So it was a gift for Celia, for her birthday. A girl's week out at the beach, all of us together again. The five of us had gone through Brownies, boyfriends, crayons and proms; grade school and high school. Every year we got together for Celia's birthday. She was the only one of us who has a birthday in the summer. So we went to the beach, ate ice cream, t...
"Daddy, Daddy!" Cynthia squealed when she spotted him outside of the school. Running late, Bill had just arrived in front of the school. He smiled and waved at his little girl. She ran as quickly as her short legs would carry her, and he reached out and scooped her up in a big hug. "Hey there, ladybug!" He hugged her tightly, swinging her in circles. "I'm so...
Art speaks: When Kat came home from her visit to the beach, there was little in her look to suggest that anything untoward might have happened. Ok, there was just a trace of that "cat who ate the canary" smile that seemed to flash across her face and then disappear again. Half of me wanted to burst out with questions and teases about the day's journey to he...
Self-preservation was the only thing that forced him out of the bathroom with a hot bath and willing woman. It had all gone down way too fast, and Day needed to breathe away from Beth's scent. "What. Just. Happened?" Day groaned, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and dropping his arms to his knees. He'd gone from helping someone in need to fucking the...
________ 4 ________ With the red dawning sun came another day and the incessant clicking and buzzing sounds of slowly awakening insects as they began to stir. Mist could now be seen slowly rising from the cliffs as the sun's golden rays chased away the last of the night's fleeting darkness. With the sun, came increasing light and the sustaining warmth for a...
Author's Note: My spiritual mother, Colonel Marina Raskova, founder of 588th Night Bomber Regiment -- what the Germans in WW2 called "Das Nachthexen," the "Night Witches" -- once asked me, "what is the purpose of prose if not poetry?" She delighted in French Avant-garde theater, Dada art, surrealistic poetry, and so do I. If stream of consciousness bores you...
The life of a fallen angel isn't easy, folks. If someone told you that, then someone lied. However, there are some perks. My name is Falafel. Don't laugh. It ain't funny. And yes, it's my real name. I used to be an angel, until I decided to make my own way into the world. I didn't leave Heaven to follow Lucifer Morningstar and his parade of sycophants. I lef...
By the time they reached the mountain pass the next day the light was already starting to fade. A river had run alongside the road for some time, and as they left the trail to find a campsite, the sound of rushing water grew stronger. The source was a waterfall, only two feet high with a pool at the bottom deep enough for a wash. Eager to bathe, Sybari drew...
Her head ached a bit as the sun beamed down on her and the birds chirped of it the distance. The night was a haze, a wash of wine and wriggling. A very odd word for her to think of but she couldn't think of much else. For the most part she was thankful her hangover was minor and more of a headache but her lack of memory was cause for concern. Wine, waking nu...
There comes a point in your life when I think we become too old to learn new things, at least that's the way it is for me. I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm getting too old to make new friends as well, because this last attempt didn't work out too well, as I think this story will explain. *** 1. The invitation. It started out as what I had assumed was...