Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flashback Friday

Hello, people!

Hope the start of the first Spring weekend brings sunshine and melting snow. This week for Flashback Friday I’ve brought forth a short story I wrote way back in December of 2012. Edited, of course. Hope you enjoy!


The Missing Item

Wanda stood in the middle of the room with small fists on hips. Her eyes looked in each nook and cranny of the room and didn’t see it anywhere! Where did it go to? My word. It’s not that big of a house, how could it have disappeared so easily?

Blowing her breath out impatiently, she thought to herself, she really didn’t have time for this. She needed to get to the meeting! Turning around quickly she ran up the steps to her bedroom. Maybe, she thought, she missed it the first time she looked there.

Wanda looked under her bed, in her dresser drawers, in her nightstand, then she tackled the closet. Nothing! Shaking her head she went back downstairs. She couldn’t believe she lost it! Her first real responsibility for the club and she misplaced it.

She plunked down on the couch and replayed in her mind every place in the house she had been this morning. Wanda had it when she had breakfast, she remembered. She had it on the table next to her bowl of oatmeal.

Wanda remembered she was just finishing her coffee when the phone rang. She talked to Shirl for a few minutes and then went to finish getting ready for the meeting. She came back downstairs and it was gone! She looked at the empty kitchen table and under it, but nothing!

She heard a loud …….caw! Caw! CAW!

She glanced over at the bird stand where her pet raven was spreading out his inky wings, dancing to some unheard music.  Blackie, a huge raven was her best friend and sidekick. They had been together for years. Smiling at him she suddenly saw something shiny in one claw. There it was!! Blackie had it!

Wanda ran over to the stand and took a closer look at what Blackie held. Yes! She reached over and tickled his tummy, his favorite thing in all the world, tummy tickling. His claw opened and she was able to finally get back the talisman he was holding.

She smiled with relief, she was so afraid she had lost it and they needed it for the ceremony tonight. It was going to be an exciting night for Wanda, her initiation into the upper ranks of the coven.



Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flashback Friday

Hello people! Hope this day brings you joy in some form.

For today’s flashback Friday I’m bringing back a short story I wrote in September 2012. I did a bit of editing, of course. Why is it one can always find ways of improving on a story? I do hope you enjoy one of my earliest endeavors.


Was It A Dream?

His lungs burned with the effort of running.  Yet he ran on. He could hear his pursuer  behind him as he ran. His feet were bloody, cut up by the sticks, small stones and leaves underfoot. The trees overhead swayed with the wind. His ears were full of the sound of his battered feet hitting the barely seen trail and his labored breathing.

He was terrified because he couldn’t remember how he got to this place. He didn’t know what he was running from. He just knew that he needed to get away. He didn’t even know what was chasing him or why. Just glimpses of something not human, eyes glowing green. The sweat pours down his face and stings his eyes as they search for someplace to hide.

He was desperate to stop and catch his breath. He was afraid if he did he would collapse and that thing would be on him. His fear was pushing him on, his desire to live was driving him to keep breathing and to keep running.  He didn’t want to die.

It seemed to him that the sounds behind him were growing fainter. He hoped he had finally outrun it. He spies something off to the side that looks like a shack.  He makes a sudden turn without slowing down. A  hundred yards or more and he was at the run down building. His shoulder hits the door and it crashes open.

He slides to a stop inside, turns and slams the door shut again. Quickly looking around he spots a wooden chair and pulls it over to jam under the door knob. He collapses in the middle of the room, his breath ragged. He wipes his sweaty face with what’s left of his shirt. He forces his breath to slow, his ears listening for any noise outside. He closes his eyes to listen. But there is nothing to hear. Not even insects. It was eerily calm.

Suddenly there was a loud crash against the door! A large body was slamming against  it, but the chair and door don’t give. His heart  pounding, he desperately searches the shack for some kind of weapon. Anything to  make him feel he might have a chance.  He notices a number of small windows  set high in the walls. No way for anything to crawl through.  A cot with rotted bedding sits against one wall. A large empty fireplace is against the back wall. He notices a heavy, hooked fire poker laying half in and half out of it. It could do some damage if necessary. As he holds it in his hands  he instantly feels better, for at least now has a weapon.

