, he always slept with this little stuffed toy. A chewed-up, worn-out plush that no one noticed… except him. He held onto it during every nap, every night, as if it anchored him. In a place that was loud, cold, and uncertain, that toy was the only constant. And tonight, for the very first time, he’s not at the shelter anymore. He’s home. In a real bed. In the quiet. With warmth. And people who were waiting just for him. But he still has his toy. Because he survived with it. And now that he’s finally safe, he’s not letting go. He’s sleeping deeply. And this time, he’s not dreaming of a home — he’s in one.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
Even though traditional media prioritizes objective facts, Gonzo journalism does the opposite and embraces the fact that objectivity might be impossible to achieve in any kind of storytelling. As Thompson, the father of Gonzo journalism, said, “Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.”
#16
"My phone rang and it was a number I didn’t recognize. Knowing my kids were in the afternoon hours of getting home from school I immediately answered knowing it was one of them. You know how your Mama instinct just knows something is up? On the other end his little cracking voice said 'Mama, I got on the wrong bus.' This is his first year in middle school. Can we even imagine what a new middle schooler deals with these days, I mean, it’s a different kind of stress. I knew my little guy was stressing out. After all it was only his second afternoon riding home, since he normally has football. As I am talking to my son and he is speaking with the bus driver I could feel his frustration. The tone of his voice when he told the bus driver 'I’m so sorry’ was one of worry. Then on the other end of the line I heard a calming nurturing response as she said, 'oh honey, you don’t have to aplologize. That’s my job, to get you home safely. And that’s what we’re gonna do.’ My Mama-heart melted knowing she was comforting him. I can’t help but think of the many other responses he could have received. She went out of her way to console him. Before I could even get to pick him up she had him call me back and ask permission to take him in to get a drink. Cue the tears. What a thoughtful person. She actually got him an ice cream while they waited for me. (Again tears) When I reached our agreed-upon location, she led him over and described how she observed he was feeling awful and anxious. He had even asked if he 'messed everything up.' My poor guy. She wanted to make sure he didn’t have to tell me everything and stress over it again. ♥️ I pray everyday God places people in our paths and in the right places to watch over my children when I’m not there. And today He did just that. This angel truly showed the love of Christ in her actions and care for my son. I won’t let her actions go unnoticed and this story will be shared with her leaders. I’m not sure how your day is going. But I encourage you the next time you are inconvenienced to take a look around. It might not be about you after all."
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#17
I never really believed in angels—at least, not the kind with wings. Then I met Pickles. She was scrappy when I found her, hiding behind the dumpster of the pizza shop I worked at. Matted fur, half a tail, and the most stubborn glare I’d ever seen in something so small. But I tossed her a crust one night—just a leftover edge from a pepperoni slice—and her eyes lit up like I’d offered her gold. From that moment on, she was mine… or maybe I was hers. Pickles moved in with me into my tiny studio apartment. She slept on my chest, knocked over my plants, and cried if I left the room for too long. Her favorite thing in the world? Pizza nights. The second that box hit the table, she was there, paws up, eyes pleading, halo glowing. And yes, her halo was made of pizza. Not literally—but in all the little ways that mattered. Because every time I felt like I was falling apart, she was there with greasy paws and crust crumbs stuck to her whiskers. She didn’t care if I cried into a cold slice or worked double shifts. She loved me when I didn’t love myself. She made the silence of my apartment feel full. Full of life. Of warmth. Of home. She grew older, slower. The jumps weren’t so high, and the pizza crusts stayed longer in the box. . And then, one night, she didn’t come when I called. I found her curled up by the oven—the warmest place she knew—silent, still, and peaceful. Like she’d just finished her favorite meal and was ready to nap forever. Now every pizza night feels a little empty. But sometimes, when I open the box, I imagine her sitting there again—tail flicking, eyes shining, that invisible halo of melted cheese and love still hovering above her head. They don’t stay forever, but their love lingers in every corner. And sometimes, it smells like pizz
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#18
In March 1924, Helen Keller wrote a letter that still gives the world goosebumps. Deaf and blind since infancy, Keller had spent her life redefining what was possible. But one evening, gathered around a radio with her family, she was about to experience something utterly unexpected. The New York Symphony was performing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony live. Someone in the room suggested she place her hand on the radio receiver to feel the vibrations. What happened next defied reason—and redefined beauty. With her fingers resting lightly on the diaphragm of the receiver, Keller felt more than vibration. She described the experience as “a sea of sound breaking against the silent shores of my soul.” Through the patterns of trembling and rhythm, she felt the pulse of cornets, the roar of drums, and the silken flow of violins. When the chorus soared into Beethoven’s triumphant “Ode to Joy,” she said it was like hearing “angelic voices rushing in a harmonious flood.” It wasn’t hearing—not in the way we understand it. But it was something deeper. She felt music not just on her fingertips, but in her heart. She recognized joy, sadness, stillness, and power—all without a single note reaching her ears. And in one of the most poignant passages of her letter, Helen remembered that Beethoven, too, was deaf. She said, “I marveled at the power of his quenchless spirit by which out of his pain he wrought such joy for others.” A century later, that same joy lives on—because she proved that art has no boundary, and the human spirit can sense beauty in ways words can never fully explain
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
While nowadays, specific publications like GonzoToday are devoted to this kind of journalism, elements of this style can be seen slowly seeping into mainstream reporting. Content found on sites like Medium or Vox is moving away from traditional journalism, and we start to see more stories of regular people telling them from their point of view.
#19
Butterfly McQueen – The Actress Who Walked Away From Hollywood with Her Integrity Intact In 1939, the world saw her on the big screen in Gone with the Wind, playing Prissy, the fluttery, nervous maid who cried, "I don't know nothin’ 'bout birthin’ babies!" The role made Butterfly McQueen famous—but it didn’t make her proud. Born Thelma McQueen in Tampa, Florida, she got the nickname "Butterfly" from a role she danced in as a teen. She had trained in dance and aspired to perform, not to be caricatured. But Hollywood, in the 1930s and '40s, had a place for Black women—and it was almost always in the kitchen or as the comic sidekick. Despite the limitations, she carved out a career. But what many didn’t see was the deep conflict within her. She hated the roles she was offered—maids, slaves, background figures with exaggerated accents. She once said: “I didn’t mind being funny, but I didn’t like being stupid.” And so, after a string of roles that echoed the same racial stereotypes, she made a radical choice—one that few actors, especially Black women in the mid-20th century, could afford to make. She walked away from Hollywood. No press conference, no scandal. Just a quiet refusal to continue playing parts that demeaned her people and her intellect. In a world where fame is often seen as the ultimate goal, Butterfly McQueen chose dignity instead. She left Los Angeles, moved around the country, and eventually returned to school—earning a degree in political science from City College of New York. She took odd jobs, sometimes working in department stores or as a receptionist. People barely recognized the woman who once starred in one of the most-watched films in history. But that was just fine with her. She lived modestly, never married, and never returned to major Hollywood films. In her later years, she spoke more openly about her dissatisfaction with the roles Black actors were given. She was also an outspoken atheist—another rare stance for someone of her time—and supported secular causes, human rights, and education. Butterfly McQueen died in 1995 at the age of 84, after a tragic home fire in Georgia. She had never chased fame again, but what she left behind was far more powerful: a legacy of quiet defiance, personal truth, and the courage to say no to a system that asked her to be less than she was.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#20
In the spring of 1910, in a quiet English village lined with cobblestone streets and ivy-covered walls, there lived a young lady named Eleanor. She was known for her kindness, her delicate lace dresses, and the way she always had ink on her fingers from writing poetry no one ever read. But more than anything, people knew Eleanor for her constant companion — a snow-white cat named Marble. Marble had come into Eleanor’s life on a rainy October evening, just a tiny kitten with wide, frightened eyes, left in a wicker basket on the doorstep of the old manor house where she lived alone after her parents had passed. Eleanor had taken one look at the tiny creature and whispered, “Well then, I guess you and I will keep each other from getting too lonely.” And they did. Each morning, Marble would sit by Eleanor’s writing desk as she scribbled poems into her worn leather journal. He would bat at her quill with his paw, and she would pretend to scold him, but she always smiled. Every afternoon, the two could be found in the garden — Eleanor with her parasol, Marble chasing bees and tumbling through patches of lavender. The villagers spoke of them fondly. “The lady and her cat,” they’d say. “Two hearts, one soul.” But Eleanor held a sadness that she never shared. At 23, she had once been promised to a young man named Thomas. War took him away before he could return with a ring. Letters stopped coming. And though Eleanor never wore black, her eyes sometimes did. Marble became her lighthouse through grief. He would sleep on her chest when she cried, blink at her softly when she stared too long at the sea, and curl up by her journal when she couldn’t find the words. For years, it was just the two of them — quiet, steady, healing. One morning in early winter, Eleanor didn’t rise. The maid found her still, her hand resting gently on Marble’s back, a notebook on her lap, the final page filled. "To the one who stayed, who asked for nothing but gave me everything, you are my dearest love, in fur and silence." Marble sat by her side for days. He ate nothing. He made no sound. The villagers buried Eleanor beneath the cherry tree in her garden, the same one Marble always climbed to catch butterflies. They let Marble say goodbye. But he never truly left her. Every year, for nearly a decade, Marble would disappear from whichever home had taken him in, only to be found curled at the foot of Eleanor’s grave — rain or shine, season after season. Waiting. Remembering. Until one spring morning, he too did not return. They buried him beside her. And for those who passed by the cherry tree each year, they swore they could sometimes hear a soft purr in the breeze and catch the faint scent of lavender. Two hearts. One soul. Together once more and forever .
