A Letter To Lucas – The Beginning

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My Dear Lucas,

I don’t know what took me so long to write to you. I’ve had this plan to write letters to you from the day you were conceived. I’ve been carrying you for almost twenty five weeks now and it seems as though I am just barely ready to tell you what’s been aching my mind.

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Land Of Nod

Every time I fall asleep into that Land of Nod, I trip back into my seat on the coach bus back to Amsterdam. It is impossible to sleep erect on these seats that can incline but only when there is no one behind me. Every seat is filled and dark. Everyone silent with their eyes closed. A cough, a rustling and squeaking of seats. Blue lights aglow above their heads, except for mine is a bright halo of white above my knees where my notebook and pen lay waiting. There’s no where else for me to look. The window beside me is dark with miles of country side and outside the lights in the distant no more than the fading twinkling stars in the sky. My own reflection glares at me in that glassy black void. It’s rude to stare.

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Silent Night

silent-night

Out of a kind of smoke that dreams seem to conjure, the invisible kind that blurs people’s faces and names of places, I recall an incident, told by Grandmother. Told so many times, that I can almost remember myself. When one cold silent night, still bundled tight in a pink cotton blanket, I cried out and woke my sleeping family.

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Spider Web

A golden leaf flutters down beside me onto the table and I pick it up to discover a pale yellow shell of a spider. Hollow and transparent. Beside it, a filmy drop of web still holding onto its leaf and the spider’s carcass from which it was spun.

I think about how everything is like something else. How my stories will outlast me. That our web is stronger than we are. So it is no wonder how long and arduous the task to write a story. And is it really ever done?

And how lovely to think that these stories we spin are the means to carry us through.

“Don’t Let Go”

Don't Let Go

I learned how to ride a bicycle in Alaska.

It was a warm summer day when I got my first bike. Turquoise and pink. And a hot denim outfit to go with it.

“Where are my training wheels?” I asked Grandpa. My younger sister had training wheels on her new bike.

“Yumi is still a baby. You’re all grown up.” I was six. I’d never ridden a bike before then.

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‘Monster’ – New Publication

There’s a pencil in someone’s neck. Read what happens next in my flash fiction story under 800 words.

Go to Literary Orphans now.

Thanks for reading.

What If God Is Tweeting, and We’re Not Following

What if we got this life thing all wrong?

What if all this fighting, debating, hating and killing isn’t part of the deal? That all this ugliness is a part of human nature and not in the nature of God?

What if we’re confusing ourselves with God, applying our feelings with His feelings, our understanding with His meanings and getting it all sideways, backwards, twisted, wearing our entrails on the outside.

What if the most ugliest side of ourselves, the prideful, arrogant side of ourselves is the side that sides with God? With our Savior’s sword and our armor of righteousness. What then?

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Live Publication @ Brilliant Flash Fiction

Hey you! Thanks for visiting. If you’re a bit of a surrealist like me, check out my new published flash fiction story under eight hundred words. I’d appreciate any comments.

Click to read ‘Old Jimmy.’

 

The Glass Castle – Book Review

The Glass Castle

If there ever was a book that had me at hello, this would be it. In The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls’ exact first words are, “I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster.” She’s headed to a swanky New York city party when she accidentally comes across her vagrant mother. In fact, both her parents are homeless. A unique pair of individuals who chose to live on the streets repelled by conventional standards and beliefs. Her story starts from the very beginning, as far back as she can remember. A fight with a fire in the desert. This is Jeannette’s adventure story. Her secret is out, and it’s good.

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Exhibit D

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This guy stood facing the wall, like all guys do. Head forward, one hand holding his pants, the other steadying his penis. This is why I never park against the wall. During daylight, they wedge themselves in between parked cars. They spray down the rims and tires of BMWs and Audis. Sometimes they face the cars, pretending to have the keys in hand while getting their piss all over the door. Then they zip up and walk ten feet to the bus stop checking their phone.

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