"There you go"

The Johnny Cash song came on the juke box in the corner of the bar. She smiled when she heard it. It had been so many years ago that it was ,at times hard for her to believe that it had ever happened. That she had ever been that kind of women. But it was real and it was the truth, in her younger years it had been her style to break hearts and tell lies. She had been a beauty and even as a small child everyone who met her told her mother that she was going to break a lot of hearts. She had lived up to everyone’s expectations and she had had fun doing it. Now she was your typical grandmother of ten. Her oldest grandchild was getting married in the spring, that girl had definitely not broken any hearts. Sometimes she worried about her and how boring she seemed to be, it just seemed wasteful to spend all that beauty on one man. Oh well, what could a grandmother do. As the music played on she let her mind slid back in time to that hot summer long ago when she met that young musician and broke his heart. She smiled as her body swayed to the music….. “You’re gonna break another heart you’re gonna tell another lie…..”

The Cranberry Bog

Her name was Dot and she had spent her whole life on the bog. She loved that bog and those cranberries. She now gave tours to ignorant tourist who had no idea the beauty of the bog. Every once in a while there would be one person in a tour group who gave Dot a slight glimmer of hope. They would ask all the right questions and would listen intently to her description of the process of harvesting the berries. This happened so rarely that when that person appeared every three years or so it filled her with the hope that maybe mankind was not as bad as she really thought, that just maybe there was a kindred soul. Invariably this hope would build over the next hour of the tour and as always it would be dashed and smashed liked a ship against a rocky coast. More often then not she would see that hope die as each of these “ kindred souls” would prove they were not what she thought by letting their curiosity get the best of them and making the very fatal mistake of stepping out onto her bog. She was sure getting tired of burying all those bodies, but at least she had a lot of bog and after all it was really good fertilizer for the cranberries.

A History Lesson

She travelled through time like she was just going to the corner grocery. It was easy. She had been able to do it since she was about four. That first time it had happened quite by accident. She had been toddling around her room playing dress up when all of the sudden she was no longer in her room, one moment she was walking toward her bed and the next she had somehow slipped through an open seam in the fabric of time and was wandering around a dark London street perilously close to where Jack the Ripper was about to strike his second victim, she was of course not aware of any of this because she was only four after all, but as she got older and the time travel more frequent she learned facts about history that she could use in her travels. She learned to love all aspects of the history of the world but her favorite time in history was 1948, the year her father was two. She would often go to that time and sit in the park across from his childhood home and watch the idyllic, serene family scenes that played out for her like a movie. Her childhood had not been like a movie, after her parents divorced she had seldom seen her father and as he slowly slipped from her life her mother dug a tench and fortifications and tried to control every aspect of her childhood. Travelling between times was her only refuge and as the years went by she returned home less and less so that by the time she was thirty her own time had forgotten she even existed. On her last visit to her own time she discovered that although history can not be altered the future is uncertain and so it goes that in 1974 a girl was born but in 2008 the women did not exist for she had spent too much time in the past.

57 Seconds is not long

I could survive for 57 seconds chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor

The Wedding

Sometimes I dream that it never happened. That the huge wedding with all the flowers, ten bridesmaids and the whitest, most beautiful dress I had ever owned. After waking from those dreams I would sit in the giant bed covered in silk and keep my eyes closed for a minute savoring the dream, savoring the idea that the wedding had never occured, that I was now not sitting in this luxurious bed in the biggest house I had ever seen or was ever likely to see again. That instead I was sitting in a narrow bed in a small farm house on the edge of civilization. On those days after the dream I feel listless and anxious as if I am waiting for my real life to start. I fear that it will never start, that I will not ever experience joy again. The fears are very real becasue I knew when I chose him that I was making a mistake but I did it any way. I thought that beautiful clothes, fancy houses and servants would be enough. I was wrong. I should have chosen better. I should have chosen the farm with rough sheets, hard work, little money and the only man who not only made me laugh but alos made my heart leap everytime he walked into a room. I should have chosen the man not the wedding.

