The day is dark, as in pitch black, and it’s only 5 p.m. I’ve had a full day – yoga and meditation at 6 a.m., 500 words for my short story by 8 a.m., dance class by 9, grocery shopping by 10:30. I baked cookies for the neighbor and prepared a casserole for dinner.
Now, I peer longingly at the claw-footed bathtub in my master bathroom and think – “yes, I deserve this.” Continue reading
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)
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
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
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
roughwighting 