A child is born

The city was awash in lights. Strings of brilliant white festooned store fronts, casting glittering reflections on the falling snow. Decorated shop windows pulled in holiday revelers with Christmas scenes of pine trees draped in tinsel and garland, and children, faces filled with awe and wonder, eagerly opening Santa’s presents. Audry recognized Landon’s profile as he stood admiring Macy’s window. When he pointed to a toy train that wended through the scene, she realized he wasn’t alone. A petit woman was hidden from sight behind his open overcoat. Stepping behind her, he pointed over her shoulder at another train that circled the base of the Christmas tree. As the other woman stepped closer to the window, Audry’s breath caught in her throat. She was at least eight months pregnant. The woman lifted her left hand, covering her mouth as she laughed. A diamond on her second finger glinted in the holidays lights. The flash pierced Audry’s heart as surely as

read more A child is born

Until proven guilty

The room was uncannily hushed when we filed into the jury box. The thrill of serving on a high-profile case was tempered by being in a position of public scrutiny if we screwed up the verdict. For the first two days, we heard testimony from specialists and hired experts. Without our binder of documents, it would have been impossible to understand all the legal jargon. The defendant was finally scheduled to take the stand, and the gallery was filled to capacity by the morbidly curious. News pundits were predicting a brutal cross-examination from Assistant District Attorney Bonnie Post, a woman on a campaign against domestic violence, and for her boss’ high-backed leather chair. Looking uncomfortable in his suit and tie, the defendant kept nervously tugging at his tight collar. When answering questions from his attorney, he leaned awkwardly toward the microphone at the witness stand, until the judge told him he didn’t need to move. After an hour, Post stepped

read more Until proven guilty


Dried leaves, filtering through the collapsing roof, crunched under her feet. Walking from room to room, flashbacks from her childhood twisted through her memory. The door long gone, she stepped over the threshold of the closet where she slept. A metal chest sat forlorn in the corner. Inside, she was shocked to find the remains of long forgotten toys and storybooks. When she picked them up, a photo fell out and floated to the floor. She picked it up and gasped, crumbling to the floor. Her tears, soundless and bitter, fell. She had her proof. He couldn’t deny his sins. For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Diane Trujillo gave me this prompt: When she picked them up, a photo fell out and floated to the floor. She picked it up and gasped. I gave Major Bedhead this prompt: You buy an old camera at a thrift store, when you get it home you discover there is still film inside. Do you

read more Proof


The room was designed to intimidate. The oversized partners desk and chair made any visitor feel Lilliputian. I sank into the antique, leather wingback opposite the solicitor who ruled the domain, my toes barely brushing the floor. The Wallis family retainer for generations, this would be the final last will and testament Raymond Blackburn, Esq., administered as executor. Effie’s heirs had challenged my inheritance, and attempted to invalidate her bequest to me, a mere domestic. They refused to acknowledge that, as her caregiver for the past 10 years, I had been her constant companion and confidant, whereas they were only visitors on gift-giving holidays. Their main concern was that she had left my gift open-ended. I was given first-refusal over all her material assets. That was why Blackburn summoned me into his realm of old money and greed. It was time for me to choose. From a large, black attaché, he removed a piece of crisp, white parchment, and slid

read more Bequest

Seriously, just absolutely fabulous!

Except for the never-ending spell checker, and the occasional perusal through a thesaurus to make sure the word I want to use is actually the word I need to use, I write pretty much like I talk. I tend to be extremely verbose and will repeat myself several times, only rephrasing, to the chagrin of both myself and all those around me. Since I began blogging, and Twittering, and Facebooking, writing nearly everyday, I have become painfully aware of what must be for all of you ~ since it has become a persistent irritation for me ~ a nearly mind numbing vexation of constantly reading or hearing me repeat the same few words over and over until you think your ears will bleed. I cannot seem to break the addiction of these few annoying terms: just absolutely definitely fabulous seriously So you don’t feel alone in your misery, I also over use these in every day spoken conversation. I know

read more Seriously, just absolutely fabulous!


Once again, he had been let down. This year, he decided, things would be different. “It’s just not fair,” he sounded like a petulant child. “That should be me.” “What are you on about now?” Gabe tuned the strings on his lyre, trying to ignore Michael’s incessant complaining about the newest messengers. They both watched in awe as each left the assembly, fitted out in their full regalia. “It should have been me, that’s all I’m saying,” Michael pushed around non-existent dirt with a pristine broom. It was more an act of futility than any real effort to tidy the grand hall. Gabe knew he would regret asking, but Michael would tell him anyway regardless of a lack of inquery. “What should have been you?” “The promotion,” the uplift in his voice meant he considered it an obvious slight. Pointing to the last messengers, “I’ve been here longer than they have, a whole year longer, that implies seniority. That should

read more Freelancing

To whom it may concern

Dear… I’ve thought about writing to you often since we parted, probably since we left it so… undone. Your last phone call caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to hear from you again, and I couldn’t bear to see you again. When you left, when you packed up and moved out of state, I didn’t know what you expected me to do. Did you think I would wait until you decided what to do with your life, and what part I played in it? You made your choice to leave, and I made mine to let you go. When you came back, it didn’t change anything. Our break-up came only a few months after telling me you had cheated on me. Told me like I should be grateful for your honesty, grateful that you didn’t lie to me about it. You were so cavalier, telling me over a bowl of popcorn and an old movie on TV, tucking it

read more To whom it may concern