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#21
“Buried alive beneath the Arctic snow, he carved his way to freedom with nothing but his will—and a frozen tool no man should ever have to craft.” Peter Freuchen wasn’t your average adventurer. Towering at over six feet seven inches tall with a beard that matched his wild tales, he was as much legend as man. Born in Denmark in 1886, Freuchen’s life was one of extremes—from falling in love with an Inuit woman named Navarana Mequpaluk during his early expeditions, to racing through frozen Greenland on 1,000-mile dogsled missions. When Navarana tragically died from the Spanish Flu in 1921, it marked a turning point in his life—but not the end of his resilience. Freuchen’s Arctic stories are the stuff of folklore, but none more incredible than the time he was buried alive during a brutal snowstorm. Trapped beneath the ice with no tools and the clock ticking, he improvised the unthinkable: he fashioned a chisel out of his own frozen feces. Yes, it’s gruesome. But it’s also a raw testament to the human will to survive. With that unlikely tool, he chipped and clawed his way to freedom—losing several toes in the process, but not his life. Beyond the ice, Freuchen’s fire kept burning. He joined the Danish resistance during WWII, was captured by the Nazis, escaped to Sweden, and later made his way to Hollywood—where he not only advised on films, but starred in the 1933 Oscar-winning Eskimo. Never one to settle down quietly, he won big on the quiz show The $64,000 Question in 1956, charming American audiences with his encyclopedic Arctic knowledge. Freuchen lived with the boldness of a man who had met death and kept walking. His books—both fact and fiction—shared a world few would dare explore, and his legacy reminds us that heroism isn’t always clean or noble. Sometimes, it’s desperate, dirty, and determined beyond belief. “Survival isn’t always beautiful—it’s the will to keep going when everything around you says stop. And from frozen darkness, even a single spark of courage can carve a path back to light.”
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
Going back to the GonzoToday, on its website, readers can find all sorts of interesting articles on topics like poetry, music, news, and travel. The most recent news story they covered was about American actor Val Kilmer’s death. The writer, Kidman J. Williams, who covered the piece, recalled what an inspiration the actor was in his life.
#22
Grandparents were, and still are, our best friends. For those lucky enough to have them, they were always the ones who could turn mom and dad’s “NO” into a “YES.” They were the ones who always had more time and patience, and who always had a candy hidden somewhere. Grandparents were the ones who, when going to the village market, would ask if we needed anything, and even if we said no, they would come back with a thousnd thngs just for us. They were the ones with rosaries and crosses scattered around the house, teaching us to say the rosary at night. They pushed us on the swings and never held back if it meant seeing us happy. They were often scolded by mom and dad for “spoiling us too much,” but they never stopped, teaching us that love has no limits or age. A grandmother is a mother who is given a second chance. Even when they’re no longer with us, grandparnts remain forever in our hearts, continuing to smell like kindness and love.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#23
THE DOME OF THE PANTHEON IN ROME, Built almost two thousand years ago, it remains the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world, with a diameter and height of 43 meters. Although the Romans did not invent concrete, they perfected its use through a recipe described by the architect Vitruvius, which combined lime, pozzolana and various aggregates to optimize its density. This innovative mixture, along with an advanced understanding of concrete chemistry, allowed the dome to stand the test of time without modern reinforcements, becoming an enduring symbol of Roman engineering and architecture
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#24
In a quiet town in New England, back in 1810, a woman named Tabitha Babbitt watched as two men worked tirelessly with a large pit saw. One on top and the other below, taking turns to cut wood with a blade that only worked in one direction. ⚒️🪓 Tabitha, who was a weaver in a community called the Shakers, thought there must be a more efficient way to do this work. Watching the constant motion of her spinning wheel, she came up with an innovative idea. ✨ She took a metal disk, made small sharp cuts on it, and attached it to her spinning wheel. When it began to spin, the disk cut the wood in both directions. That’s how the first functional version of the circular saw was born! ⚙️🔩🌀 Thanks to this idea, the process of cutting wood became much faster and less exhausting. The woodworking industry was forever changed. 🛠️🏗️🌍 Tabitha never sought personal recognition or patented her creation. As a member of the Shakers, she believed in community work and humility. Still, her contribution became a lasting legacy. 🙏💡❤️ Today, millions of people around the world use the circular saw, unaware that its origin stems from the ingenuity of a woman with a clear vision and a collaborative spirit.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
If we’ve piqued your interest in Ganzo journalism, make sure to visit the GanzoToday website. I would recommend you check out the art section, which offers something more unusual and captivating. You can do so by clicking here.
#25
So, I'm headed home on the CTA Redline and there's a homeless man sitting across from me. He's older, weathered, minding his own business. His feet are so swollen he's wearing the tattered gym shoes he has with the back folded down; like slip-ons. I don't know how many pairs of socks he's wearing in an attempt to keep his feet warm but there is blood seeping through. There's another man on the other side of the doors; younger, carrying a satchel and a suitcase, also minding his own business. He's wearing a pair of big black snow boots. They look new; they look expensive; they're built for a Chicago winter. Quietly, in a blink and you'll miss it fashion, the younger man takes off the boots he's wearing and passes them to the old man. He opens his suitcase and gives him a pair of socks as well. The young man puts on a spare pair of shoes from the suitcase. These shoes are nice too, but not as nice as the boots. They would have fit the old man just as well, but they were not what this old man needed. He tells the old man to try and clean his feet and to make sure he changes into the new socks as soon as he can and then the young man gets off at 87th. Those of us who are close enough to see and hear the exchange are floored. The shoes off his feet. I love that in a time and place where hate and apathy are rampant, quiet compassion appears without warning. I pray that we all are compelled to do similar. I pray that we all allow empathy to invoke action. I pray that we never forget that we have always had the power to be a blessing. I'm inspired to continue to try to ‘be the change’ and I pray you are too.”
