Indira was mesmerized by the leaves. Perhaps more taken by them than with Michael, her coffee date. Continue reading
She watched him fill the bird feeder, wanting to tell him not to bother. What was his name again? Bob? Bill? Tom? Tom. Yes, that seemed familiar. But it didn’t matter–he’d never understand her even if she was able to get the words out. And the effort was just too much. Continue reading
“Meet me @ pk. Usual plc. 11am.”
He was only 25 minutes late. Although he was standing in her favorite place–the brick wall leading to the outbuilding that served hot chocolate in the winter–Julie was nowhere in sight. Continue reading
Pedro and I crept closer. The boat was the most beautiful thing we’d ever seen. It was like something out of the magical stories our Abuela loved to tell us, making us long for something more than our small house with its two rooms and dirt floors and view that never changed.
In the end, not many men were left. Our world had already been tipped against them, with the inferior gender accounting for less than half of the population. After the invasion, they were fewer than one-tenth.
Jane hugged the umbrella to her, like a teddy bear, then extended it straight out like a sword. She had always been a happy child, never missing something she’d never had. The operation, finally safe to do at age 7, had been a success–She could finally see. Things she had known by sound and touch and, sometimes, taste, she now learned anew by sight. Looking around her recovery room at first, her eyes had lit upon my face and then my open umbrella, thrown haphazardly under the only chair in the room.
“What’s that, Mama?” Continue reading
Julian Pratt had caught the third train of the morning, not wanting the press of the first two, which were express to London and full to the doors with the assorted grim-faced men and women who worked these days in the City, moving real and virtual money from here to there and back again.
Julian was in no rush this morning. As a pensioner, he was in no rush most mornings. In fact, it had been nearly two decades since he’d had to rush anywhere. Continue reading
I was 11 when I found my mother’s jar of teeth. It hadn’t been lost or even hidden. I’d actually been dusting the container for years, not having the slightest inclination as to the contents within. I couldn’t even say what made that day unlike the rest. Curiosity, of course. But I’d always had that and, more often than not, gotten into trouble because of it. Continue reading
I’m experimenting with Deep 1st POV this week. Please let me know if it works! I used some lines from “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae – a great WWI poem. I’m a bit over the 175-word limit this week. Sorry about that!
In Flanders fields the poppies blow, between the crosses…whose to know?
“Grandpa, this way.”
“Dad, are you okay? Continue reading
Time is irrelevant; place is everything.
That had been the first, and most important, lesson my father had taught me. “Wanderers, or what other people call spirits, transcend time. Instead, they haunt a place–a specific location–even if it changes as the years go forward. Or backward.” Continue reading