WOW Stories

WOW Stories TCC Theatre Program
Tulsa Community College Theatre Department produces four exciting and invigorating productions of live theatre per academic year.

Musicals are produced in the 1500 seat VanTrease PACE Main Stage with a mentoring program giving theatre performers and designers “A world of stage” and experience. Other theatre productions are presented in the Studio Black Box Theatre including the new improvisational comedy troupe, Die Laughing. From Director and Stage Manager to the Designers and Signature Symphony musicians, TCC theatre stude

nts get the opportunity to work side-by-side with professionals and experience tremendous growth, and success. The suggested curriculum in the theatre program includes courses generally completed in the first two years of a four-year curriculum. Course work covering acting, stage movement, and voice and diction all lead to a well-rounded performer. Theatre students can also take courses that give them broad technical experience and exposure. For information about the TCC theatre program, or to apply for a theatre scholarship, please contact Mark Frank, Coordinator of Theatre at 918-595-7732 or e-mail [email protected]

10/24/2025

"Your daughter is still alive" - ​​Homeless black boy ran to the coffin and revealed a secret that shocked the billionaire...
The grand chapel in Beverly Hills was silent except for the muffled sobs of mourners. Rows of white lilies lined the polished oak coffin at the front, where the engraved plate read: "In Loving Memory of Emily Hartman."
Jonathan Hartman, one of Los Angeles’s most powerful real estate billionaires, sat rigid in the front row. His face looked carved from stone, but the trembling of his hands betrayed the storm inside. Emily was his only child, the bright, rebellious girl who had resisted the privilege of her last name. She had been declared dead two weeks earlier after a car accident in Nevada. The police had told him the body was burned beyond recognition, identified only through personal belongings. Jonathan had not questioned it. Grief had paralyzed him.
As the priest began his closing words, the heavy doors of the chapel creaked open. Heads turned. A young black boy, no older than fourteen, barefoot and dressed in a ragged hoodie, stumbled inside. His breathing was ragged, like he had been running for miles. He ignored the ushers trying to block him and ran straight to the coffin.
“Your daughter is still alive!” the boy cried out, his voice cracking with desperation.
The room erupted in murmurs. Some guests gasped, others hissed in irritation, assuming this was a cruel prank. The boy placed both hands on the coffin, his thin shoulders shaking. “She’s not dead, Mr. Hartman. I saw her. I swear I saw Emily three days ago. She asked me for help.”
Jonathan stood up slowly, his towering frame making the boy flinch. His first instinct was anger — anger at the disruption, at the insult to his daughter’s memory. But something in the boy’s eyes made him hesitate. They weren’t mocking, nor opportunistic. They were terrified and earnest.
“Who are you?” Jonathan’s voice was hoarse.
“My name’s Marcus,” the boy said. “I live on the streets near Long Beach. Emily… she’s being held by men who don’t want you to know she’s alive.”
Gasps spread through the chapel again. A billionaire’s daughter kidnapped instead of dead? It sounded insane, yet Jonathan’s gut twisted. He had not been allowed to see Emily’s body — only told it was “unviewable.”
The priest tried to regain order, but Jonathan raised a hand to silence him. His pulse hammered as he studied Marcus. Something about the detail, the urgency, the sheer audacity of this intrusion — it pierced through his grief.
Jonathan leaned closer, his voice low. “If you’re lying, boy, I will destroy you. But if you’re telling the truth…” He faltered, his chest tightening with a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in weeks.
Marcus looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not lying. And if you don’t believe me, she’s going to die for real.”
The chapel was no longer a funeral. It was the start of a secret that threatened to unravel Jonathan’s world.. Watch: [in comment]