He surveys the rest of the shack. Shelves with unknown, rusted tins are on the wall opposite the rotting bed. A small round table sits in the middle of the room with the mate of the chair under the door knob laying on its side next to it. The table has a thick layer of dust on it. Doesn’t look like anyone has been inside for decades. He suddenly notices in the gloom another door next to the fireplace.  It was smaller than a normal door, maybe a closet he thinks. He remembers noticing as he ran to the shed, that it was built against a large mountain. So the small door  couldn’t lead to outside. That could be a lifesaver he thought, as that thing outside couldn’t surprise him from the back of the house. Or it could mean his death as he had no way out of the shed except through the front door.

Suddenly his nose picks up the smell of smoke.  He turns around and sees smoke curling in through the cracks of the front door. Damn! Whatever was out there was trying to smoke him out!  In desperation he looks around the shack. There has got to be another way out! He can’t die like this! He won’t die like this!


Taking short shallow breaths as the smoke gets thicker he remembers the small closet door. He races over to it and pulls it open. Maybe by some miracle  there will be something inside that can save him. As he pulls open the small door, and he gasps in hope! It wasn’t a closet. It was a door to the inside of the mountain! It was lit by strange crystals. He had never seen anything like it! Briefly he wonders if he was running from one danger into another. But, as he heard the wood behind him crackle with flame he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to move forward. Behind him was certain death.

He closes the door behind him and walks forward. The crystals give off a glow as they light the way for him. He hopes that because of the fire, whatever is behind him won’t find the small door.  The path inside the mountain curves to the left as  his bare, bleeding feet raise little clouds of dust.

As he walks he notices the path heading downward,  he’s walking further into the heart of the mountain. He spies a bundle of what looks like rags ahead of him. As he gets nearer he sees the bones. Human bones. He can’t tell how old they are, not even from the rotted cloth. His heart skips a beat, but he knows he has no choice but to keep going forward.

As he walks, he loses his sense of time.  Seems like hours since he first walked through that small door.  Just as he thinks the path will never end he walks into a large cavern.

The strange glowing crystals cover the walls, lighting it up as if the sun shone inside. He stood in awe of  the beauty. The colors were clear and pure. The silence unbroken. He is so tired. He can’t resist sitting.

Just for a minute he thinks. I have got to rest just for a second. He leans back against one of those crystals and feels a slight warmth. His hand still held tight to the poker. As his head begins to drop to his chest in much-needed sleep, his ears pick up a noise. It’s very slight, but in the quiet of the cavern it  echos against the walls. His head pops up, his eyes searching for the source of the noise. He scurries behind the crystal as he sees something that strikes terror in his heart.

A creature floats inside, slowly coming right towards him! It has green glowing eyes, in a face that is hidden by a cowl. The eyes glow brighter as they fix on him. He saw no feet. Just a light-colored robe of some kind. It went from head to foot in a silvery type material. There was nowhere to run anymore! Just as the creature floats closer he feels himself fading, he slips down and his eyes close. His fingers relax and the poker slides away.

He gasps awake, sitting straight up, terror on his face. He glances around and can’t believe his eyes. He’s home! In his own bed! Was it a dream then? Just a dream! Frantically, with his heart still beating hard he looks around his familiar room. Nothing is changed. Everything is as it should be. He sighs with relief. He swings  himself to the side of the bed. His feet hit the floor and he winces in pain. Glancing down he feels the blood drain from his face.

His feet are dirty, bloody, and hurt like hell. Then he notices the smell, like smoke that drifts from his torn T-shirt. No! It had to have been a dream! Right?

Just a dream………….

Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flash Back Friday

Hello people!

Hope your day is being good to you. For this week’s Flash Back Friday I’m bringing back a story I wrote in September of 2012. It came from some research I was doing for something else. I stumbled across the term ‘taxi dancer’ and had to look it up as it fascinated me. Still does. Hope you enjoy my little story and if you are interested the Wikipedia link for the term taxi dancer is here. Thanks!

Taxi Dancer

After  the song ended, Anita sat at her table and wished  she could take her shoes off and rub her tired, achy feet. But, she knew the music would start again in a few minutes and there would be another man holding out his 10 cent ticket to her. They would dance, maybe have a few snippets of conversation if he was talkative. If the man was on the shy side the dance would be quiet.

