Composed

She stood in the doorway of the grand ballroom looking for all the world like the most composed women there. She held her head high, her hair was perfectly coiffed, her make-up expertly applied and her dress immaculate. Every one who looked at her envied her composure. She had always looked like this, had always been able to appear as if she had it all together, every minute of every day. But if you had looked deeper on this night you would have seen the slight sheen to her eyes that belied that composure. You would have seen a small speck of blood on her perfect shoes. You would have seen the tightness of her face. If you had looked closer you would have seen that the composure was a mask. A mask she had used well these last twelve years. Twelve years in which she had stalked, caught and tonight killed the perfect husband. Who on his death left her 20 million dollars. Twelve years of composure would soon slip away to reveal the real women she was, but first she had to keep herself composed for one last time and appear like she was the women she claimed to be at this fundraising gala she had organized. Then when her dead husband's body was found in the tragic car accident and once the funeral was over she could take her money and disappear. She could leave behind this boring, composed facade and live the life she was meant to live. Freedom at last.

Six Senteces Volume 1

The new Six Sentences book came out today and is available on Amazon. I have three stories in the collection. It should we fantastic. Rob McEvily who created the website Six Sentences is super cool and if you get the chance you should support the site and buy the book, plus you would also get to read my three stories and one of them is all about a robot of course! I will also have two stories up on the website, one on May 6th and the other May 8th( this one is about Dolly Parton.

Without Fear

Wasn’t it FDR that said “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself?” She was pretty sure that despite his bout with polio and a World War he knew nothing about real fear. He did not know what it was like to be a five year old powerless little girl who watched her father beat her mother every night. He did not know what it was like to be a twelve year old powerless girl roaming the streets at night looking for a way to buy some food because she had no home. He did not know what it was like to be an eighteen year old powerless girl whose only options for survival had been selling her body to anyone who would pay. He did not know what it was like to be a 25 year old powerless woman whose only answer was to leave the baby at the fire station because at least it would be safe there. He did not know what it was like to be poor, abused and powerless all your life and the only dream you had ever had was a home, family and decent job. She figured that if she had the same advantages that FDR had perhaps she too could have been fearless, but as it was, fear was the only thing that kept her alive.