Kafe

Every day for two years she drank coffee. Never before in her life had she drank so much coffee. She had always been a tea drinker. Hot tea every morning. But for those two years it was coffee. Coffee in the morning, coffee in the afternoon, coffee after dinner. It sometimes seemed the countries entire culture was based on coffee drinking. She met her friends for coffee, she met co-workers for coffee, she took her students for coffee( although they would occasionally try to sneak in a beer instead), she drank coffee after every meal she ate out. And because she was not used to nursing one very small turkish coffee for two hours and since she unlike many of her local friends could afford more she would drink three to their one. So needless to say she became addicted to coffee, addicted to sitting in cafes for hours drinking coffee and talking, addicted to the pleasure of no time constraints, no worries and nowhere to hurry to. Eight years later she still drinks coffee every morning and although she no longer has the luxury of those long leisurely afternoons in the cafe, every time she tastes that warm sweet coffee, she remembers that place, its people and their coffee.

Somewhere

Somewhere out there is the man I am looking for. It may take years to find him but I will find him one day. I am preparing for our first meeting every day. I have developed the skills I will need to catch him. I have become a different women knowing that the one I used to be would never find him. I have practiced every day for the last two years so that I know when I find him, he will be mine. My hope is that once I find him my life will be complete, this gnawing emptiness will be gone. I will be whole again. It took me years to realize what I needed to do but now that I have a plan, I know that I will find him and when I do I will kill him with all the vengeance that has been bottled up inside me since the day he killed my parents and younger sister. Somewhere out there is the man who destroyed my family and I will find him.

Leave No Trace

It happened so fast that when it was over they were both shocked. The body laid on the carpet in the middle of the living room. Phil started to freak out repeating over and over again,
"Oh no!"
Thomas had to slap him several times to calm him down.
" Look, this is bad and we have to remain calm to decide what we need to do!" Thomas said
" I can not go to jail, I will not do well in jail!" Phil shrieked
" Don't worry I know someone who knows someone who can help us out." Thomas said
Thomas went to the phone dialed and waited. Phil watched in both anguish and hope. After Thomas hung up the phone he said,
" Don't worry it will all go away."

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Thomas answered and standing on the door step were five of the youngest, clean cut, decent looking boy scouts you had ever seen. Thomas said,
" Thank you so much for coming it is great to meet you guys, I am Thomas and this is Phil."
The oldest of the scouts stepped forward and said,
" We have never met and we were not here, now sit quietly on the sofa while we clean up this mess." the scout then began to shout out orders to his patrol, " Lay out the tarp, get the rope, make sure the knots are secure, ready the bleach."
In twenty minutes the scouts had securely wrapped the body and cleaned up any traces of blood, they hoisted the body up and prepared to leave. The Patrol leader looked at Thomas and Phil and repeated his warning,
" We have never met and we were never here!"
As the scouts carried the body out of the apartment Thomas and Phil could faintly hear them singing:
Softly falls the light of day as our campfire fades away,
Silently each scout must ask, have I done my daily task,
Have I kept my honor bright, can I guiltless sleep this night,
Have I done and have I dared everything to be prepared.
Phil and Thomas never saw those scouts again and to this day 10 years later that body has never been found. Thomas sometimes wonders how they made it disappear.

A group of scouts sits around a campfire with their Scout master, the Scout master is finishing his second bowl of Chili, he turns to the Patrol Leader and says,
" Kenny I don't know how you do it, but this chili is amazing, won't you tell me your secret ingredient?"

My secret Exsitence

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.

The Observer

She watched him from the apartment across the alley. She had cameras, microphones, everything you would need to observe his activities. This was her fifth assignment and it was the longest she had been on. During the training phase before you were ever allowed to watch you were taught to separate yourself from the subject, to never begin to think of the subject as anything but the subject. She was afraid she was failing. it had started innocently enough during her third week of watching. He seemed to look directly at her from his window and smile. She know there was no way he had seen her or known she was watching but still she felt as if they were connected through that one smile. As time went by she immersed herself in his activities and now she realized she was goner. She had gotten too involved, too concerned, too connected, maybe even fallen in love a little bit. She was going to have to ask for a reassignment. It would be hard ,but she could do it, she could leave this all behind and move on to another subject. Besides he would be dead soon anyway. I mean after all she had been watching him now for 80 years so that would make him well into his nineties, humans did not live much longer then that. She sighed when she thought back over all of her subjects and realized that her very first observation subject had now been dead for over three centuries. She shook her head and reminded herself that she had chosen to drink the serum and take the oath and pick up the Observer Mantle, she had a job to do and one 98 year old guy would not break her resolve. The observers must observe or chaos would reign.