If Anita liked the look of the man, she would try to get him to talk. Most times not though. It was a job. Times were tough, she had to help  with the family finances and this was better than nothing. She got this job because she could dance. She always loved to dance, even when she was little, Mama would catch her dancing all over their tiny  apartment. Now that Mama was sick, it was up to her to pay the bills. So she came to the Taxi Dancehall and got a job.

The job was tiring and she usually went home with sore feet and achy muscles, but it never stopped her from returning the next day.  The pay was fair, mostly because she was one of the most popular Taxi’s there. Men enjoyed dancing with her and she had her weekly regulars. She knew that some dancers working there did ‘side jobs’, but she wasn’t one of them. She was a good girl and she  couldn’t shame Mama  that way.

Anita heard the band start another song and just like always, there was a man standing in front of  her with his 10 cent ticket in his hand. Without even glancing up at the man’s face, she took his ticket and stuck it inside the small black purse dangling from her wrist. She stood up and took his outstretched hand, finally tilting her head up and see who it was. This one she didn’t know, he was a new face in the crowd. The handsome young man smiled at her and led her to the dance floor.

They glided smoothly across the oak  floor. Not speaking. Anita was okay with that, there didn’t seem to be a need to talk. She thought he was an excellent dancer, better than most of her ticket holders. She felt comfortable. As they twirled once more around, he finally spoke in a soft deep voice. “I’m glad my buddy talked me into coming here tonight.”

“Why is that?” Anita asked.

“Because I just met the most beautiful woman, who dances like an angel.”

“I bet you say that to all the ladies” Anita joked.

“Only you,”  he said. “Only you from now on,” he whispered.



Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flash Back Friday

Hello people!

Friday again! How the time passes quickly. The first week of February already done! Hope your weekend is extra special.

I’m in a good mood today, so for Flash Back Friday I thought I would bring back a ‘feel good’ story I did almost 2 years ago. I did some editing, as usual, so I do hope you enjoy and come away feeling good too.


Two Coffee’s, Please

She was new to town and found this quaint little coffee shop a block from her new house. So every morning the past few weeks, she took a leisurely stroll to stop in and have her first cup of the day. She sat at the big picture window to watch the town come to life slowly, enjoying the friendliness of the owner of the shop as she stopped by her table with a cheery hello.

She had moved from the big city a year after her divorce. That was 6 months ago. She did freelance writing work for the local newspaper and for a few top magazines. She might not have been able to save her 5-year marriage, but she was able to save her sanity by moving here. A small friendly town. Lots of nice helpful people. Strangers, all of them. It was sad that she felt more at home now with these strangers then with the “friends” she had left behind in the big city.

She had gotten tired of the awkward conversations. The pitying looks. The fake “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out” from people she knew weren’t sorry at all. When you divorced a rich, high-powered lawyer, who turned out to be a rich, high-powered scumbag, things got a bit messy. And ugly. So she left. Goodbye scumbag, goodbye fake friends, goodbye ugly.

She smiled and took a sip from her rapidly cooling cup of coffee. Debating whether to have another to indulge herself or head back towards home, she noticed the man come into the shop.

For two weeks, she watched the same handsome man do exactly the same thing. He would walk in, glance around briefly, walk to the counter to order his cup of coffee. One cream, no sugar. Just how she liked hers.  Then he would sit at a table next to the wall, open his morning paper and read it while sipping his cup of joe. After exactly half an hour, no more, no less, he would fold up his paper. Reach in his pocket for change that he left near the empty cup, smile at the owner and leave.

It was fascinating to her that he did this every morning, without fail. Never once changing his actions. Obviously a man of habit.  She gave a small self-deprecating laugh. She shouldn’t be noticing handsome strangers. For all she knew, he could be married with five kids. Or be another scumbag. And one in her lifetime was enough! Feeling satisfied with her reasoning she left, waving goodbye to the owner.

The next morning arrived in a blustery, dreary, looking like rain, fall light. She debated going for her usual walk to get her cup of coffee. She had a brand new coffee pot at home she could use. It was sitting on her kitchen counter just waiting to be filled with fresh hot  brew. Instead, she found herself locking up her house as she set off towards the coffee shop.  She smiled as she walked briskly down the sidewalk. The fall wind at her back, pushing her onwards. The dry crackling leaves swirling around her feet.

