Photo Credit Lakshmi Bhat

Matilda was all angles and elbows.

By the time she was eighteen she stood every bit of the six feet two inches she had clearly inherited from her Nordic father, and that was with with her shoulders slumped slightly forward in an attempt to hide some of her height.

Many a night alone in her room, perched awkwardly on the little pink tufted bench that sat in front of her dear departed mothers vanity, she would sit, back arched over knobby knees leaning forward in an attempt to fit all of herself into it’s etched oval mirror, and look into her own bright green eyes as they peered back at her.

Whereas there was no question she had inherited her height from her father, her eyes were indeed her mothers eyes. Her smooth alabaster skin. The rosy glow in her cheeks. The perfect cupids bow of her lips, all mirrored her the memory of her sainted Irish mother.

And there, in that moment, she would feel a swell of pride, seeing herself as the rare beauty she really was.

“My sweet Irish rose”, she would hear, in her mothers soft brogue, “all softness and beauty atop a tall Nordic stem.”

Inspired by Susan’s Sunday Photo Fiction June 16, 2019 although to late for the party, I like where the prompt took me enough to post it….


Peaceful Anarchy

My Back. My Brand

Too many wars have been fought over who’s translation of which holy book makes them the chosen people.

I say, toss the books- live the similarities.

Don’t kill anyone.

Treat others as you want to be treated.

Be willing to accept the consequences of your own actions.

And above all, Cultivate common sense.

Don Miguel Ruiz made it even simpler when he penned the first of The Four Agreements, “Be impeccable with your word.”

Try that one on for size.

Imagine a world where everyone is so busy making sure they are living up to their own standards, they no longer have time to persecute those around them based on lifestyle.

My brand: Peaceful Anarchy.

Written for Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt, Translation, in 115 words.


“something inside me is energy, and it was not created, so it cannot be destroyed….” from the girls by Lori Lansens

we stood in front
of my childhood closet
fighting about
the course that i was on
she was positive i would
never make it
into the kingdom of her god
and to tell you the truth
to this day,
i am ever thankful
i will not..

“i will never die!”
i remember yelling at her,
knowing full well
that my physical body
would someday expire..
but i knew then
with the clarity
of an epiphany,
that the force
that i called “i”
would never die,
but just move on..

to date,
i have received
no further revelation.
no moments of insight,
no visions in the night..
yet, each time i recall
that single apparition
of teenage clarity,
it rings with a truth
i have never found
in any god…


CCC #32

Her whole life she had been surrounded by people who depended on her.

Her mother died when she was eight, leaving Arelia, the eldest, to care for her seven siblings.

She married at sixteen, already pregnant with her own first child, and went on to have five more children, all of which she cared for dutifully as she had her own siblings.

When she lost her husband, and the last of her children had moved on to live lives of their own, Arelia just wanted to be alone.

She took her husband’s meager savings, and bought herself a little cottage in the woods.

There she wrote stories. Stories rich in fantasy. The fantasies of a little girl on whom had been thrust a great deal of responsibility at a very young age.

A girl much like herself, had she been allowed the luxury of a fantasy world, in which to escape.

Written in response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge photo prompt.


Away by Tama66 on Pixabay

The guy that had given him a ride to Plymouth said to turn left at the top of the exit ramp and keep walking till the music gets loud. He hadn’t mentioned that the street lamp at the top of the exit ramp was the only one on that road, or that the snow plow never made it out this way.

There was a lone set of tire tracks cast in the snow traveling in James’ intended direction. He could see some lights off in the distance, how far it was hard to tell but it gave him a destination. If that wasn’t the bar, where he was to meet Jenny, someone there could tell him how much farther it was. Maybe even take pity on him and give him a ride the rest of the way. Either way, he was here. He was in Plymouth, He was breathing the same air. He was so close to Jenny he could almost feel her warmth as he held her in his arms for the first time.

He pulled out his phone and texted, “I’m Here!!”

This night was his destiny. Their destiny. Two lost souls that should never have found each other, never been given this opportunity to get to know each other, to fall in love. Six short months ago, he hadn’t even known Jenny existed. If he hadn’t taken a chance and ‘smiled’ at her on that dating site, they would still be just two lonely people.

Jenny texted back, “OMG!! I can’t believe it’s really happening! Hurry!”

But he had, and they weren’t, and now he was following the tracks in the snow by the light of his phone and each step was carrying him just that much closer to her, to the new life they would have together. James hastened his pace, his heart pounding, his mind rife with the possibilities this night held in store.

The lights in the distance proved to be a gas station. Just a little two pump operation with a single bay mechanic shop attached on one side. The sign on the door said closed, but there were lights on in the back room and James was freezing. He tried knocking, but it proved too painful, his ungloved hands were numb and his fingertips on fire from the cold. He kicked the door instead, boom, boom, boom, his boot sounded against the base of the door.

A tall dark man in greasy overalls came barreling out of the back into the service entrance, “What the hell’s goin’ on?” he called out as he hurried toward the door. He swung the door open wide, “C’mon in. Your gonna catch yer death out there!”

James was only too happy to oblige.

“What in gods name are you doin’ out walkin’ around on a night like this?” The man asked as he shuttled James toward the warmth of the back room.

As James entered, he saw what could only have been Jenny’s face, just before something hit him hard on the back of the head and the lights went out.

He came to slowly. A moan escaping his lips before he had a chance to remember where he was or what had happened.

“He’s comin’ round.” He heard a familiar woman’s voice, and then remembered he had seen Jenny’s face just before he had lost consciousness.

“Jenny?” He croaked as he tried to focus on the woman across the room, the throbbing in the back of his head nearly blinding him. He tried to lift his head, but it thudded back to the floor.

“Why?” was all he could get out.

“For the money, honey. It’s always the money.”

A single tear slipped silently down James’ cheek. How could this be happening? He only came in to get out of the snow.

This was written in response to tnkerr’s OLWG prompt #106 last week. The phrases given were: keep walking till the music gets loud, it’s always the money and he only came in to get out of the snow.