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#26
Today, the man wearing red got on the subway, he opened his folder and started reading. A few stops later a man got on and asked him “what are you studying for? You look confused, maybe I can help?” He said my son just failed a math test, and I am re-studying fractions so I can teach him. I am 42 years old and I don’t remember any of this, so I am reteaching myself. The guy in the black informed him that he use to be a math teacher, and would help quiz him. Everything the man in the red got wrong, it was broken down and corrected for him. By the end of the train ride, the man had a better understanding. He had a new method to come home with to teach his son. It’s the little things like this that I love seeing, because most people could care less about what the person next to them is going through
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#27
At six years old, little Beverly was put on academic probation after first grade. Her biggest problem was reading. The assigned books were all boring educational stories about polite children. It was thanks to a school librarian's friendly encouragement that the girl finally liked to read. After college, Beverly began working as a children’s librarian. She still found children's books boring. Dick and Jane weren't at all like lively, curious, funny, angry, unruly real kids. So Beverly Cleary became an author herself. She wrote Ramona the Pest, Henry Huggins, Ribsy, The Mouse and the Motorcycle --more than 40 books in all. Her books won dozens of awards, sold more than 90 million copies, and are still beloved today. Not bad for the little girl who didn't like to rea
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#28
Arron Culling, a man from New Zealand, became known for buying sea turtles from local food markets in Papua New Guinea and then releasing them back into the ocean. Sea turtles are often sold in markets for their meat, but they are also endangered species, making his actions particularly meaningful for wildlife conservation. In a post that went viral a few years ago, Arron shared photos of two turtles he purchased for about $50 and then released back into the sea. He and his co-worker reportedly released over a dozen turtles this way. His simple yet powerful gesture raised awareness about the plight of sea turtles and inspired many to support wildlife protection efforts
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#29
A few years ago, I had a full-on breakdown in the middle of aisle 7 at Home Depot. I was standing in front of a rack of paint samples, clutching a can of tile adhesive, crying into a crumpled list titled “Things I Can Control.” It was right after I moved into my first real place. The kind of house that echoes when you cry and smells like plaster and dreams that haven't quite dried yet. My hands were shaking from exhaustion and, if I’m being honest, from the weight of trying to build something beautiful after a year that tore me to pieces. See, a year earlier, I’d had the kind of fight with my mom you don’t come back from easily. She told me that what I was doing making art, upcycling tiles, selling tiny handmade things online was “cute” but not a real life. “You’re too smart to waste your time,” she said. I packed my stuff that night and left. She never believed in me. We didn’t speak again. But color was always my language. Even in silence, I needed to make something speak. So I started breaking dishes and old tiles, sorting through garage sale plates and chipped teacups. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I wanted this wall out back to mean something. That’s when I found a tip about the Tedooo app in this group. I saw a post from a crafter making tiny ceramic sunbursts. I sent them a napkin sketch at 2 a.m. and wrote, “Can you help me tell a story I’m not ready to say out loud?” They didn’t ask questions. They just said yes. And that became the beginning. Suddenly, I wasn’t just gluing broken things together I was connecting with people all over the world who understood what it felt like to want to turn pain into something vibrant. Artists from Brazil, the Midwest, Sicily. I ordered mirror pieces from a woman who told me she’d just lost her sister. A seller from Romania made me tiny flower tiles in colors I didn’t even know I needed. I worked barefoot most days, with coffee in one hand and grout in the other. Every circle on the wall is a season. Every flower is a moment I survived. Every bird was inspired by one I used to draw in my school notebooks when life still felt simple. Then one day, when the wall was almost done, I got a message on Tedooo. A woman had liked one of my tile sets. She said she loved the way I used color. She wanted to order a small mosaic kit to do with her granddaughter. I opened the profile. It was my mother. I sat in absolute silence. Not mad. Not happy. Just still. Like the universe had pressed pause. She wrote: “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. I see it now. I see how powerful it is to create something that makes people feel. I’m proud of you. I really, truly am. And I hope this can be a beginning.” She ordered the smallest set I make, and I included a red petal tile the one I always start with. The one that means “forgiveness.” Now the wall is done. People in the neighborhood call it “the soul wall.” Kids leave little treasures in the flowerpots. And me? I finally opened my own the Tedooo app shop. And it’s full of pieces that people say make them feel a little more whole. Let’s flood the gray with color. Let's build walls that bring people back home.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#30
I’m so proud of my son. He saw a kid, whose name I now know is Conner, balled up into a corner, crying. So, he went to console him, grabbed his hand, and walked him inside of the school! What we didn't know was that he was autistic. His mother fears every day that someone will laugh at him because he doesn't speak correctly. Laugh at him because he doesn't sit still or because he jumps up and down and flaps his hands. It is an honor to raise such a loving, compassionate child. He’s a kid with a big heart. The first day of school started off right. Conner's reaction? 'He was so kind to me. I started crying and then he helped me. I was so happy! He found me and held my hand and I got happy tears.' It doesn't matter, you know, color. It doesn't matter, gender. It doesn't matter, disability. Just be kind. Open your heart. That’s what we need in this world. One act of kindness can change someone's life."
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#31
A Message from the Grandmothers Who Rocked the World Did you ever stop to think that the grandmothers of today were once rebels, rule-breakers, and icons of a generation that changed the world? To the twenty-somethings of today, let us paint you a picture of who we were—and still are at heart. We were the ones who wore mini skirts so short they turned heads, tight pants that left little to the imagination, and high boots that made every step feel like a statement. Bras? Who needed them when freedom was the fashion? Our soundtrack was legendary: Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin. These weren’t just artists; they were the heartbeat of our revolution. We didn’t just listen to their music; we lived it—singing, dancing, and feeling every note like it was part of our soul. We rode in Mini Coopers and sped off on motorcycles that screamed independence. We smoked, we drank gin tonics, and we didn’t apologize for any of it. Muddy music festivals? We didn’t just go; we danced, we laughed, and we lived those moments to the fullest. Our days were long, not because of endless scrolling on smartphones or binge-watching TV, but because we didn’t have those things—and we didn’t care. We were out there, in the world, creating memories, stories, and adventures that would last a lifetime. So, no, you’ll never be like your grandmother. And that’s okay. But remember, someone had to tell you: the grandmothers of today were once the wild hearts who paved the way for the world you know. Rock on, young ones. We already did
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#32
In 1811, 12-year-old Mary Anning and her brother Joseph made a groundbreaking discovery in Lyme Regis, England. Joseph found a 4-foot skull, and Mary, with relentless effort, uncovered the rest of a 17 foot Ichthyosaurus skeleton, a marine reptile from 200 million years ago. Mistaken for a crocodile at first, it was the first complete Ichthyosaurus recognized by London scientists, sparking debates about extinction. This find, sold for £23, helped her poor family but drew crowds to see the “fish-lizard” at the British Museum. Mary, born in 1799 to a cabinetmaker father, learned fossil hunting on Dorset’s Jurassic Coast. After her father’s death in 1810, she supported her family by selling fossils, despite no formal education. She taught herself geology and anatomy, later finding the first complete Plesiosaurus in 1823 and Britain’s first pterosaur in 1828. Her discoveries challenged beliefs about Earth’s history, but as a working-class woman, she was often uncredited, with male scientists claiming her finds. She faced danger, nearly dying in a 1833 landslide that killed her dog, Tray. Despite her genius, Mary was excluded from the Geological Society of London, which didn’t admit women until 1904. Scientists like Georges Cuvier initially doubted her Plesiosaurus, calling it a fake, but later praised her work. She earned respect from some, like William Buckland, but lived in poverty, selling fossils to survive. In 1847, she died of breast cancer at 47. Her contributions, once overlooked, are now celebrated, with her fossils displayed at the Natural History Museum and the Jurassic Coast named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#33
In the forests of Sweden, there are cages similar to this cage with pictures that are closed from the inside only, and they are always open and have ground communication devices to ask for help. The function of these cages is to protect you from bears and other animals when you wander in the Swedish forests because Sweden's forests are vast and have brown bears scattered in northern and central Sweden, perhaps around cities, but they are located in the depths of the forests. So you will see these cages when you head to the north and middle areas and sometimes you see them in specific places in southern Sweden. The state is very keen on the safety of its homelands, so there are such cages.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#34
“While out riding with a group of friends today, there was a lady that approached us in the Go Mart parking lot in Clay, WV. She asked if one of us would give her a ride around the parking lot for $20. She explained to us that this was on her bucket list. She wanted to send a picture to her son of herself on a motorcycle. I told her that one of us would take her for a ride. I told her to just follow me over to the bikes. This is when she told me that she was blind and would need help walking over to them. She latched onto my arm and we walked to the bikes. I told her she could ride on mine if she was able to get on. She didn't need to give me any money to go for a ride, but she insisted. I asked her if she was sure twice and she said, 'Yes, just keep it.' At this point, I told her I was going to back my bike up and that my friends would help her get on and how to hold onto me. She was so excited once she finally got on the back. I asked her if she needed to let her friend know where she was, but she said, "no, she will see us!" Her friend walked out of the gas station, so the lady yelled, "quick, get the camera!" As we started moving she let out a 'Woohoo!' We went around the lot and when we came back to park, she couldn't stop smiling. Not only did this make her day, but it made mine as well.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#35
