(Forty-five, Anteater, Karma)
I walked into the hospital room they put my son in. I was tired, kind of in shock. It was a semi-private room, holding a bathroom and two beds, separated by floor to ceiling curtains that could be drawn back. My son Donald was in the bed by the door. His appendix had burst. None of us had recognized the symptoms and by the time we realized there was something seriously wrong my husband Bill had to call an ambulance. Bill would come in the car, as soon as he got my sister to sit with our six-year old daughter. Read the rest of this entry
George stood over June’s body, looking down. He was still angry, and still wanted to hurt her but the kid had gone and called the police; it was time to leave if he ever intended to get out. The evening darkness would hide their escape. It would be hard to get Geoffrey to go, but there really was no choice was there? Already Geoffrey was holding his head and rocking back and forth, like he had done as a child. Now there’s a blast from the past, thought George. There was a time when Geoffrey had been very familiar with that position. Read the rest of this entry
Since many of you have requested that I further this story, I’m going to give it a try. I will add to it in installments, until it ends or we all get tired of it. Here we go, and thank you all for encouraging me!
(Continued from the post “Leave it in Beaver”)
June’s apron is a little messy now, but that’s alright she won’t be needing it anymore. No more chopping or cooking, vacuuming or washing clothes. She won’t have any more reason to be mad at me for tracking dirt into the house from the garden; or for watching mean tv shows like CSI and Hill Street Blues. She wants to watch baby shows like Gilligan’s Island and Lost in Space reruns over and over while she eats chocolates one by one from the box. She always offers me one, but I know her game, she’ll snatch it away at the last second and laugh while she pops it into her mouth. Read the rest of this entry
Serendipity, Renaissance, Monique
There’s a girl sitting on my doorstep in a lovely Renaissance wedding gown, crying her eyes out, was Elise‘s first thought. The second was that the gown was muddy and torn. The girl’s mascara had run all down her face; her lipstick and hand prints had smudged the glass on the door of the shop. The peculiar scene looked all the stranger for the lack of any evening traffic out front. There was no one chasing her and no banged up car in the road. Elise had no idea who the girl was or why she was crying.
She stood back in the shadows, watching the girl for a moment. Long dark hair, cut in that new layered look that was so flattering these days. Her bangs were sticking up in the front and tangled. Large brown eyes stared at the door in front of her, not seeming to see anything at all. There was a scrape on her elbow and you could see where she had brushed against her dress, marking it with scratches of blood and dirt. The girl didn’t look panicked, just…despairing. Like she’d given up on something that meant everything. Had the groom left her at the altar? Had she tried to chase him? Elise stepped out of the shadows, she simply had to know. Read the rest of this entry