Two weeks ago, my neighbor Missy dropped off her parrot JOJO at my house and raced off to visit her ailing father in Florida.
At the time, JoJo, an ancient Psittacine, prophesized that Missy’s dad would die.
JoJo was right. (Parrot Plot Points)
fantasy
The Extra Guest: A Titled Story
Tina is The New Girl and, according to Thomas – The One to Watch. How she made it on The Guest List is anyone’s guess. Even though Every Note (Tina) Played on the cello is sweeter than summer, more revealing than The Light Through the Leaves, she’s the reason for all of the Anxious People at the wedding.
What makes her so frightening? 
Unlike others, unlike everyone, actually, Tina has no Tiny Imperfections. She can never be Tina, Lost in a Crowd, because she’s too singular, too stunning, like The Last Fallen Star gracing Earth. Continue reading
A New Realm
Ruby took a breath, and with a shaking hand, signed her name to the list.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ruby’s twin sister whispered in her ear. The trails of uncertainty in Trudy’s breath caused Ruby’s heart to thump thump thump.
Finishing the n in her last name “Rubicon” with flair, Ruby dropped the ancient fountain pen onto the solid oak table, which had been passed from generation to generation. She nodded a weak Yes. Continue reading
Snow Angel
I hate winter. I hate snow. I hate cold, I hate ice. I mutter these words as I climb out of my soul-less and hateful car, which has just broken down on Route 2 in the middle of a once-in-a-decade blizzard.
I can’t stay in the car because the engine is dead. Kaput. Lifeless and useless. I’ll freeze if I sit in the silver-metal icebox, so I trudge ahead, looking for some kind of sign of life.
And then I see it. Or her. Or whatever he/she/it/they is. A human-like form of gossamer silver and white, waving towards me. She (for I tend to think of angels as she), is either one-half a mile away, or two yards. With the snow whipping across my face it’s hard to tell. Continue reading
Grand at the Mirror
I’m trying desperately to avoid the knocking.
At first I thought it was the sound of one of “my” hummers knocking on the bedroom window. All summer I’d watched the hummingbirds sprint around our feeder hanging just outside the window, their long thin pointy tongues drawing sweet water out of the teeny tiny hole meant to mimic the center of a flower.
But it’s now December, the hummers have sensibly flown to warmer climes, and I’m here staring out at the window, listening to the knock on glass. But nothing is across from me on the other side of the window but falling snow. Sighing, I cross the room to my antique dresser, the one that belonged to my great-grandmother, who died years before I was born. I stand before the large oval mirror joined at the top of the dresser and framed with mahogany. Yes, there she is. Great-Grandmamma, tapping her fingernail on the other side of the speckled mirror, waiting impatiently.
Continue reading
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