Black cowgirls played a vital, yet often overlooked, role in shaping the American West. These women were not only skilled riders and ranchers, but they also helped build communities in a time when opportunities for African Americans, particularly women, were limited. Many Black women in the West were daughters of formerly enslaved people, and their resilience and hard work helped them forge their own paths on the frontier. Whether working as cattle ranchers, cowhands, or in other essential roles, Black cowgirls were integral to the development of ranching culture. These women were often involved in the daily operations of cattle drives, managing livestock, and maintaining ranches. They participated in the same demanding physical labor as their male counterparts, including branding cattle, roping, and participating in rodeos. Black cowgirls like Mary Fields, known as "Stagecoach Mary," became famous for their strength, independence, and skill. Mary Fields worked as a stagecoach driver, breaking barriers by proving herself as a capable and fearless woman in a profession dominated by men. Her story is one of many that highlights the diverse contributions of Black women in shaping the history of the American West. The legacy of Black cowgirls continues to be celebrated today, as they are recognized for their contributions to both African American and Western history. Their stories are an essential part of the broader narrative of the American frontier, illustrating the strength, perseverance, and pioneering spirit of these remarkable women. While they faced numerous challenges, Black cowgirls left a lasting impact on ranching, rodeo culture, and the West itself, helping to shape the future for generations to come.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#36
I just witnessed a boy, maybe about 6 or 7, accidentally spill a slushee everywhere in Target. I didn't get a photo but I'm including one of my son and I. I'm talking blue and red goop all over the floor, the table, everywhere. The boy looked up at who I assume was his father, and immediately apologized. Instead of getting angry, his father just said 'Hey, it happens. Let's go get napkins and I can show you how to clean it up.' Then they calmly went to get napkins and then he helped him clean the entire mess. Then, as they were throwing the napkins away, the father said to his son, 'You're going to be a human being for a long time, and you have such a smart brain that it's important you learn how to be more aware of what you're doing. So next time just be sure to pay more attention to your surroundings so accidents like this don't happen. Accidents like these can be prevented, but it's still okay if they happen. As long as you take responsibility for your mistakes, the clean up is a breeze. I know big messes seem overwhelming and you might feel like you can't do it by yourself, but it's always okay to ask for help. There is no problem with asking for help when you need it.' I have no words. That is parenting done righ
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#37
A child fell into the enclosure. People screamed. Panic surged. But the gorilla didn’t roar. He sat beside the boy… and held his hand. This is the real story of Binti Jua — the gorilla who protected a human child. It happened in 1996, at the Brookfield Zoo near Chicago. A 3-year-old boy slipped away from his mother, climbed over a railing, and fell 18 feet into the gorilla enclosure. The impact knocked him unconscious. He lay there, bleeding, motionless. Inside the enclosure was a female western lowland gorilla named Binti Jua. She was 8 years old. Weighing over 150 pounds. Strong enough to tear through steel if she wanted to. As crowds screamed and panicked above, fearing the worst… Binti slowly approached the boy. But instead of aggression, she showed something else: Compassion. She gently cradled the boy. Checked his wounds. Lifted him carefully into her arms. And carried him to the door where zookeepers could reach him. She even held her own baby on her back while doing it. “She could have done anything,” one zookeeper said. “But she chose kindness.” The boy survived — with minor injuries and a miraculous story. Binti Jua became a symbol of maternal instinct, empathy, and the unexpected gentleness of wild strength. Her name means “Daughter of Sunshine” in Swahili. And that day… she truly lived up to it. “She didn’t see a trespasser,” said a zoo staff member. “She saw a child in need.” Binti Jua — the gorilla who reminded the world that compassion crosses species
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#38
"I am the single mother of four absolutely beautiful little girls. They are 9, 5, 2, and 6 weeks. And things have been particularly rough since my ex left. My truck had a flat I constantly had to air up. The driver side window motor died. And I needed a new alternator belt. The truck was a mess. And we didn't drive anywhere unless we had to. Well the other day we desperately needed to go to the store. So we loaded up and drove to the Winn Dixie about 9 blocks away. When we got out of the store it was far after dark. And POURING rain. I loaded my kids and groceries into the truck. Tried to crank it...... Nothing. No click. Nothing. One of my girls had accidentally left a light on. My battery was dead. My phone was also disconnected. I have no family to speak of and was on my own. I got out and opened my hood to be sure my battery hadn't come loose. Nope. I must have asked more than twenty people in the course of two hours for a jump. They all ignored me. Not even a no. Just acted like i didn't exist. My 5 Year old was melting down. My newborn SCREAMING, my two year old crying she was hungry, and my oldest desperately trying to help. I was bawling and felt like the worst Mom ever. Then I got a knock on the passenger window. An older gentleman (he was 74) with a cane and a bad limp was on the other side of that knock. I opened the door. He handed me a plate of chicken strips and biscuits from the deli and bottles of water. 'Feed those babies and yourself young lady. I have a tow truck on the way and my wife will be here shortly to take y'all home.' Sure enough she arrived followed by the tow truck. Us and our truck were taken home. The next morning the gentleman returned to my house with a mechanic who replaced my battery and alternator and fixed my window. The elderly gentleman then left and did not return. When I asked what I owed the mechanic and if I could make payments he smiled telling me the older man had paid for all of it. He said that the only payment the older man wanted was for me to never give up and keep being an amazing mom. I've never cried so hard in my life. Things had been absolutely awful. More so than I care to explain. And without knowing us or our situation this kind man helped us in ways he will never know. What he did revived my faith when I was falling apart. But he wouldn't even take a hug. I'll never be able to thank him. But I certainly hope one day I can do what he did for me for someone else."
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#39
A little boy was riding his broken bike – the brakes weren't working properly – and accidentally crashed into a parked car, resulting in a sizable dent. The bike's owner came over. The boy was shaking with fear. You could see he was expecting something bad – maybe yelling, maybe trouble… maybe the police. But instead, the man smiled. And did something no one would have expected: He took the boy to a bike shop and bought him a new, safe bike. His reasoning? "It wasn't the child's fault. The bike just wasn't working properly. Now he can ride safely – and I can fix my car. Kindness comes first." But there was more: He took his time, helped the boy adjust his helmet properly, and took him for a test ride. He didn't just want to replace the bike. He wanted to demonstrate how to respond with kindness when things could be done differently. Maybe it was "just a bike" – but for this boy, it was a sign: That mistakes can be forgiven. That help doesn't have to be earned. And that true greatness often works quietly.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#40
There was a homeless man who 'camped' in the covered garage where my office was located. You'd see him huddle down for the night, along with his little dog, a small scruffy little terrier mix. When I walked thru the garage on my way to lunch, I would often check to see where he was and then bring him a burger and drink. He always tore the sandwich in half, ate one half and gave the other to his dog. I started bringing him a bag of dry dog food every month and he took great pains to keep it dry. His little dog rode in the child's seat in the grocery cart wherever he went. One especially cold winter morning, I noticed his dog was missing and he seemed utterly forlorn. I bought him some coffee and he explained how the city rounded up the homeless and took them to the shelter because it was bitterly cold and they took his dog away from him. They took her to the local shelter (no license, no tags, no rabies vaccination). I was appalled. I took the morning off, picked him up from the garage & drove him to the shelter where we asked to look for his 'lost' dog. When we found her, she put up such a racket of pure joy upon seeing him: yipping, yelping, wiggling uncontrollably. Paws squeezed between chain link trying to touch her master and his fingers stroking her little face. I paid for her license, basic shots and retrieval fee and he rode back in silence hugging her so tight, I thought he would break her. When we got out, I told him to keep her safe. He hugged me, made Sasha give me a smooch of thanks, and hurried off to where he'd hidden his cart. I understand the need to keep these souls safe but taking his one undeniable friend -- while legally founded -- was gut wrenchingly wrong on so many other levels. Any act of kindness can change lives….no matter how great or small.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#41
In 2017, a husband-and-wife trucking couple stopped at a truck stop in Laredo, Texas, where they encountered a tiny, frightened cat desperately begging truckers for food. The little feline, weak and malnourished, was too scared to let anyone near him, flinching at every movement. The husband, noticing his fragile state, decided to try a gentle approach. He tore off a small piece of his chicken sandwich and slowly extended it toward the trembling cat. At first, the kitten hesitated, his instincts telling him to flee, but hunger won the battle. As soon as he took the food, the man carefully but swiftly scooped him up before he could bolt. The couple had never owned a cat before and were unsure about what to do with him. Leaving him behind was out of the question, knowing the dangers he would face alone on the streets. So, they made the spontaneous decision to bring him along on their journey. They wrapped him in a warm blanket, gave him water, and let him rest as they continued down the highway. At first, the little cat was nervous, hiding behind the seats, but with time, he began to trust them. He soon started exploring the truck, rubbing against their legs, and purring softly. They named him Grayson. What started as a temporary arrangement turned into something much more. They originally planned to find him a permanent home, but as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, they realized they could never part with him. Grayson had become a true member of their family. He adapted quickly to life on the road, perching on the dashboard, watching the endless landscapes roll by. He curled up on the driver’s lap during rest stops and meowed impatiently whenever they stopped for gas, as if urging them to hurry up and continue the adventure. Years passed, and Grayson became an inseparable part of their travels. He has now been trucking with them for seven years, traveling through nearly every state in the U.S., except for Alaska and Hawaii. Along the way, he’s seen the vast deserts of Arizona, the towering mountains of Colorado, and the lush green forests of Oregon. Wherever they went, Grayson was always there, his curious eyes soaking in the world outside. “He’s my world,” the wife said in an emotional moment. “I never imagined we would end up with a cat, but I can’t picture our lives without him now. He’s been by my side through every mile, every storm, every sunrise on the road.” Grayson, once a frightened, starving kitten, is now a beloved co-pilot, riding shotgun on every journey, proving that sometimes, the best family members come in the most unexpected ways.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#42
A great woman erased from history by idiots. The branding of the syrup was a tribute to this woman’s gifts and talents. Now future generations will not even know this beautiful woman existed. What a shame. The world knew her as “Aunt Jemima”, but her given name was Nancy Green and she was a true American success story. She was born a slave in 1834 Montgomery County, KY. and became a wealthy superstar in the advertising world, as its first living trademark. Green was 56 years old when she was selected as spokesperson for a new ready-mixed, self-rising pancake flour and made her debut in 1893 at a fair and exposition in Chicago. She demonstrated the pancake mix served thousands of pancakes, and became an immediate star. She was a good storyteller, her personality was warm and appealing, and her showmanship was exceptional! Let's not forget greatness & exceptional black folks who broke so many barriers!
