The Cheese Stands alone

For years and years and years now people have been searching for the answer to that one burning question. Am I real? Do I exist? The answer is yes. I am real, I exist. I live up here in Alaska where no one will ever find me. It is a pretty good existence. The wife and I have recently redecorated the rec. room. She made these really lovely flowered curtains. The kids are all doing well. They have lots of friends at school and Thomas even has a part in the school musical. He is not the greatest singer but he does a good job. We are canning vegetables for the long winter ahead and we have recently been able to pick up The Disney Channel on the satellite dish. The kids have been enjoying High School Musical. All in all things have been good. We caught the news of those yahoos in Georgia. It just really burns my butt that these crazies continue to make up these hoaxes. I tell you if I thought for a minute you humans would not kill me, my family and our community and experiment on our cold dead bodies, I would come forward and end these hoaxes and all the myths. But since I am pretty sure you would kill us, I think I will just ignore this latest news and keep my head down and enjoy our little families quite life.

A Mother’s Love

I carry the baggage of her life around with me everywhere I go. It is a heavy burden and although I have often dreamed of setting it down and walking away, I do not, I persevere. She loved me I know but that love is the heaviest piece of luggage that I carry. It drags me down so far that I no longer go in large bodies of water for fear it will drag me down to the bottom and I will drown with her love. I often wonder what will happen with all of her bags when I die. I look at the beautiful face of my daughter and I pray that she has the strength that I do not and throws these bags on the trash heap of the past where they belong.

The Villain of the Story

He always told me that he would be famous one day. I am not sure I really believed him. But he was right. He is famous. His memoir has been the number one best seller on the New York Times list for over two years now. He can be seen on all the talk shows, in all the tabloids and at all the best parties. They have begun to film the story of his life. When I left him all those years ago I never expected to become the villain of his story. I never thought my name would become a synonym for evil. I heard a couple of young women on the train the other day refer to one of their acquaintances as an " Alice Winters". It was not a compliment. I knew when I left him that I had hurt him. I never expected the venom that spilled from his pen. When I heard of his success I was happy for him, then I read the memoir. I remember our story differently. If I had not lived this story with him, I too would hate Alice Winters. The character he draws is terrible. I try to see it from his point of view, but I can not. I may be the villain of his story, but I am the heroine of mine.

This Place

She knew that it was no use, no use at all. She was never going to escape the confines of this godforsaken place and she felt her soul tremble. She had been born and raised here in this place where children aged quicker then mold grew on stale bread and her daughter was destined to live out her days in the same manner. When she had discovered she was pregnant, she dreamed of a wonderful life filled with everything someone who has nothing dreams of for their children, but those dreams were crushed under the weight that was this place with its dirt and grime and sad stories that never seemed to change. She looked down at the small bundle wrapped in pretty pink and smiled. She regretted everything and nothing.