Barbie Dolls And Ribs

This is a really, really old story of mine I shared at the request of my good friend, Sarah, at Secret Art Expedition. This one’s for you..

Lucas Jackson eased the rust-splotched black Escort off the shoulder of the road and rolled into a pool of moon-shade beneath the drooping branches of an oak. He turned off the key and settled back onto the seat. And he waited, his fingers nervously tracing the outline of the snub-nosed .38 special in his coat pocket.

He had parked in the squat oak’s inky shadow every night for a week straight, sat there from ten pm until two in the morning. He had watched the sparse traffic crawl up Blessing Hills Drive, watched the Caddies and Mercedes and big obscene Hummers amble by, turn right and pass through the electronically controlled gates guarding Blessing Hills Estates. He had watched, invisible, as a black-and-white had climbed the hill every two hours or so and cruised through the gates that swung open in welcome. A quick circle and back out. Two hours later, another pass. Two hours. Plenty of time to get in, get the job done, and get out. Piece of cake. Continue reading

Maggie’s Treasure

Maggie’s belly gnawed on her backbone. The half-eaten Big Mac and soggy fries the fat man had tossed out his car window into the gutter yesterday afternoon had long since been digested by her scrawny frame. Now, here it was almost midnight a day later and no meal in sight. But she was used to being hungry. Since they’d put her out of the hospital a few years back, her belly had been empty a whole lot more than it’d been full.

“Steak sounds good,” she said to the empty streets. “Think I’ll go by Delmonaco’s.” If she was lucky, maybe she could fish one out of the dumpster in back.

Pushed by a frigid north wind, crackly brown leaves skittered along the sidewalk, danced around Maggie’s feet, then disappeared into the blackness of the alleyway behind her. Ice pellets freckled her face. Beneath four layers of clothing, she shivered. Pausing, she pulled the ratty knit cap firmly down over her ears, then grabbed a threadbare blanket out of the chaos of dingy rags wadded in her shopping cart, and draped it over her shoulders.

Maggie wondered if she would survive the winter. Her arthritic joints griped constantly, and their combined voices were getting harder to ignore with each passing year. Even her brain had grown stiff. Continue reading

Legion

it starts
and it ends
takes flight on dark wings
and soars from my pen

hell rises up
heaven falls
demons rush in
and pass through the walls
of the human psyche shored up
by gossamer gods and magic pills
tromp through mephitic mires of disbelief
brandishing swords, counting kills

nothing can protect you
not pleas, not prayers, nor unholy deals
from the metaphysical monsters I’ve set free
to nip and bite, sink razor teeth into your heels
and drag your bloody carcass down
into the tenebrous pits below
to rip apart your flesh
and feast upon your soul

it starts
and it ends
takes flight on dark wings
and soars from my pen

An old poem from a previous blog.

Photo from Pixabay

It

 

It was such a tiny thing, a speck of a thing, all alone in a soup of darkness. And it was hungry, so very hungry. All it had known in its short life had been this terrible, gnawing emptiness.

Emptiness inside. Emptiness outside.

All it knew was that it existed. Beyond that, nothing more.

It sensed something outside itself, and this something murmured: Open your mouth, little one.

And for the first time, it realized it had a mouth and what it was for. Continue reading

Ocean WordPress

 

Help! I”m drowning!

…in  email notifications.

I’m sure there are many of you in the Blogosphere, like me, who are doing their best to keep a leaky, overcrowded boat afloat here on the digital blue ocean of WordPress. You continue bailing out the water but it’s rising faster than you can keep up with it, and your boat is slowly but surely sinking in a preponderance of posts.

I can no longer keep up. I have tried–at the expense of my own writing, and living life–but I think it’s time to give up the ghost. It’s either that or spend hours and hours each day reading and commenting on posts. And there are so many good ones, so many talented artists in various fields who share their work on WordPress that I follow. I want to read you all!

But I can’t.

I have a book almost ready to start sending out to literary agents, and other writing projects begging for my attention. I have a plethora of unread books waiting to be enjoyed. I have a family. I have a life. And I require a little sleep. We all do. So I am going to limit my time on WordPress. I’ll still be dropping by about every day for a short visit, but I can’t spend the entire day, kick back, and have a nice, leisurely lunch. I’ll pop in on everyone from time to time, but I won’t be reading every post made by everyone I follow.