As she came closer to her now favorite coffee shop she noticed a familiar tall handsome figure just walking through the door ahead of her. He was early today, she thought to herself. For some reason, she felt a flicker of anxiety. Every morning since she first noticed him he never deviated from his routine. Always the same time he arrived, always the same time he left. She wondered if something was wrong today.

She opened up the door and was greeted with the  smell of freshly ground coffee. The shop was gratefully warm and cozy. She saw the handsome man standing at the counter. As she approached  to give her usual order she noticed the owner on the phone. The woman gave a small friendly wave and mouthed, ‘be right there’.

She waited, wondering if she should attempt some small talk when she heard a deep soft voice state, “I notice you’re here every morning”. Nodding her head she looked up into hazel eyes, darkly fringed.

“So are you” she stated as she smiled into a wide-set face with a slight dusting of freckles. The face went well with the reddish-brown hair falling over his forehead.

“I enjoy the walk before work. And I enjoy good coffee. So I get both every morning.”

She watched his lips turn up into a smile and found herself drawn to the man.  She liked how he looked. Friendly, interesting, open, just like the small town she has come to love. She felt the beginnings of interest flicker in her mind as he introduced himself as the local hardware store owner. He engulfed her smaller hand in a warm handshake that lingered just a bit.

She told him she was new to town and was a freelance writer for the local paper.

When they heard a cheerful ‘hello’, they both slowly faced the woman behind the counter as she stood waiting for them to order. The man then said in his deep soft voice, “Two coffee’s, please. One cream, no sugar”.

Fiction · Flash Back Friday · writing

Flash Back Friday

This was a short story I did almost 2 years ago. I’ve done a bit of editing on it and I’m still thinking of adding another chapter. Hope you enjoy!

The Man in the Fedora

I was sitting at my desk, wondering if I should just give it up for the day and find a good stiff drink. When he came strolling in. His name, Robert Holden.  He looked like he stepped out of an old 1940’s movie set.  You know the type, tall, good-looking, strong chin and steely eyes. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than  I make in a year. With a gray overcoat and a black fedora hat. I do love a man who looks good in a fedora. He did, very good, in fact.

My name’s DeeDee Watson, Private Eye. Yeah, a private detective. My parents don’t like it and my older brother gives me hell about it every time we see each other. But, I love what I do. I would say it pays the bills, but at this point in time it doesn’t. Business has been slow. I refuse to do divorce cases. You want pictures of your spouse cheatin’ on you, you take them. I’m not going to do that kind of work. Yeah, I know it’s the bread and butter of the private eye’s. Guess I’ll take my bread sans butter. I was  sitting looking at the stack of bills and my empty bank account, when in walks the Fedora.

I see him sizing me up. That’s okay, I’m sizing him up too. What I see is a rich man, with no emotion in his eyes. Now my curiosity is engaged. What’s a rich man like him doing in a run down office like mine? He stops just inside the door.

“I want to talk to D. Watson.” he demands.

“I don’t do divorce cases,” I state, maybe just a bit more emphatic than need be. He irritated  me with his tone.

“I’m not married,” Fedora snapped. “Who are you?”

“DeeDee Watson.”  I saw something flicker in his  eyes for just a second.

“I thought you were the receptionist.”

He stands in front of my beat up, scarred desk  and I feel compelled to stand and offer my hand.

“Does this place look like it can afford a receptionist?”

I grasp his warm hand, his handshake is firm but brief. I picture him wanting to wipe my girl cooties off his hand like a kid would and smile.

Now I’m a tall woman, 5’10 without heels. He outdid me by a good 5 inches. I motion him to  sit in my only other chair in the office. I sit back down and fold my hands on top of my desk. I wait for him to make the first move. I”m curious now to see why he was here.

He takes off his fedora. At least he remembered his manners. “The ad also stated you specialize in finding things.”

“Things” I state, “Not people.”

“I’m not looking for someone, I’m looking for something.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to specify exactly what he was looking for. Or what he wanted me to look for.

“I need your help in finding a family keepsake”.

“Do you have a picture of this family keepsake?” I ask.

He takes a photo out of his coat pocket and slides it across the desk towards me. Picking it up I take a look. I shove the picture angrily back at him. “Is this a joke?” I ask. “It’s not funny.”