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#43
Last week, Uber charged me $85 for a ride in Baltimore that should’ve cost $20, so I figured it was time to give Lyft another shot. Today, after checking out of my hotel in Oklahoma, I called a Lyft and got picked up by Mike, a guy in a red F-150 work truck. The bed was full of tools and lumber. I hopped into the passenger seat. “How far to the airport?” I asked. “Fifteen minutes,” he said. “You in a hurry?” “Not really. You?” “Never.” We cruised down the highway in the slow lane. I asked if carpentry was his main line of work. “Among other things,” he said. “Jack of all trades?” “Maybe. Back in the seventies, I was a plumber’s helper. Did heating and air for a while.” “How was that?” “Hot and cold,” he said, deadpan. I couldn’t tell if he was joking. He had a Midwestern drawl and a poker face. “After that, I got into carpentry—started with trim, moved to framing. Eventually built custom cabinets in fancy houses. Learned staircases, furniture. Did pretty good.” “You retired now?” “Nope. I build campers.” “Campers?” “Small ones you can tow anywhere—teardrop trailers. Got popular during lockdowns. I build ’em by hand, one at a time.” “How’s the quality?” “Pretty good.” “Got a website?” “Sure. Gotta have a website these days.” “What’s it called?” “Mike’s Pretty Good Campers.” I paused. “That’s really the name?” “I like to manage expectations,” he said. “Under promise, over deliver?” “Exactly.” “That what you were doing before picking me up?” “Yup. Got frustrated. Don’t like to work frustrated. So I step away.” “To drive strangers to the airport?” “Never too frustrated to drive. Besides, we ain’t strangers no more, are we?” “No,” I said. “We’re not.” As we got close to the airport, I asked if he was headed back to work afterward. “Haven’t decided. Depends how I feel in a few minutes.” Before getting out, I said, “If I like your website, mind if I share it on Facebook? I’ve got some followers who might want a pretty good camper from a quasi-retired carpenter who moonlights with Lyft when he’s frustrated.” “Can’t hurt,” he said. “Once people see these trailers, they fall in love. There’s even teardrop trailer conventions—thousands show up. You wouldn’t believe how they decorate ’em.” “Mike,” I said, “I’ll believe just about anything these days.” At the curb, he unloaded my bags and asked, “Have I driven you before? You look familiar.” “I don’t think so. I’d remember,” I said. “Thanks for the lift.” “Was it okay?” “It was a pretty good lift,” I said. Somewhere behind his mustache, I think he smiled. I walked into Will Rogers Airport, boarded my flight, and immediately searched to see if Mike’s Pretty Good Campers was a real thing
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#44
In 1939, amid the ongoing struggles of the Great Depression, a family near Sallisaw, Oklahoma, faced severe economic challenges. To reduce living costs, they made the difficult decision to set up home in a simple tent, seeking to save on rent and other expenses. Though life in a tent was far from easy, the family adapted by running a small goat dairy, which provided both nourishment and a modest income, helping them manage during these tough times. Their choice to live in a tent reflected a deep resilience and resourcefulness during an era of widespread uncertainty. Raising goats supplied them with a steady source of milk and dairy products—essential for survival when other resources were scarce. This step toward self-sufficiency illustrated the family's determination to maintain a sense of normalcy and stability despite their difficult living conditions. The presence of the dairy alongside their tent home underscored their ingenuity in overcoming the economic limitations of the Great Depression. This family’s decision to live in a tent was part of a larger trend during the Dust Bowl and Depression, where many rural families across Oklahoma and beyond faced similar struggles and had to find unconventional ways to survive. Migration and financial hardship forced families to make hard choices about how to live and make do. The image of this family near Sallisaw captures the spirit of perseverance, creativity, and community that helped many endure the toughest years of their lives.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#45
The Year is 1935. America is suffocating under the iron grip of the Great Depression. Jobs are ghosts, hunger is a constant, and hope? Hope is a rare thing. But deep in the Appalachian hills, a different kind of wealth is being delivered—not in coins, not in bread, but in words. They call them the Book Women—a fierce band of librarians with grit in their bones and reins in their hands. These weren’t city-dwelling bookkeepers. These were warriors on horseback, riding 100 to 200 miles a week through knee-deep mud, driving rain, and bitter snow. Their cargo? Not gold. Not grain. But stories—tales of adventure, survival, and dreams too big to be crushed by poverty. They rode for the kids perched on crumbling porches, waiting for a tattered copy of Tom Sawyer. For the coal miners’ wives swapping recipes scribbled in the margins of cookbooks. For the old farmers tracing weather charts in worn almanacs, daring to dream of a better harvest. Women like Mary Carson—a coal miner’s daughter who rode her mule, Old Joe, through flood-swollen rivers, hoisting her saddlebags high to keep the books dry. Who clung to Joe’s mane as a flash flood tried to take them both, whispering, “We’ve got deliveries to make.” By 1943, the war effort swallowed the funding, and the program faded. But in its time, these horse-riding librarians delivered over 100,000 books to nearly 100,000 people. They didn’t just carry stories. They carried fire—the kind that lights the way through the darkest nights. So let history remember this: while the Great Depression tried to break America’s spirit, the Book Women rode through the storm and proved that words are power, knowledge is freedom, and stories can save us all.
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#46
Edgar, a 9-year-old cat weighing over 20 pounds, was surrendered to the Humane Society of Carroll County in Maryland because his family could no longer care for him due to challenges with small children. His remarkable size caught the attention of the shelter staff, who launched a social media campaign to help him find a new home. Just three hours later, Jenna Marie spotted Edgar's photo on Facebook and visited the shelter with her boyfriend. They instantly bonded with Edgar, who greeted them with his friendly and affectionate nature. In just a few hours, Edgar found his forever home. He quickly adjusted to his new environment and got along well with the couple’s other pets. Edgar’s story highlights the impact of social media in facilitating speedy adoptions and providing loving homes for animals in need.
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#47
The “Titanic Orphans,” brothers Michel (age 4) and Edmond (age 2), were photographed in April 1912 shortly after their miraculous survival of the RMS *Titanic* disaster. Their story is both heartbreaking and extraordinary. The young boys, who spoke only French, were found alone and unaccompanied after the ship’s sinking—among the youngest and most vulnerable of the survivors. With no adults claiming them in the chaotic aftermath, they became symbols of both tragedy and hope. Their journey aboard the *Titanic* was the result of a bitter custody dispute. Their father, Michel Navratil, had taken the boys from their mother in France and boarded the *Titanic* under an assumed name, hoping to start a new life in America. When the ship struck the iceberg, Navratil managed to get both boys into lifeboat No. 15, ensuring their survival before perishing in the icy Atlantic waters. The children were rescued by the *Carpathia* and taken to New York, where they were cared for while their identities remained a mystery. Dubbed the "Titanic Orphans" by the press, the boys were eventually recognized by their mother through newspaper reports and photographs. She traveled to America to reunite with them, bringing closure to one of the many human dramas that emerged from the *Titanic* tragedy. Today, the story of Michel and Edmond Navratil serves as a poignant reminder of the personal stories behind one of history’s most infamous maritime disasters—a tale of loss, survival, and the enduring strength of family.
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#48
This is Lori from McDonald's in Wills Point, Tx. She took my order for gift cards when I pulled into the drive thru after finding no available parking. Lori: "Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?" Me: "Yes, I'm sorry, but may I order gift cards here"? Lori: "Yes! Would you like $5., $10, or $25"? Me: ""I'd like one $25. and one $10. please". Lori: "Yes ma'am. That's one $25 and one $10. Would you like a song with that"? Me: "A song, really"? (Because it seemed a very cruel thing to be offering me a song if she didn't really mean it 😁) Lori: "Yes. Would you like one"? Me: "Yes! I'd love a song!". Lori: "Really?! Nobody ever says yes"! Me: "I'm saying yes. Please sing for me girl in the speaker. The gift cards are an anniversary gift if that helps". Lori: "Oh my goodness, the pressure - the pressure - it has to be good. What do I sing? What do I sing"? She then starts singing Justin Beiber's Baby, Baby. I have never smiled so much! This girl made my day. So funny, so sweet. Infectious smile. The world needs more Lori's!!