10/24/2025

A Young Man Protected A Military Widow At The Counter — Shortly After, A Four-Star General Walked In
Amid the noise of the bank at rush hour, a young veteran gently stopped the ᴍᴏᴄκιɴɢ words aimed at a woman wearing a widow’s insignia. The room instantly fell quiet.
A few minutes later, the door opened, the light catching the stars on his uniform —..
When He Refused To Look Away, The Room Forgot How To Breathe
Thursday, First National Bank—Ohio morning, flag snapping over Main Street, a USPS truck sighing at the curb.
Inside: marble chill, fluorescent buzz, that red ticker blinking numbers like a metronome for patience.
He came to pay rent in cash.
Ball cap. Work boots. Knuckles scabbed from copper pipe. Ten months civilian, instincts still military—eyes on exits, back to the wall, shoulders square.
At the service desk, a widow held a VA letter like a last bridge.
“Fee-exempt,” she said. The words were steady. Her fingers weren’t.
“The computer is policy,” the rep replied, eyes glued to the screen, voice laminated.
A laugh floated from the line. “Some folks just love drama.”
He stepped out of line anyway—no speech, no theater—just presence.
“Ma’am deserves your attention,” he said, and the room’s temperature slipped a few degrees.
The manager arrived with a practiced smile and a script about “procedure.”
The security guard drifted closer, radio whispering static at his shoulder.
The letter slid back across the desk—unread—like dignity being returned for insufficient funds.
He didn’t raise his voice. He raised a standard.
“This is America,” he said. “Two minutes to do what’s right isn’t a disruption.”
Someone muttered “hero cosplay.” Someone else: “If you’re not banking, move.”
He chose not to move.
Silence gathered under the cameras.
County seal on the wall. ADA sticker on the glass. A folded flag in a shadowbox humming under tired lights.
The widow’s chin lifted a fraction—the kind of defiance you only learn by outliving grief.
“Sir,” the manager warned, veneer thinning, “you’re affecting other customers.”
He looked at the clock, the queue, the letter, the woman.
“What you call efficiency,” he said, “looks a lot like disrespect from here.”
The guard’s hand touched the door.
Outside air pressed its face to the glass—April bright, engine idling, metal catching sun.
Footsteps—measured, authoritative—cut the hum into clean pieces.
No announcement. No grand entrance.
Just an ordinary act, arriving at the exact second ordinary turns into history.
The rep’s mouth closed.
A phone slipped, hit tile, echoed.
Color vanished from two faces—the kind of pale that comes when consequences finally find a name.
What arrived was not noise.
It was recognition, heavy as a gavel and sharper than policy.
And the people who’d snickered a minute ago stared at their shoes like they were suddenly expensive.
But That Wasn’t The End—
(Full story continues in the first comment.)

Martha has 20 children from 20 different dads and is expecting 21 according to her... See more
10/24/2025

Martha has 20 children from 20 different dads and is expecting 21 according to her... See more

10/24/2025

Racist bullies tried to grope a Black girl at school, not knowing she was a dangerous MMA fighter...
When a group of teenage bullies at Jefferson High decided to humiliate a new Black student, they thought it would be another cruel prank. What they didn’t know was that their “easy target” had been training in mixed martial arts since she was eight.
Seventeen-year-old Alyssa Grant had only been at Jefferson High in suburban Texas for two weeks when she noticed the stares. Some were curious; others were full of judgment. Alyssa was one of only a handful of Black students at the predominantly white school. But she wasn’t new to dealing with stares or whispered insults — growing up, she had learned to carry herself with quiet strength.
It was during lunch break that everything changed. As Alyssa walked past the football bleachers to get to class, a group of boys — led by Derek Collins, the school’s star running back — decided to corner her. They called her racist names, mocked her hair, and one of them reached out to grope her. The moment his hand touched her shoulder, something in Alyssa snapped.
Years of self-control met the discipline of her MMA training. With quick precision, she grabbed his wrist, twisted it backward, and swept his legs from under him. Derek lunged toward her, but she ducked and countered with a perfect side kick to his ribs. The other boys froze, stunned at how effortlessly she defended herself. Within seconds, two of them were on the ground, gasping for air, while the rest scattered in panic.
By the time a teacher arrived, the scene was chaotic — Alyssa standing tall, calm but trembling slightly, while Derek groaned in pain. Security was called, and within an hour, the incident was the talk of the entire school. Videos spread quickly online. Everyone had seen the “new girl” dismantle the football team’s bullies like a professional fighter.
Alyssa didn’t feel proud; she felt exposed. She had never wanted to use her training to hurt anyone — it was supposed to protect her, not define her. But as the principal called her into the office, she knew her life at Jefferson High was about to change forever... Watch: [in comment]

50 year old man k!lls his own wife after discovering that she was M… see more
10/24/2025