When they asked

When they asked me if I knew I told them no. But I was lying and they never guessed. I never figured I could be such a good actress, but I was. When they asked I told them I did not know and I got away with it. All of it. I never figured it would be so easy but it was, in the past I had always answered questions truthfully so I never knew the power of not answering, it was liberating. That was ten years ago and I have not looked back once. I have become such a good liar that I am sometimes not even sure what is a lie and what is not. And to think it all started with the simple question, " Lily, sweetie, do you know who drew on the wall with red crayon?"

The Death March

The stones were arranged in such a way that I was sure I could never climb up them. My legs already felt like jelly but he was relentless. Forcing me on even when I wanted to stop. He was a demon from hell and this I was sure was my final day on earth. I would never make it to the top of this stupid mountain. But my resistance was futile because the demon forced me to climb higher and higher, above the trees, every time I was sure we were almost there I would look up and see the peak looming above me at a far greater distance. I would die before we ever made it to the top. But the demon flung his head back with glee and laughed his maniacal laugh and I become resolved. I would make it to the top of this godforsaken mountain even as I knew it would kill me. The view from the top was that much sweeter when I finally pulled my destroyed body to the peak. I had done and the view was spectacular, but as I looked around waiting for the demon to join me at the top all I could think about was that now I had to go back down and I was sure it would kill me.

Do I have to like them?

It really started when I was 12. That is when we moved here, to this place that I hate. My Mom would always answer each of my complaints with " Give it time, you will like it." I gave it time. 29 years in fact and I still hate it. I hate the way they laugh, the way they talk, the way they think that they are smarter then everyone else. I hate everything about them. But what I really hate the most is the way the smell. It is the worst smell I have ever smelled. It is like over cooked hot dogs left out in the sun for too long. I thought I would get used to it but I never have. I do not like them and I do not like it here. I tried, I really did, but I am not like my sister. She is happy here. She even married one of them and has a child. She is starting to smell like them. My Mom and Dad won't come with me, they want to stay here and be close to there grandchild, plus they say they like it here. But as soon as the ship arrives next month, the first time in 29 years, I will be on it. I am going home to where everyone smells like a fresh sweet flower. It will be sad to leave my family. But I am done here. I tried to like them, but I realize now , I do not have to. I mean because really Earth Stinks! I mean that literally, it really really stinks here and I have been holding my breath for 29 years.

When they came

When they came to the house. I thought things would change. I thought with the young people I would have more to do. I would be able to scare the heck out of them with a slamming door or a rattling in the attic. But I was wrong. They were boring and never got scared of anything. The giant clown I invaded and made dance at midnight in the middle of the six years old room did not even get one shriek. In fact the six year old giggled. Giggled! What kid is not scared of clowns? Clowns are scary! So I stepped it up a notch. I rearranged all the furniture in the living room. The Mom was grateful. She thought it looked better. When I levitated the fourteen year old three feet above her bed, she actually asked if she could do that again. Who are these people? I am done. I tried my hardest to scare the bejesus out of this family and all I get is giggles and happiness. They are not normal. I can not live this way so I am packing my bags and heading on over to the house down the street, they look like a family that will run at the first creak.

My Oldest friend

I meet her 10 years ago. We both lived in the same city in the same country, expatriates in a land of confusion, misunderstandings, language barriers and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I drank so much coffee the two years we lived in that city that even now the smell of coffee makes my mouth water and my eyes mist for the times we spent sitting and talking in one coffee house or another. We were both there to live extraordinary lives we thought, but instead lived quite mundane and predictable day to day lives. The highlight for me was the coffee and her company. I am not sure I could have lived those two years without her. She was a rock. She would joke that surely I would prefer to have a young person there instead of her, I would always say no and I meant it. I was the lucky one. We seldom speak now as we live thousands of miles apart but for those two years she was not only my "oldest" friend but my dearest. The 30 years that divide our ages means nothing because friends are the greatest possession you can have and she was like a diamond.