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#49
In 1939, amid the ongoing struggles of the Great Depression, a family near Sallisaw, Oklahoma, faced severe economic challenges. To reduce living costs, they made the difficult decision to set up home in a simple tent, seeking to save on rent and other expenses. Though life in a tent was far from easy, the family adapted by running a small goat dairy, which provided both nourishment and a modest income, helping them manage during these tough times. Their choice to live in a tent reflected a deep resilience and resourcefulness during an era of widespread uncertainty. Raising goats supplied them with a steady source of milk and dairy products—essential for survival when other resources were scarce. This step toward self-sufficiency illustrated the family's determination to maintain a sense of normalcy and stability despite their difficult living conditions. The presence of the dairy alongside their tent home underscored their ingenuity in overcoming the economic limitations of the Great Depression. This family’s decision to live in a tent was part of a larger trend during the Dust Bowl and Depression, where many rural families across Oklahoma and beyond faced similar struggles and had to find unconventional ways to survive. Migration and financial hardship forced families to make hard choices about how to live and make do. The image of this family near Sallisaw captures the spirit of perseverance, creativity, and community that helped many endure the toughest years of their lives
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#50
For those who don't know, we've spent the last 2 days in Arkansas Children's Hospital. Sunday night around 9pm, I bathed my 6 week old daughter, gave her a warm bottle and laid her down in her bassinet for the night. I knew with her newborn schedule I'd be up again with her around midnight. I drifted off around 10. At 1:15am exactly, I woke up suddenly (knowing I shouldn't have slept that long) and went to Camilla. She looked like she was sleeping really hard so I put my hand on her. She wasn't breathing, was limp and she was ice cold. I started shaking her and yelling her name. She still wouldnt move and her eyes were shut. I started screaming her name and shook the bassinet but she didn't move. As I was screaming, her dad scooped her up and I saw how limp and gray she was in his arms and her chest wasn't moving. I watched as he rocked her and begged her to move, but her arms and head were just hanging limp. He even put his face to hers to feel is there was any breathing, even if it was shallow. By the look on his face, I knew the answer. My baby was gone. I lost it. I was shaking, crying and screaming and just dropped to the floor hollering and crying for God to help my baby. All I remember is yelling "please Jesus help her! Make her breathe!" over and over again. I don't know if this was seconds or minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. At that moment I swear I looked at her and the color started going from gray to pink. I saw her arm give a small movement. I saw shallow breaths. I watched her come back. SIDS is real but God is greater. We've been at Children's Hospital with her. She's had every test done imaginable. She's been monitored over night for apnea, scans, x-rays, even dieticians examining the way she eats. The only diagnosis that all these tests was B.R.U.E.: Brief Resolving Unexplained Event Even the doctors can't explain how she's here. No respiratory, heart, or any other issues. I know I don't usually share things like this, but I had to testify. My baby was gone long enough to go ice cold and gray but I saw the life come back. If you ever had any doubts, God is REAL! Through His Grace is the only reason I'm holding my baby girl today."
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#51
Please, if you find a bird, NEVER put water in its mouth. The small hole you see at the back of the tongue is its airway. If you get a drop in its mouth, it will inhale and choke. They can't cough the water up, and it's a horrible d£ath. Baby birds get all their moisture from the food their parents give them. If you find a dehydrated adult bird, offer it water to drink on its own, or you can dip a cotton swab in water and clean a small part of its beak, avoiding the nostrils. If you find a baby bird, keep it warm. If they don't have full feathers, they need a soft heat source. They can't produce their own body heat. NEVER feed a cold bird. Their digestive system shuts down when they're cold, and this also more often results in the bird slowly dy!ng
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#52
Laura and Almanzo Wilder were a remarkable couple whose real-life love story became an essential part of American pioneer history. Laura Ingalls Wilder, beloved author of the Little House series, met Almanzo Wilder while living in De Smet, South Dakota. Almanzo, a skilled and hardworking young farmer, was ten years older than Laura. Despite the age difference, a deep bond formed between them, rooted in mutual respect, shared values, and a love for the land. They married in 1885 when Laura was just 18 years old. Their early years together were filled with both joy and hardship. They faced crop failures, illness (including a bout of diphtheria that left Almanzo partially paralyzed for a time), the tragic loss of their infant son, and the destruction of their home by fire. Despite these challenges, their resilience and love for one another never wavered. Eventually, the Wilders settled in Mansfield, Missouri, where they built their home, Rocky Ridge Farm. It was here that Laura began writing down her memories of pioneer life, which Almanzo wholeheartedly supported. Their daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, would go on to become a writer herself and played a key role in helping Laura shape her stories into the classic Little House on the Prairie books. Laura and Almanzo's enduring partnership was a testament to perseverance, love, and the pioneer spirit. Their story, full of heart and hardship, continues to inspire generations who read about their lives in Laura's timeless works.
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#53
Last weekend, homeowners discovered a small, five- to six-week-old female squirrel in their yard. It was starving, dehydrated, and cried softly as it bravely approached people. It quickly became clear: something had happened to its mother. After one or two days, the youngster had apparently ventured out of the nest on its own, hoping to find help. The family took it in, warmed it, and gave it water. They were advised to be careful – there might be siblings. And sure enough, the next day they received a call. Another youngster – this time a little brother – had appeared. Also dehydrated, covered in fleas. But he had made it. Today, just a few days later, they are reunited: Bathed, cared for, with full bellies – and most importantly: no longer alone. This story shows: If you can't find your mother, you should never give up looking for your siblings. And above all – you never separate them, because they only have each other.
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#54
When Courtney was pregnant, her doctor told her she would give birth to a baby with Down syndrome. Then, he strongly advised her to terminate the pregnancy. Two years after she gave birth to Emersyn, she wrote that doctor a letter. And this is what she said: “A friend recently told me of when her prenatal specialist would see her child during her sonograms, he would comment, ‘He’s perfect’. Once her son was born with Down syndrome, she visited that same doctor. He looked at her little boy and said, ‘I told you. He’s perfect’. Her story tore me apart. While I was so grateful for my friend’s experience, it filled me with such sorrow because of what I should have had. I wish you would have been that doctor. I came to you during the most difficult time in my life. I was terrified, anxious and in complete despair. I didn’t know the truth yet about my baby, and that’s what I desperately needed from you. But instead of support and encouragement, you suggested we terminate our child. I told you her name, and you asked us again if we understood how low our quality of life would be with a child with Down syndrome. You suggested we reconsider our decision to continue the pregnancy. From that first visit, we dreaded our appointments. The most difficult time in my life was made nearly unbearable because you never told me the truth. My child was perfect. I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I’m really just sad. I’m sad the tiny beating hearts you see every day don’t fill you with a perpetual awe. I’m sad the intricate details and the miracle of those sweet little fingers and toes, lungs and eyes and ears don’t always give you pause. I’m sad you were so very wrong to say a baby with Down syndrome would decrease our quality of life. And I’m heartbroken you might have said that to a mommy even today. But I’m mostly sad you’ll never have the privilege of knowing my daughter, Emersyn. Because, you see, Emersyn has not only added to our quality of life, she’s touched the hearts of thousands. She’s given us a purpose and a joy that is impossible to express. She’s given us bigger smiles, more laughter and sweeter kisses than we’ve ever known. She’s opened our eyes to true beauty and pure love. So my prayer is that no other mommy will have to go through what I did. My prayer is that you, too, will now see true beauty and pure love with every sonogram. And my prayer is when you see that next baby with Down syndrome lovingly tucked in her mother’s womb, you will look at that mommy and see me then tell her the truth: “Your child is absolutely perfect.”
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#55
Down syndrome was named after John Langdon Down, a British doctor who, in 1866, was the first to classify this condition. Langdon Down began his career as the chief physician at the Earlswood institution, which cared for individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Although he had no prior experience in caring for people with such disabilities, Langdon Down showed a profound interest and empathy for them. At a time when many ignored their value and humanity, he recognized their dignity and was outraged by the inhumane treatment they received. Physical punishment, poor hygiene, and high mortality rates were common in institutions of that era. Determined to change this reality, Dr. Langdon Down implemented transformative measures. He hired new staff, demanded proper care and strict hygiene, banned physical punishment, and introduced activities such as crafts and hobbies for the patients. Moreover, he photographed his patients with care and sensitivity, portraying them in elegant attire and favorable poses. These images, part of a collection of over 200 photos, supported his clinical descriptions of Down syndrome, detailing physical characteristics and other relevant medical observations. In 1868, Langdon Down took an even greater step by acquiring a mansion to house people with Down syndrome. He did not treat it as a mere institution but as a space that met the highest standards of comfort and hygiene. Residents received private education and learned activities such as horse riding, gardening, crafting, and other creative practices. To further enrich their lives, the doctor built a small theater attached to the mansion, promoting artistic and social development among the residents. This mansion, named Normansfield, still stands today in the United Kingdom. It is now known as The Langdon Down Centre and houses the Normansfield Theatre, preserving the legacy of care and respect initiated by John Langdon Down. It is important to emphasize that the name “
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#56
In a bustling corner store deep in the heart of the city, there lived a ginger tabby named Sunny. Sunny wasn’t just any cat he was the store’s unofficial mascot and self-proclaimed guardian of the egg counter. Every day, Sunny would perch beside the trays of eggs, ensuring no clumsy hands toppled them. Customers adored him, and the store owner, Mr. Kumar, always made sure Sunny had a cozy spot to nap and plenty of treats. One sunny afternoon, after a particularly busy morning of supervising transactions and swatting at stray flies, Sunny felt a wave of exhaustion. The eggs had been perfectly balanced, the customers had left smiling, and the store hummed with calm. Deciding he deserved a break, Sunny flopped onto the counter beside the eggs, stretched luxuriously, and covered his eyes with a paw to block out the bright lights overhead. As he drifted into a deep sleep, the customers began to notice the adorable scene. Phones emerged, and soon Sunny became the star of countless social media posts. “The sleeping egg guardian,” people captioned their photos. Some even joked that Sunny was dreaming of a world where eggs came pre-cooked. Sunny’s nap was undisturbed, but the story didn’t end there. The next morning, Mr. Kumar discovered a note on the counter from a local artist. She had painted a watercolor portrait of Sunny napping beside the eggs and left it as a gift. It wasn’t long before Sunny’s fame spread, drawing more customers to the store just to meet the sleepy protector of the egg aisle. Despite his new celebrity status, Sunny remained humble or perhaps just sleepy. His priority stayed the same: guarding the eggs and napping in peace. And if anyone dared knock over an egg, Sunny’s swift paw was ready to remind them who was in charge.
