We begin this weekend with a story from Mary Holm.
Samantha Rose in frilly dress and patent leather shoes, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, pouts in her bedroom at the top of the stairs. Mother’s soft knock at the door goes unanswered. The cat slinks past, avoiding the pieces of the broken vase scattered across the polished hardwood floor.
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Brian picked himself up and gathered the broken halves of his thick, black-rimmed glasses. He turned as Sophie reached him.
“What did we do?” she asked, looking at the pack of bullies as they walked away laughing .
“I don’t know, Sophie. But don’t worry about them. As long as we’re together everything’ll be alright.”
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He stood silently.
“Come on,” she said. “For me.”
Still he said nothing.
“Think of all we’ve been through, the memories. Think about the future we’ve planned. Don’t throw it all away. I’m just asking this one little thing.”
She pleaded with her eyes. He blinked, turned on his heels, and walked away for good.
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Adam followed his new riding companion into the dusty saloon and took a seat at the end of the bar. From the other end, a grim man looked up from his drink, glanced their way, and seemed to nod. Anticipating what was about to happen, Adam took a deep breath and prepared for a fight.
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Desperation had driven her to a place she rarely went, the old church near her apartment. As she knelt, praying, a ray of light shone through a small, untinted corner of glass in the grand window illuminating a crumpled scrap of paper. Reading the words she gasped and offered a silent, half-believed “thank you.”
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We close our weekend with Stephanie Kemp’s submission. Once again, my thanks to everyone!
She needed $100.00 by Friday. Today was Monday. Looking through yesterday’s discarded newspaper in search of a job, red pen in hand, she scanned various ads in desperation. She couldn’t type, she had never been good at math, and she had no work history. Just then it caught her eye: “The Cabaret No experience necessary.”
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Next up is a sweet story from Scott Allen. Thanks, Scott.
My dog died today. His time had come. As I lay on the floor with him, he leaned his head against me, and I knew. Still, having him put to sleep was the hardest decision I ever made, and holding him as he died, the hardest thing I ever did. We spent the afternoon remembering.
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We begin today with a story from Bonnie B.
Miranda had plans to be in Prague, sitting in a dark café, alone, ears perked toward two men sitting just inside the blood red velvet curtained doorway. Ice hockey. Philip Morris. Nietze. Their fingers (dirty) cradle cigarettes (short). Ribbons of smoke dance overhead, playing in the dusty rays of sunlight.
Miranda has other plans now.
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We close the day with a final story from Jenhui Lung.
A 300 years old blood sucking man was soaring above 9 foot in a mansion. He illustrated two sharp teeth with blood dripping down and gazed at a beautiful girl.
She suddenly took out a crucifix and pointing at him.
“Get away! Immortal.”
“No! I want to kiss you,”
“Embrace me, lover”
“Wake up, Dreamer.”
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Our second story of the day from Jenhui Lung.
It was shining at my face, the morning glory sunlight in the lake. We only hear the sound of the boating.
“I am tired,” Murray said.
“Relax, this lake is huge,” I said.
“So hot here, it’s weird, we were freezing up the hill”
“Where’re we?” she asked.
“Did you remember to bring portal scroll?”
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