I Love Writing

I wonder if anyone ever told that stupid, dirty man that little kids don’t understand sarcasm.  He told my mom I ruined his whole morning’s work.  Then the landlady came out and he told her that he’d have to start over because I ruined everything.  She shook her head and looked at me like I was a terror.  My mom was embarrassed.  I could tell because she kept looking at me and gritting her teeth and squeezing my hand.  It really hurt, but I knew better than to say anything.  I tried to explain it all, but no one listens to little kids. So, it’s a nice sunny summer day.  It was early, so not too hot yet.  The problem was no one was outside so I was playing by myself.  I played with my dolls, but that was boring.  Then I decided to climb the tree out back, but it was no fun sitting in the tree all alone.  I tried collecting stuff, but there was nothing good except for a few neat looking rocks.  They were really pebbles, they were so small.  One was very dark gray and looked like a little

  The Accidental Painter Stacey always wanted to be a painter. She had been drawing and painting since she could remember. From that first box of crayons, she had a passion for art that could not be equaled. And, that one birthday when she turned nine and received her first set of real paints, she was so excited. The tubes lined up in color order like an elaborate rainbow. The brushes, thin, thick, even one in the shape of a fan, sent a tingle through her like a jolt of electricity through a power cable. She stopped painting after the accident, but a year later she knew she needed to put the passion back in her life. She went out and bought some paints and canvas. But this paint set was different than others she’d had. She noticed it the first time she squeezed the colors on her palette. They had a certain glow, a certain vibrancy that Stacey hadn’t noticed with other paints. When she mixed the colors, it was almost as if little sparks of life were emitted from the round, flat metal kn

Louise It was windy. The wind whistled through the yard. He heard a loud crash and was startled. He had been startling easily lately. Since “it” happened. He went to the back window to check it out. A planter, half full of dirt, had blown over. It seemed impossible, but it was a plastic planter and the dirt had a lot of filler in it.  Still, the whistling wind made the night eerie. The clouds were whisking through the sky like gazelles trying to escape a lion. The crescent moon was trying desperately to stay clear of the clouds and provide some light in the dark night. Marie asked him if he would be alright. He insisted she go to her sister’s. Every year they spent a week together. Sometimes they would stay at Anne’s house, other times they would rent a hotel on some beach. He had been in a bad accident and was still recuperating. He had flashes of memory but he still couldn’t put it all together. It still felt strange being alone. Has it been three months already? He shook his head ga

She put the herbs into the bowl, one by one in the order prescribed. Next, in went the corn-husk doll. Finally, she lit the candle and said the words. The contents started to ignite creating a black smoke that engulfed the doll. Poof. The doll was infused with the herbs, a tiny spark lit up where the doll’s heart would be, two deep spots where eyes might be, and a streak under the dots that looked like a mouth.  Dulcet was quiet and mostly kept to herself. She didn’t get involved in the drama of high school and had a small group of friends who most considered nerds. Mostly, Dulcet wanted to make it through highschool invisible, but one day one of the most popular girls in school changed all of that. Why she took a sudden interest in Dulcet, no one could figure out, but the teasing and harassment was relentless and merciless. “Look everyone, it’s Dullard,” Belinda yelled from the bus window. It was the first time anyone noticed Dulcet let alone the popular kids.  Dulcet just put her hea

A determined gaze into my granddaughter’s Big brown eyes, I see generations of confident women. My great grandmother stayed behind. She never got to see the succession Of independent women who followed her. The strong, stable sable-eyed women Who continue, Who move forward. It all circles back to that  First brown-eyed woman.

 I was tasked with writing a horror trope for a micro fiction challenge. I chose slasher films and named my story slasher. Hope you enjoy. Slasher He had been stalking the dwelling for days. He had already taken one victim, slashing the poor thing right through the stomach, a pile of red and white spilling onto the floor. Now, he sat silently watching the castle, watching the residents move in and out, unsuspecting and unaware of the danger. A sharp object protruded from his limb. Occasionally, he’d retract it and then, out again it would come glimmering in the faint light coming from the dwelling. His weapon of choice, but he had other sharp things as well. Things he might use later, after the initial catch, to finish the kill.  “Slash, get away from there,” the woman’s voice said. “What’s he doing now?” the man asked. “Trying to get another fish,” the woman replied. “We really need a top for that fish tank.” The cat jumped off the table and gave the woman an indifferent, aloof look.”

 Trying my hand at flash fiction. “Where does this lead?” “Nowhere good,” the fair-haired boy said. “Why do you think that,” Jennie asked. “Creepy old vacant house with a secret passage,” Tan said. “That never ends well.” Kevin pointed his flashlight down the narrow passageway behind the wall. He flipped his blonde locks out of his eyes and peered into the darkness. “Why are we even here,” Jennie wanted to know. “You know why we’re here,” Tan reminded her. “That stupid bet.” “Shhh,” Kevin put his fingers to his lips. “What is it?”  “I hear something,” Kevin claimed. “Whispering.” “Oh, great,” Tan said, his straight black hair looking blue in the dim light. “I always thought it was a joke or something. Don’t tell me Hall House is really haunted.” “Come on, you two,” Jennie, always the voice of reason, interjected. “It’s not haunted, Kevin is just imagining things. We set up this creepy mood and now we’re . . . .” “Leave this place,” the whisperer said. Kevin looked at Jennie wide-eyed,

Regrets I hope I never forget The things that I regret. Those regrets helped me grow And learn and reflect and know. That to be my personal best I had to live with regrets. And though I regret causing pain, There is not much that I would change. Friends and family wouldn’t know the real me, They’d see a shell, a one-dimensional being. So never forget things you’ve done, The good, bad, the dangerous, the fun. Be true to yourself and you’ll find, A life that is full and worthwhile. The Fabric of Our Nation The fabric of our nation had been torn asunder. A nation divided trying to agree on a shared history. But even before the fabric was ripped, Our country was deeply split. The stories have been muddled, they’ve been a blunder. Half truths and, yes, even lies Have made us one or the other; Unable to rely on a neighbor, a friend, a brother. Take those stories, tell them all, tell them now! Weave them through the fabric and Make our union more perfect. Make We, the People whole. BTG 1-5-22