Tag Archives: writing

Moving Day

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I don’t know how to do this. Amy Therriot-Winters sat in the foyer which featured, at the moment, fresh flowers on the entryway table and a new crystal chandelier over the stairwell. Her hand smoothed her linen slacks over and over while she looked at each piece of furniture and said good-bye to them. She had picked out each painting and drape herself, even the burled wood that stretched across the mantel. Her fireplace! The new house didn’t have one. Read the rest of this entry

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My Fellow Man

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(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

Supernova Part 4

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Jim Rivers, a navigator, now finds himself leading the crew of the Valiant Explorer.  He has awakened everyone on board and held a conference with all the section leaders to detail the situation – their ship veered off course and has brought them into a strange solar system that is going supernova – in 3 days.  They cannot outrun it.  While everyone is shocked, a few voices of reason prevail – giving the team a possible plan to survive the explosion. 

They have decided to salvage usable parts from the ship and forge enough trinite to seal the connection points between as many modules as possible, in effect creating one very long spacecraft.   A memorial service was given for the captain and his first in command who died when a fire damaged their pods.

See the link at the top of the page for the full Supernova story.  Read the rest of this entry

Cheesy Party Bread

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(Garnish, Wise, Politics)

Dear Dorothy, December 1, 1948

I was glad to get your letter in the post. It was forwarded to us by the state department. You will notice that the return post on mine is Paris, France. Yes, my dear Paul has been stationed here for four years, four years! I shall love every minute of it, do you hear? Paris! Read the rest of this entry

“And They Call It, Puppy Love”

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Bojangles, Vineyard, Jackalope

Carl and Martha Dubois were sitting on the porch one summer morning.  Eighty year old Martha was doing a crossword puzzle from the paper, eighty-one year old Carl was reading the sports section.

“Carl.”  She had a distinct northern accent, and sounded a lot like Katharine Hepburn in “On Golden Pond.”
“Hmm?” He absently waved at a fly. Read the rest of this entry