“You said you don’t find people, Watson. You never said you don’t find dogs”.

He’s watching me with those steely eyes and I could swear I see a flicker of humor. I must be mistaken. I’m still half way thinking it’s some kind of joke.


“So, this dog is a family keepsake?”

“Actually, he is. My grandmother named  him Trisha. Tee for short.”

Him? Trisha is a he? I keep silent, still debating if I want to kick him out the door. For some reason, I want to hear him out. If it turns out to be some joke I can still kick his butt out the door. I have a black belt in jujitsu.  I also fight dirty. Besides, it’s been slow around here.

He pushes the picture of Tee back towards me. “My grandmother is an extremely wealthy woman. Throughout her life, she has always had a dog named Trisha. An odd little quirk of hers. Someone dog-napped Tee about 3 days ago. They are demanding 5 million in ransom  or they kill the dog. This would devastate grandmother. I can’t let that happen.”

Five million?? Grandmother must have money. I take another look at the picture. I am admittedly an animal lover. I have been known to pull my motorcycle over and kick some ass when I see someone abusing an animal. I look at those trusting eyes and wonder if I’m just nuts. Because I find myself wanting to accept the job. That and I glance at the pile of bills that refuses to get smaller. With a small sigh, I drop the picture on the desk. Glancing up at Fedora I ask him for the details of the kidnapping and the ransom demands. Looks like I’m going to be on the hunt for a small family keepsake named Tee.

Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · stories · writing

Flash Back Friday

Another Friday is here good people. Hope you have a wonderful weekend!

Below you will find another one of my very first posts. It was a short, short story, where I dabbled in fantasy a bit. I still like the story line, let me know what you think. I have thought about expanding the story into a book. I think it has promise.

For your reading pleasure I present to you…………………………


purple eyes



Alei stood still as a rock, alone as she preferred. Facing the dais and the only person who could grant her the one thing that made all her hard work worth it. She heard the faint rustle of the crowd behind her. Her  fellow classmates in the  only school of its type. A place where its secrets outnumbered its residents. Where to survive you had to be smarter, quicker and deadlier than all the others. And she was. She had proved that.  It was a school that was well-known for producing the best assassins in all the universes.

She stood still, with only her eyes following the man above her. Her inky black hair spiky on  top of her head. Her eyes, the eyes of her people. Deep purple with a black outer rim, slightly slanted. Her skin bronze,  with the black tattoo’s that showed others, she was of the tribe  Aleiata of the planet Tambos. A once proud and majestic people, her tribe had been slaughtered by an army run by the very man who was standing on the dais in front of her. She was the only survivor, a baby back then, only five years old.

The man, a powerful assassin, named Drimel thought it would be amusing to take her and school her into what he was. He named her Alei after her people and thrust her in this school to be shaped and molded into what she was today.

Twenty years later, she stood silent, nothing moving but her purple eyes. Waiting to be told she was a full fledged killer. Waiting to told what her first assignment was.

Waiting to kill.

Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flash Back Friday

Hello people!

How’s the new year treating you so far? Yes, I know, it’s early yet.

I have another short story I wrote on this blog when I first started it. It was the second short story I posted, so it did need some editing. Oh, I was such a newbie back then. You can read the original here. 

Enjoy! Remember, I love comments! So go ahead and tell me what you think, be honest, I can’t learn if I get no feedback is the way I look at it.



The Shadow

Jenny lay in the dark, frightened and feeling so alone.  She was so tired, yet she fought sleep with every breath she drew.  Afraid to close her eyes, she watched the shadows of the tree outside her window play on her bedroom ceiling.

She tried to convince herself for the umpteenth time that there was nothing to be afraid of. It was her overactive imagination that was messing with her. Her mother always told her she needed to stop living in the clouds and stop believing in make-believe.

Losing the fight, her eyes slowly closed. A few seconds later her lids flew open and she gasped. Eyes wild, breathing heavy, Jenny knew it was no dream. When her eyes were closed is when she  saw, well she wasn’t sure what it was she saw. A shadow? Yes, a shadow was the best way to describe it. And yet, it was more than a shadow. It had substance, a form, a feeling about it.

A ghost? No, Jenny shook her head, it couldn’t be a ghost. You saw those with your eyes open. She didn’t see anything strange when her eyes were open. Only when they were closed. A dream? No! She knew she wasn’t dreaming. She might not be wide awake, but she wasn’t dreaming either. It was so frustrating not being able to explain to herself what it was she was afraid of.

