You Want More…

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Inspiration for a story can come from anywhere.

One day I was in Walmart and saw a girl who couldn’t have been older than ten paying for a shopping cart full of groceries. She was alone. As I watched her pushing the cart out of the store, I wondered why she was there by herself, what were her circumstances. And a “what if” moment was born…

“You Want More…”

People are looking at me funny, especially the ladies at the registers, ’cause I come here nearly every day. But I can only buy what I can carry home. Mama can’t come and we need food, and if anyone finds out Mama can’t come, me and Lizzy and Josh will have to go to one of those foster homes. And they ain’t good places to be.

I know ’cause I was put in one last year. Lizzy and Josh was put in them too.

My third-grade teacher, Miss Fincher, had seen my busted lip and had called someone and they’d picked me up at school and taken me to this place where a woman in white had looked at me all over, my privates too. I hadn’t liked that one bit. Then she’d told a big fat woman with red lipstick that I had been physically abused. Continue reading

Sins of the Fathers (2)

 

“Won’t be much longer now, Chloe.”

Daddy’s voice snapped me to the present. My mind had been far away, back in West Memphis where Mama was buried.

As soon as her funeral had ended that morning—attended only by Daddy, me, and the preacher—Daddy had loaded our suitcases in the car, and we headed west out of the Mississippi River delta country. We were going to live with Grandma.

When I asked why we couldn’t continue living where we were, Daddy had said I needed someone to look out for me when he was on the road. Since I had been taking care of Mama and myself most of my life, I didn’t think I needed someone looking out for me now. But I didn’t say so to Daddy.

He had called his mother before the funeral and told her about Mama. Grandma had said for him to come back home, that she would welcome the company since she was all alone.

I had never met my grandma. When I was younger, I had once asked Mama why we didn’t visit her. Mama had thrown a conniption fit, ranting and raving about what a vicious old bitch Grandma was, and that she hated her.

I never brought it up again.

Mama had no one but Daddy and me to grieve her passing. She was an only child, and her parents had died in a house fire before I was born. Daddy told me she might have died too if she hadn’t been out on a date with him that night.

Now she was gone, and Daddy and I had crossed the state to live with a woman who was a stranger to me, a woman Mama had despised. I wondered if I would hate Grandma too. I wondered what she would think of me. Continue reading

Birds of a Feather

Morphia

 

Beautiful painting created by my friend, Sarah at Secret Art Expedition, who was inspired by my story.

“Birds of a Feather” is the first story of mine published that I made money on–a whopping $10.00. It was published in Mindflights, an online magazine of speculative fiction (now defunct), under a different pen name than I use here. I think of all the short stories I have written, it remains my favorite.

My little sister was born with wings, or at least the beginnings of such. Little nubs on her sharp shoulder blades. When they reached any size, when from time to time tufts of white feathers dared blossomed out, Ma cut them off. I held Morphia down while she clipped them off with the cow dehorners. Morphia cried and carried on, but Ma said it didn’t hurt none, no more than snipping off a fingernail did, and if she didn’t cut them off, Morphia would fly away like Pa had.

Fact was, Ma had lost Pa to the winds, and she was bound and determined not to lose Morphia too. “Should’ve never let that bird-man in my bed, Henry,” she’d told me more times than I could count. Continue reading

Love’s Journey

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A collaboration by JW and Cathy

All my life I have searched for you

in the forest, woods, meadows, and glades

first in the light, then shadows, then dark;

convinced that I would instantly know

Your voice, your lips, your touch

Yet dreams remained dreams, and you an illusion

And I was alone, a wolf without a mate… or pack;

tempted, sad, faithless

I sought out others but they were not real

None could fill the void that only you could

A void with your shape to complete me

The others? Only flimsy constructs that fell apart

Beneath the weight of broken vows and time

All my life I have searched for the one

That knew his place

Accepted it completely

Heart, mind, and soul

The one that would make me whole

Be my reason to be; my purpose

Guide, mentor, master

Teaching me through actions, not words

My true self reborn and acknowledged through his eyes

A possessor of unconditional… and limitless… love

To fill all the empty caverns inside

That were carved out with an angry knife

Slice, by slice, by bloody slice

All my life I have searched for you, my Alpha

Had finally given up hope, cast aside the fantasy

Resigned myself to ever be

A lone wolf…isolated in darkness

Hidden away in my den, licking my many wounds

Until death would set me free

Then you appeared

Shone your light into my caliginosity

I became aware

A reawakening

It was then I truly knew freedom

For the very first time

To be who I was meant to be

To be with who I was meant to be

My master, my love, my forever Alpha

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You can read it here at JW’s Creative World along with other amazing poetry.