I hope you all understand. I think most will because you’re going through the same thing, and quite a few have it far worse than I do. (And yes, I’m talking to you, Lonely Author.)

We all have to strike a balance in our lives, or be swept up in Ocean WordPress and continuously fight against the current to hold onto our sanity–and I don’t have much of that commodity to spare as is. So even though you won’t be seeing as much of me, you will be seeing me. And I hope all of you will drop by my place too, as time allows.

Give Me No Children

When I laid eyes on the boy, I wondered if I could ever love him. I wanted to love him; after all, he was my husband’s son. But he wasn’t mine.

He stood between two of the nuns, all big brown eyes sandwiched by starched white habits. Nut-brown face, black wavy hair, stick-thin arms and bony, bruised legs.

Two days ago I’d gotten a call from Sister Angelica (Actually, the call was for my husband, but Sam Murphy was no longer of this earth; he and our son, Jake, had been killed in an auto accident three months previously.) informing me of the boy’s existence. And in almost the same breath, she’d asked if I could take the boy. “His mother passed away six months ago. There’s no one else.”

After I’d gotten over the shock of finding out that Sam had a son I’d known nothing about, I reluctantly agreed to do my Christian duty by the boy. Continue reading

Love me forever…

A lovely poem by Sourav Maji…both touching and beautiful, expressing the desire for that special someone, a true soulmate.

e-MAJI-nation

Hug-sunset-silhouette

Love me now, love me forever,

Promise me you’ll leave me never.

Hug me cozy, hold me tight,

Keep me warm all through the night.

Grow up with me, grow old with me,

You have indeed become my destiny.

Speak to me, hear me too,

I want to share everything with you.

Gaze at me, stare at me,

I only dress up for you to see.

Smile at me, laugh with me,

For it’s with you I am most free.

Peck me tender, kiss me with lust,

Assure me you’ll not break my trust.

Whisper softly, feel my heartbeat,

This is the moment when two souls meet.

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Freedom

This is dedicated to a dear friend who commented on my tendency to dwell in the dark. You know who you are…

A crack zigzags across the old sidewalk
And wrenches apart the hot concrete,
Exposing a tiny sliver of earth
That for years untold
Has known only crushing pain and darkness.

While above . . . days pass, weeks pass,
And Summer relinquishes its sovereignty to Autumn.
Leaves fall, scarlet and saffron and umber tears
Scurry and dance across the sad gray surface.
Revivified wings flap overhead, rain patters down.

A frigid gale rides in on the back of the North Wind.
Ice crystals settle in the divide, cold elbows
Pushing against the argentine walls
That are desperately struggling to hold together.
The frozen earth shivers beneath this fresh onslaught.

While above . . . days pass, weeks pass,
And Winter reluctantly surrenders its silver crown to Spring.
Lightning splits the sky, thunder rolls and rumbles.
A deluge pounds the sidewalk; a cool river races through the cleft,
Torturously prying it open to the warming world.

The raw earth nestled in the crack feels a pleasant stirring.
A tiny fledgling breaks its surface and stretches toward the sun.
Oaken soldiers flanking the sidewalk tip their glossy green heads
To watch the miracle of birth arising from the ashes of neglect.
The dandelion nods its golden head . . . free at last.

Image from MorgueFile

Sins of the Fathers–The Beginning (1)

Prologue

“I know how hard this must be, coming back to where it all happened, but I believe it’s the only way to put an end to the nightmares,” Max said. “Once you see he’s not here, your subconscious can lay the past to rest once and for all, and you can move on with your life. From what you’ve told me about him, his anger issues and such, I doubt he’s even still alive.”

I nodded absently, my gaze on the woods and fields speeding by outside the car window, while thoughts of another journey taken down this same highway many years ago filled my mind.

“Once you bring your fears out into the open and deal with them, they’ll lose their power over you.” He reached across the console and squeezed my thigh with a smooth, sun-bronzed hand. “You know I just want what’s best for you, Chloe. I want you to be happy.”

I turned to him, forcing a smile. “I know, Max. You’ve been so good to me, a lot more so than I deserve.” Continue reading