That’s why she was afraid to sleep. She hadn’t had a good night’s rest since she moved into this house. Her first real home, all hers. It was turning more into a nightmare than a dream come true. From that first night, she saw the shadow when she closed her eyes. Didn’t matter if it was night or day, if she wanted to sleep, it was there. Always lurking.

It  didn’t do anything. Jenny wasn’t even sure why she was afraid. She thought it was because it should do something! Anything! But, in all these months it was just there. She sensed it was male. Why? She wasn’t sure. That’s just what her senses told  her. It was male, and it wanted something from her. Or it wanted her.

Jenny’s heart jumped, one day she thought, one day she will fall asleep and the shadow will make its move. Jenny felt her stomach clench with fear. What did it want? She should move, but she hated the thought of giving up her dream home. Her thoughts jumped from one thought to another. Oh, she was so tired! All she wanted was a good night’s sleep. That’s all she needed, it would clear her mind, help her with deciding what she should do. So tired…….. she was so very tired.

Jenny could feel her lids closing. She couldn’t push back sleep anymore. She took one last deep breath, felt her heart pound, and then slowly she fell asleep.

The shadow smiled and moved forward, she was his.



Blogging · Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flash Back Friday

Hello people!

Hope everyone who celebrated Christmas had a wonderful, loving and full of laughter day. Or if you were like me, hope you had a quiet, peaceful, day full of memories of holidays past.

However you spent the last few days, it is now time for a little rest, relaxation and reflection.

Today’s post is a flashback to one of the first short stories I wrote for this blog two years ago. It is still one of my favorites and seems just right for after the holidays. Hope you enjoy!



She sat in her favorite rocking chair in front of the big picture window. On a small oak table near her, sat her old gramophone. Softly playing scratchy tunes from her past. She smiled as she listened to songs from so long ago.

There was no sadness  in her aged eyes. Only shadows of memories past. Happy times of long ago when things were simpler. She was a young child again. Playing in her granny’s garden among the flowers and the birds. Carefree times. She saw herself pouring tea in tiny china cups from a tiny china teapot. They had small red roses on them. Granny would fill her tiny teapot with afternoon tea and she would carefully take it out to the garden for all her dolly friends to share. Sometimes  granny gave her beautiful sugar cookies  to have with her tea.

With a smile she sat further back in her rocking chair as  memories floated back to her. The music played on and in her mind, she was a young woman again. Childhood tea parties gave way to evening dances in friends’ homes. Laughter and clinking of cocktail glasses could be heard. Chiffon dresses in soft hues of colors. Up swept hair and heels on her feet. Handsome young men vying for her attention. Soft smiles and flirting eyes. Whispers of affection and daring kisses in the dark. Love had found her.

She sighed softly as the memories, then turned to motherhood. Her husband proud of the children she gave him. Their love growing deeper as they watched those children grow. Soft baby laughter. First steps, first words uttered from smiling baby lips.  Feeling once again, those small strong arms, giving her hugs and big wet smacks on her cheek. The love that withstood teenage drama, and the tears and fears of growing up. She  relived those times with other baby laughter and strong hugs of affection that are her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Even as the memory of that sad day the love of her life passed, her smile dimmed but never completely left her face. Silent tears slowly trickled and filled the deep wrinkles of time, as her memories of having to say good-bye came back to her. How she missed him. His laughter would ring out and fill her heart. His way of surprising her with gifts for no reason at all. Like  the gramophone that softly played onward. His gift to her one week after they were married because he knew how she loved to dance.

Her tears slowed as other memories marched forward. All good, even the bad. They were her life. Her heart.  Her soul. She sighed as she smiled. Her eyes softly closed, her body relaxed. Her spirit floated upward, drifting, she felt her love catch her hand. Once again, she was in his arms, her smile brighter as she said a silent hello and a fond goodbye to the loved ones she left behind.



Flash Back Friday · poetry · postaday · writing

Flash Back Friday

Happy Friday or Saturday! (Depending where you are in the time zones)

Today, for Flash Back Friday I thought I would share with you one of my attempts at poetry. For some reason this post is third in the most viewed posts on this blog. Why? I have no idea!