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#57
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#58
Today I watched two different perspectives in the Target parking lot. A mom with three littles ones rushing to put the babies in their seats and then the groceries in the back. You could see she was visibly flustered and in a hurry to get out of there. Then I saw a grandma, with her 3 young grand kids. She puts them in the back, unloads some juice boxes from her bags and sits there laughing with them while they drank their juices. No rush at all. In the moment, as a mom with young kids, we are in such survival mode, it feels like it’s always a rush, rush, go, go kind of world! Then we blink and they are grown. Then one day we will become grandmas and remember how fast those moments went, and we will sit and live in them a little longer…
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#59
One evening, while walking my dog Mollie through the park, a group of men started shouting and following me. My usually sweet and soppy Mollie immediately positioned herself between me and them, letting out a low growl—something I had never heard from her before. They quickly caught on and asked if she would bite, and with as much bravado as I could muster, I said yes (even though she’s never hurt a fly). Right on cue, Mollie lunged forward, barking with a level of aggression I never imagined she had. The men took off, and the moment they were gone, Mollie instantly switched back to her usual self, wagging her tail and begging me to throw her ball! Bonus story: In the second week of having Mollie, I let her off-leash for the first time. Unexpectedly, I collapsed due to a medical issue (which was later resolved). As I came to, my first thought was that my new puppy must have run off. But when I looked up, there she was—calmly lying next to me, watching me as if waiting for my next move. And because I can’t resist showing her off, here’s a picture of my beautiful girl!
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#60
Geronimo and His Nieces – A Quiet Moment in 1900 🌵🪶 In a rare and poignant photograph taken in Oklahoma City, 1900, the famed Apache leader Geronimo sits alongside his two nieces—a striking image that contrasts with the fierce warrior reputation that often defines him in American memory. Geronimo, born Goyaałé ("the one who yawns"), led the Chiricahua Apache in a long resistance against U.S. and Mexican forces during the 19th century. By 1900, he was living as a prisoner of war in Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), far from his ancestral homeland. This image captures him in a quiet chapter of life—his once fearsome glare softened, surrounded by family rather than warriors. His nieces, dressed in period attire, sit calmly beside him, symbols of survival and continuity in the face of forced displacement and cultural erasure. Though subdued, this photograph tells a powerful story: not of defeat, but of resilience. Geronimo would live until 1909, becoming a public figure and even appearing in President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1905 inaugural parade. Yet he never returned to his homeland.
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#61
This is Ocho. Ocho lives in my bathroom and hangs out on my orchid plant. Every day I soak a Q-Tip in water and put it down for him wherever he is (on the plant or behind the toilet or on the vanity) and he comes running over and gets a drink. Was my first reaction to smash him? Nope. To flush him down the toilet? Nope. To “burn it to the ground”? Nope. He’s literally a fraction of my size. I could easily kill him, but I choose to be kind. He deserves to be on this earth as much as I do. In fact, he contributes way more to the natural order of life on earth than I do. It’s so easy to choose kindness. I encourage everyone to take a moment and make sure the language you use when it comes to spiders, insects, rodents, etc. is kind and not fearful or disgusted. None of these beings are pests or threatening. Let them be. Help them if you can. Be kind. It’s so simple
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#62
Cassius Clay was an absolute badass. Like, on some surreal John Wick level. In 1843, Clay was addressing his constituents in Kentucky, standing at an embankment. An assassin ran up from within the crowd and fired at him, hitting him in the chest. Clay beat the man with his silver-tipped cane, then wrestled him into submission. Holding him down with one hand, he took his Bowie knife, cutting off the gunman’s nose and ear. Then lifted the man off the ground, throwing him off the embankment… He did all that with a bullet lodged in his chest. Cassius Clay lived to 92 with that bullet still in him. One of the world’s greatest fighters was named after him… and then decided “Muhammad Ali” was a more badass name. I disagree — they don’t make ’em any more hardcore than the original Cassius Clay
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#63
Robin Williams once brought laughter back to a grieving gorilla who had been mourning the loss of his friend for six months. This remarkable story began when American ethologists taught a gorilla named Koko to communicate with humans using sign language. Koko was exceptionally intelligent, but he was going through a deeply difficult period, to the point where biologists feared he might be suffering from severe melancholy. The researchers wanted to help Koko by finding him a new companion while also studying how he interacted with humans. Since Koko had learned sign language and could communicate with our species, he was the perfect subject to explore whether there were true cognitive boundaries between humans and gorillas. To assist, they reached out to Robin Williams, the renowned comedian, and asked if he would spend time with Koko, interacting with him naturally, as if he were simply a person in need of comfort. Williams agreed, though he had reservations. He wasn’t an expert on primates and worried he might be too awkward to connect with the gorilla. However, when he met Koko, Williams had an unexpected revelation. By letting the gorilla approach him at his own pace, Williams realized that interacting with Koko felt like engaging with a curious child. Gradually, Koko grew more interested in his visitor, even becoming fascinated by Williams’ glasses, which he referred to as "strange glass eyes." Soon, Koko began communicating with Williams through sign language, suggesting games and asking surprisingly insightful questions that left the actor stunned. Within minutes, the two were joking, tickling each other, playing, and sharing stories from their lives. The researchers were amazed and asked Koko to describe Williams in one word. The gorilla chose the term "friend." Williams was deeply moved by the encounter, especially when he learned that he had managed to make a gorilla laugh who was on the brink of depression due to loneliness. Inspired, he decided to vis
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#64
He found him outside when he was just a puppy, shivering from the cold and completely alone. He couldn’t ignore him. He picked him up, wrapped him in his jacket, and took him to the vet. That day, a bond began—one neither of them could have imagined. At first, the frightened puppy didn’t understand kindness or the safety of a home. But over time, he learned to trust. By his side, the man realized that this small creature meant more to him than he had thought. Weeks passed, and the puppy grew stronger, following him everywhere. At night, he still curled up beside him, seeking warmth and companionship. He was no longer just a dog; he was his loyal companion. As the years went by, their bond became unbreakable. They shared laughter, difficult moments, and unwavering support. Today, as they sleep side by side, it’s clear—they saved each other.
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#65
just want to show off my true loves. One of these two is part a-hole and comes up with something new to get in trouble daily. Honestly, he’s too cute to get in trouble. Before we adopted him, he was returned to the Humane Society because “the child had an allergy” (one of the top excuses according to our local HS). After 3 days of acclimation (with the other cat) he had full run of the house. We found out immediately why he was returned. We discovered that he’s obsessed with loaves of bread. Early on, he made a mad dash for a piece is sushi, and blind-sided my daughter for a mouth full of popcorn. It was quite impressive to see how calculating he was and how he kept the piece of sushi whole. I also didn’t know cats could squirrel away that many pieces of popcorn in their mouths. So basically he needed a home that was willing to put up with his antics. We were ready for it and laugh daily at the things he comes up with. I didn’t even scratch the surface on the things he does and can do. Last week when he was being a butt, I told him that we got him on clearance. Someone once told me that our pets are angels on earth, and they pass when we no longer need them. I lost both of my dogs within about 8 months of each other, after being diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer. I told my family that we weren’t getting more pets because I didn’t know if I’d have the capacity to take care of them. My son promised to do everything, and he has (including helping take care of me during the worst days). At that point I had already revaluated what was really important in life (although I thought I already had). Something like this is a game changer for evaluating how you want to spend your time and who you want to spend it with. He adopted one of the cats and then we went back to get the wild man about 6 months later. Our wild man was perfect because we all know that laughing is great for health and healing. That was all in 2021 - 2022. I’m having a reoccurrence (part of living with stage IV Ovarian), and we couldn’t have made a better choice in adopting either of our babies. If you made it this far, thank you for letting me share my story. Also, adopt that kitten/cat you’ve been thinking of adopting. Life is short, there’s a kitty out there somewhere that needs a good home.