50 year old man k!lls his own wife after discovering that she was M… see more

10/24/2025

My grandson pushed me into a lake and laughed while I drowned. “Don’t be so dramatic!” my daughter-in-law sneered. They thought the frail old woman who paid for everything was too weak to fight back. I pretended to be frail and forgetful, letting them believe I was losing my mind. “She’s a liability,” I heard them whisper, planning to put me in a home. They had no idea I was documenting every cruel word. When they finally realized my bank accounts were empty, they called the police to report me missing. But the evidence I left for the officers turned their lives into a nightmare….
I never thought a family barbecue would end with me gasping for breath in a lake while my own grandson laughed.
We were on the pontoon boat. My grandson, Kyle, nineteen, was at the helm. “Better hold on tight, Grandma,” he smirked. “About to open her up.”
“Kyle, sweetheart, slow down a bit, please,” I requested, my hands gripping the rail.
“Oh, let him have his fun,” my daughter-in-law, Paula, said. “Boys need to be boys.”
I saw the look in Kyle’s eyes. He wasn't just steering; he was aiming. The boat lurched violently, and I was thrown overboard.
The shock of the cold water was a fist. I surfaced, coughing and sputtering, to the sound of their laughter from the boat.
“You’re being so dramatic, Mom!” Paula called out. “Just stand up!” She said it as if the water were waist-deep, when I knew for a fact it was over ten feet.
When I finally crawled back aboard, soaked and shaking, no one offered a hand. Kyle looked down at me, his lip curled in a smirk. “Guess you’re a tough old bird after all, huh?”
They all laughed. That laughter, more than the cold or the shock, is what broke me. In the chilling silence of their indifference, I knew. The wolf had finally taken off the sheep’s clothing.
That night, I didn’t cry. I sat in the guest room, listening to their laughter float up from downstairs. They thought they had won, that they had successfully reminded the “frail old woman” of her place. They had no idea they had just awakened the woman who had built a real estate empire with my late husband. A woman who understood contracts, trusts, and the cold, hard language of consequences.
My performance, I decided, had been lacking. If they wanted me to be frail and forgetful, then I would give them the performance of a lifetime. I would become the perfect, confused, helpless old woman. I would let them get comfortable. I would let them get greedy.
And I would document every single word.
The next morning, I came downstairs, my hand trembling slightly for effect. “Daniel,” I said to my son, my voice a little shaky. “I think… I think I'm starting to forget things. Maybe we should talk to a lawyer about… you know… helping me manage my affairs.”.... Watch: [in comment]

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10/22/2025

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10/22/2025

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10/22/2025

I SERVED A GANG OF BIKERS AT MY DINER—AND WHAT I SAW THEM SLIDE UNDER THE TABLE EXPOSED A TERRIFYING SECRET.
The bell above the diner door didn't just jingle, it felt like it screamed when they walked in. The whole club, maybe twenty of them, filling every booth with the smell of leather and road dust. My boss took one look, muttered something about needing to check inventory in the back, and disappeared. Just me and them.
For the first hour, it was almost normal. They were loud, laughing, ordering burgers and milkshakes like a high school football team. One of them, a man with a beard down to his chest, even complimented my coffee. It was just enough to make me unclench my fists. I was just a waitress, this was just another table. A very large, very intimidating table.
Then, as I went to clear some plates from the main booth, the leader leaned in close to the man across from him. Their voices dropped, a low rumble beneath the jukebox. I shouldn't have listened, but I heard a name that made the plates in my hand rattle. They said "Henderson Creek."
My heart stopped. That’s the abandoned quarry just outside of town. The place people go to disappear.
The leader looked around, his eyes scanning the diner before landing on me for a split second. I tried to look busy, wiping down a clean spot on the counter. He then reached into his vest and slid a small, folded piece of paper across the table. The other man picked it up, unfolded it just enough for me to see what was on it. It wasn't a map or a note. It was a photograph of a child. A child I recognized from the posters stapled to every telephone pole in the next county over.🔽

The search for 18-year-old twins Carolina and Luiza is over, they were dea… See more
10/22/2025

The search for 18-year-old twins Carolina and Luiza is over, they were dea… See more

10/22/2025

Something massive just happened on the highway... and it’s not over yet. They found something surprising in that car. Watch: [in comment]

MY HUSBAND TOLD ME TO ABANDON OUR NEWBORN TRIPLETS IN THE HOSPITAL THE MOMENT HE SAW THEM.My husband, Jack, and I had be...
10/22/2025

MY HUSBAND TOLD ME TO ABANDON OUR NEWBORN TRIPLETS IN THE HOSPITAL THE MOMENT HE SAW THEM.
My husband, Jack, and I had been trying to have kids for years, so finding out we were having triplets was the most joyful shock I could've imagined.
Jack was by my side the whole time during my pregnancy. Finally, our tiny beautiful girls were born. Jack was supposed to pick us up the next day to bring us all home.
The following day, I waited in the hospital room. But when Jack finally arrived, something WAS...OFF. He looked tense, almost pale, his eyes darting around the room.
He glanced at the babies, barely acknowledging them, then looked back at me. "I don't know how to say this, but... I think it's be best if we... left THEM here at the hospital."
I stared at him, completely stunned. "What... what are you talking about, Jack? They're our daughters!"
He avoided my eyes, taking a shaky breath. "My mom is the reason." ⬇️
Full in the first c0mment

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