I can count on it being viewed at least a few times every single day.

Screenshot 2014-12-12 11



Rain Flowers

Spring brings soft rain
winter ends its pain
flowers in glorious color
stand tall and reign

New green grass grows
rain never slows
it’s refreshing drink is savored
only a matter of time I know

Soon color to the land will come
flowers, shrubs, gardens, so awesome
Windows opened wide, no longer
will I be sunk in winter’s boredom

I rejoice in rain clouds in the skies
as birds compete on current highs
Leaves show green on the trees
as if they’ve been brushed with dyes

So let it rain, let it pour all day
I will no longer be winters prey
Gray and gloomy it might be
soon rain flowers will gently sway

You can view the original post here.

Fiction · Flash Back Friday · postaday · writing

Flash Back Friday

Hello people! Hope everyone is having a great start on the weekend.

I thought it would be fun to go back to when I first started this blog and take a second look at some of my posts. I started in August of 2012. I wanted to write, I needed to write, so I thought a blog would be the perfect and most logical thing to do. The first week of blogging, I got my courage up and posted a few short stories. Boy, was I ever a newbie! I didn’t know a thing about ‘tags’ or ‘categories‘.  Having hardly any followers and getting my bravery up to post something I wrote was nerve-wracking. I read them now and the first thing that comes to mind? Wow, do they need editing! LOL

So I thought, what the hell, I’ll do a bit of editing, republish them and see what you think. Be gentle. They were my first born.

The first one up is called “Whispers”. You can see the original post here. After some much-needed editing, below is what I have now. Hope you enjoy!



Jogging through her favorite park, Helen’s anger simmered. Long legs pumped, feet pounding the tarred lane. Her mind went back over the argument with her husband this morning. She was still so  angry and confused. The two of them seemed to be arguing over everything lately! Everything and nothing.

She was hoping a good run with nature would calm her down. It wasn’t working. Helen slowed, her mind going over all of the petty little disagreements her husband Kevin and her were having lately. The sharp words to each other, hurtful words that couldn’t be taken back once said. She wondered when it all started? When had things changed so much that they couldn’t even talk to each other anymore!

Walking slowly, her mind mucked through each and every argument. The hurt and confusion snuffing out her anger.  Tears shimmered in her hazel eyes as she thought of all the terrible things said.  She loved the man, loved him since the first day they met. He was funny, smart, and had a smile that she loved to see whenever she looked at him. She realized that smile she loved so dearly has been missing lately.  She knew he was just as confused about things between them as she was. Didn’t he just say that this morning? Before she stormed out of the house? She remembered now. As she was opening the front door, she heard him whisper, “What is happening to us?”.

Through her veil of tears she spotted an empty park bench. Walking over to it, Helen sat, suddenly feeling so tired, so defeated. So terribly, heart hurting, sad. She bit back a sob, as she spotted an elderly couple approach the bench. They sat on the other end, close together, hands clasped. They were oblivious to her, to her pain and tears.  They only had eyes for each other, heads bent close together. One with a jaunty little cap, the other with her white hair done up in a bun behind her head. Helen couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other as they were whispering.


Heads bent forward, touching, hands clasped, loving, soft smiles on their lips. To Helen, they looked so young despite the lines of time upon their faces, white hair, age spots on their hands. They looked young and happy, so much in love. Helen could almost hear the loving words whispered between them.

A soft laugh pierced Helen’s cloud of despair. The old couple stood up, still with clasped hands and heads together, still whispering their words, they moved down the path past Helen.  Her tears dry upon her cheeks, Helen watched them pass.

She watched them for a few moments longer, then her eyes widened and she knew what she wanted to do! Determined, she ran back home, hoping against hope he was still there. That Kevin hadn’t left yet.

As Helen entered the house, her eyes found him almost exactly where she had left him. She thought he looked as lost as she felt, he looked so alone. Kevin stood facing her, with that wounded look in his eyes that mirrored Helen’s own. Taking a slow, deep breath, she walked to him, put her arms around him, leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered.

Kevin’s arms circled the woman he loved more than life and held her tightly. Heads bent together, eyes closed, they held each other in hope, in love. They whispered words of healing and forgiveness to each other.

Whispers, soft words of love, they are so much stronger than anger.