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#66
THEY WAITED FOR THE GARBAGE TRUCK EVERY MONDAY—AND THEN SOMETHING CHANGED Every Monday, like clockwork, my twins would be waiting out front for the garbage truck. Jesse in his dinosaur pajama bottoms, Lila in her favorite glittery tutu, both barefoot and bouncing with excitement. And every Monday, Rashad and Theo—our sanitation crew—would show up like rockstars. It started small. A honk here, a high five there. Then they let the twins pull the lever once, and that sealed the deal. From then on, Monday mornings were sacred. But then came that Monday. I don’t remember much. I’d been feeling off all weekend—lightheaded, shaky—but figured it was just exhaustion. I was running on fumes trying to juggle work, bills, and two four-year-olds solo since their dad had taken a temporary contract out of town. I must’ve blacked out sometime after putting out the trash. What I didn’t know—what still sends chills down my spine—is that Jesse and Lila had gone outside like usual… but I never followed. When Rashad and Theo pulled up and saw the twins standing there alone, barefoot, crying, something must’ve clicked. They jumped out of the truck, didn’t hesitate. One stayed with the kids while the other ran up to the door, banged, and when no one answered, forced it open. They found me passed out cold on the kitchen floor. They called 911, got help on the way, and even managed to find my phone to call my husband. By the time the ambulance arrived, they had Lila wrapped in Theo’s safety vest and Jesse riding shotgun in the truck to distract him. I came to in the ER a few hours later. The first thing I asked was, “Where are my babies?” The nurse smiled and said, “With their heroes.” And just before she walked out, she added something that made my breath catch
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#67
After losing his parents, Roscoe, a 3-year-old orangutan, fell into a deep depression. He refused to eat and showed no response to medical treatments, leaving the vets concerned he might succumb to sadness. Meanwhile, zookeepers discovered an elderly, sick dog wandering the zoo grounds. They brought the dog to the animal treatment center, where Roscoe was also being cared for. By chance, the two met—and from that moment on, they became inseparable. The orangutan found a new purpose in life, and both friends strive to be the best companions they can be for each other. They spend every moment together, sharing all their activities. Now living in Northern California, swimming has become their favorite pastime. Although Roscoe is a bit wary of the water, his canine friend is always by his side, offering support and encouragement. Together, they have rediscovered joy, laughter, and the true meaning of friendship.
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#68
A 1930s "cat lady" was usually an older woman who lived alone and had several cats as companions..... During that era, society often viewed women who were unmarried....or living independently....with a certain degree of social stigma..so having a collection of cats could be seen as both a comfort... These women often preferred the company of their pets to the busy social lives that many others led, and cats became symbols of independence and eccentricity during this period.... In the 1930s, many cat ladies were known for their deep affection for their feline friends, often being seen knitting...reading...or simply enjoying the company of their cats.... Animals were not only companions, but also emotional support during a time of great social and economic uncertainty, especially during difficult economic times... The type of cat lady was often rendered in literature and media, sometimes with a touch of humor or even as a symbol of a life lived outside conventional norms. While the stereotype of the "cat lady" has become more pronounced over the decades, in the 1930s, these women were simply carving out their own spaces in a world that often made them feel out of place..... Their love for their cats was genuine, and for many, these animals became their closest friends, providing affection and companionship during a time of social upheaval...
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#69
The Melungeons of Appalachia are a mysterious group of people who were discovered in the wilderness of early America, particularly where modern-day Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee converge. While the more well-known Jamestown settlers and Pilgrims are often considered the first pioneers of the United States, the Melungeons predate or were contemporaneous with these groups. These individuals lived in relative isolation, and their unique physical characteristics set them apart from other groups of settlers. They were neither fully black, white, nor Native American, but appeared to embody a blend of all three, with some possessing darker skin and hair, while others had blue or green eyes, red hair, and beards. Their language was also distinctive, as they spoke a mixture of broken English, Elizabethan English, and various Native American dialects. Despite their early presence in Appalachia, the true origins of the Melungeons remain a topic of debate and mystery. Their history was largely hidden, partly due to racial segregation and the isolation they faced in the early Southern colonies. The Melungeons kept to themselves, often living in secluded mountain communities, away from the scrutiny of mainstream society. For centuries, the identity of the Melungeons was shrouded in secrecy, with little understanding of their ancestry. Their racial ambiguity and cultural isolation made them subjects of both curiosity and suspicion, leaving their story largely untold in the broader context of American history. Today, the Melungeons remain a fascinating and enigmatic part of the Appalachian heritage, with their roots continuing to intrigue historians and genealogists alike.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#70
Your grandfather proposed to me with a piece of candy. We had nothing, he knelt down and told me: I have nothing now, just a piece of candy, but if you want we can build everything together. And you? I opened the candy, divided it in two and we ate it. From that moment we divided and shared everything. We fell, we got up and we build. All together. We have experienced difficult moments, tiredness, but we have always been there for each other. Until the last breath. Other times, Grandma. Time does not change the way of loving. What has changed is that you no longer have beautiful examples to follow. Now they are afraid of everything. They do not marry for fear of not being able to build. As soon as they fight, they leave because then they think they are going to find a better one. They always look for perfection, as if it existed. They miss the perception of reality. Of happiness in the little things. They do this big demo, thousand-dollar rings, over-the-top video for marriage proposals, and then they miss the moment. That intimate thing that you keep in two, only in two for a lifetime. This is what they lack. The courage to live life and love for what they are and not for how they imagine it. With a candy, love and courage, you have for a life together.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#71
Clara Clemens, born on June 8, 1874, was the only surviving child of the renowned American author Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) and his wife, Olivia Langdon Clemens. Raised in a household immersed in literary brilliance, Clara developed a deep appreciation for her father's work, often reading and discussing his writings with him. Their close bond extended beyond the family home, as she frequently accompanied Twain on his travels around the world. This relationship profoundly shaped Clara’s life, influencing her artistic pursuits and her dedication to preserving his legacy. A gifted musician, Clara trained as a soprano and established herself as a celebrated singer and performer. She made her professional debut in New York City in 1899 and later recorded for the Victrola phonograph, contributing to the evolving musical landscape of her time. Though she achieved recognition in the music world, Clara remained deeply connected to literature, particularly her father’s body of work. After Mark Twain’s passing, she devoted herself to safeguarding his legacy, ensuring that his literary contributions continued to be honored and remembered. Beyond her artistic endeavors, Clara was committed to charitable causes, with a strong focus on children’s welfare. Her personal writings and letters provided a rare glimpse into the private life of the Clemens family, offering invaluable insights into their world. Clara lived for many years after her father’s death, passing away on November 19, 1962. Her legacy endures as both a talented artist and a devoted daughter who played a pivotal role in preserving the memory and influence of one of America’s greatest literary figures.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#72
No Cargo Here—Just First Class and Oreos (and Us Doing Everything) People always ask, “Do the pets fly in cargo?” Nope. At Wings of Rescue, the pets fly right alongside us—in the same cabin as the crew, the pilots, and the people who loaded the plane (also us), who will unload it (still us), and who will serve as flight attendants if needed (you guessed it… still us). Our aircraft? A converted Embraer 120 Brasilia—zero cargo holds. That means a cabin full of hopeful noses, wagging tails, and slightly sleep-deprived humans passing out snacks. Our go-to? Double-stuffed vanilla Oreos. It’s not in-flight catering, but it gets the job done. We fly with the pets, not just for them. Because they deserve more than cargo—they deserve snuggles, snacks, and top-tier service from a crew that multitasks like pros.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#73
THE FULLER BUILDING IN 1903. It was finished in 1903, and some New Yorkers were making bets on how far the debris would go when the wind toppled it. But over a century after its construction, the Flatiron remains an urban masterpiece that continues to dazzle. It was dubbed the "Flat Iron Building" is located at the confluence of 23rd Street and Fifth Avenue in New York City. With 22 floors, this triangular storey building (or ship's bow and 285 feet) reaches 86 meters by 86 cm tall, and its rounded end is only 2 meters wide. It's one of the city's oldest skyscrapers and has been designated a New York City Landmark and National Historic. Even today walking alongside him can cause amazement not quite different from what would have felt by passers-by at the beginning of the last century.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#74
At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, was walking through a park one day in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully. Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her. The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll saying "please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures." Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life. During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable. Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin. "It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl. Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "my travels have changed me." The little girl hugged the new doll and brought the doll with her to her happy home. A year later Kafka died. Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written: "Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way." Embrace change. It's inevitable for growth. Together we can shift pain into wonder and love, but it is up to us to consciously and intentionally create that connection.
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
#75
I am asking for prayers for my son Ledger. We found out at the beginning of the month he has B Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and I made my first ever post on here asking for prayers for his first surgery. Unfortunately we’re back at Primary Children’s where ledger has had constipation and he might have to have surgery for a hole in his intestines. please pray with us that he won’t need surgery and that it will be an easy fix and that he can regain his health. I ask for prayers for my son and for me and my husband
Image credits: Forbidden Stories