Dancing in the Dark

She danced in the middle of the dance floor flailing her arms and legs as if she was trying to dislodge a multitude of bugs from her body. The disco ball whirled around creating a blinding light as it bounced off of her sequined shirt, I worried that she would hurt someone with her flailing arms. Then as suddenly as she had started she stopped and glanced up at the disco ball as the music and other dancers swirled around her. That is when I noticed her eyes. They were both a cloudy white color and I wondered if she could see. As she made her way off the dance floor she brushed my arm as she passed and leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Everything is better in the dark.”

The Guide

She had found the small book in the very back corner of her grandmother's closet when she was fourteen. As she read the book from cover to cover she was both shocked and titillated by it. Her Grandmother was the kind of women who always wore a suit and hat when she went to church or out to dinner. She was very proper and very well spoken and very intelligent. College educated at a time when few women were, she was the epitome of class and culture. The girl had always been a little intimated by her picture perfect grandmother, so as she clutched the book to her chest she smiled a little smile of appreciation and greater knowledge. This book made her Grandmother more real to her, more human. From that day forward the girl saw her grandmother in a different light. She saw her not just as the loving, cultured Grandmother she was now, but also as the young women she had been. A women full of secret passions and needs. Through out the years the girl would pull out the small book and remember the grand mother she had loved so much, but it was not until years later when the girl herself was a grandmother that she discovered the slit in the back binding of the book and pulled out a letter from the publisher of the book:

Dear Mrs. Donaldson,

Thank you so much for your submission of " A Young Women's Guide to Passionate Lovemaking". We think it will be a huge success and look forward to any future manuscripts you may have. We at True Romance believe that all things are possible. A check is enclosed for you fees.

Yours,
Sylvia Saturn
Senior Editor, True Romance Publications

Late at Night

As I lie awake late at night, listening for the beating of wings, I try to close my eyes and over and over I say to myself, " I will not go this night." But I always go. I can not resist his lure. I want to say no, but I crave the danger and the excitement, so I climb down the trellis by my window and into the night we race. I know that when I am older I will regret these nights. At this exact moment I do not care. All I care about is him and how the darkness and the sweet smell of him make me feel. My mother and father have no idea what I do at night. They think I am snug in my bed dreaming those adolescent dreams all girls should be dreaming. They would be disappointed, not angry, but disappointed in me and perhaps that is why even for a just a fleeting moment, I consider not going each night and then I hear his sweet voice and I am done for, I can not resit him, oh my dearest Bram.......

As I read the words my dear sister had written the night she disappeared I knew that something bad had befallen her and my dream that she had slipped away in the night to run away with her lover is dead for now I know his name and I know that he still resides here in our little town and that she is most likely dead like my dream. He was always an unusal lad and despite his fame and success I have never liked him and that lurid book he wrote... Well I always suspected it was not completley fiction. My dear sister Lucy if only I had known I could have stopped you.

His Curve Ball

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 veiw, but I can not. I may be the villain of his story, but I am the heroine of mine.

I Quit

" I Quit, I quit, I quit!" these words repeated through her head as she walked to work. Enough was enough, she was tired of all the crap and this time she was really going to do it. No putting off, she would find another job. This job was not her life and she was going to quit. Really, today was the day. As she walked on she thought of all the horrible things that had happened to her over the last few years, the bad treatment by her bosses, the laughs, the jeers, she was done, no more. As she entered the fairgrounds she saw her boss and she marched over to him and bravely said,
" I quit!"

He laughed and said " Oh come on Mary you know that you are not going to quit."

" Yes, I am." she said.

"Fine, fine so you quit, lets see what your sister has to say about that. So Elisa are you quiting too?"

Mary turned to her twin sister who just looked back at her with a sad look in her eye and said, " No Mr. Smith I am not quitting, Mary and I have no place else to go."

And with that, Mary's attempt to break free was over. Elisa tried to console her as they headed toward the Midway and their booth in the Freak Show.