Faith
By Melanie E.

This is just something that popped into my head while I was trying to fall asleep. I hope a few people here enjoy it.

The caution is only due to a fairly subdued reference, but I still felt it better to have the caution than to leave it out.

-==-

The Bridge

Author’s note: This story contains frank discussion of suicide. Please read with care.

This is something that came to me over the last few days. It may wind up as a scene in a future story. Or not. But I felt it was worth posting on its own.

The therapist sighed.

"I'm sorry, but it doesn't work that way..."

A Christmas Story ²

Desiree O'Hara

Special thanks to my Darling Daughters that have taken care of me.

Does not fit the Contest, tried too, but this is the way it wished to be written. Not that I ever seem to have a clue about stories. AS it is I ran out of muse before I got all nine scenes written. May the Season bring you Joy.

Come back soon…Part six

I’m so in this daze but I a good one as mom has me in the chair first and my head leaning over it and into the sink. I’ve never dared going to a salon or a hair dresser it had always been a barber because honestly I didn’t trust my resolve in anything else.

Breaking down crying in one wouldn’t likely be the best thing.

But this is a Cinderella daze.

Like imagine if someone came in with you being poor as dirt and cleaning you up, making you look pretty and sending you off to have the same as all the other girls did.

It’d feel like a spell or magic right?

Come back soon…Part two

I’m sitting up a little more and trying to clean my face and get the snuffles from crying out when my mom comes in.

I hurt looking at her. Well sorta looking at her if my head wasn’t hanging down so low.

She looks tired, like scared, hurt, worried and stressed out with no sleep tired.

My heart does a little hurting mewl because she doesn’t deserve that, not after everything she’s been through.

See, mom’s a breast cancer survivor.

She's tired, not physically, but emotionally. Tired of trying to get by in a world she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand the people and, not surprisingly, they don't understand her either.

"Bambi, why would you say that? You're 'living the dream', so to speak."
She looked up at him with tear-striped cheeks. "I'm living a nightmare!

		Trans. Plant. Heart. Chapter 2 by **Sigh** Copyright © 2013 plaintivesigh All Rights Reserved.

Note: This is written by Kylie, not Dorothy. Kylie rendered her account inaccessible, and asked to post it here instead.
Author's note: This is completely true, every word, and it follows my thoughts and actions in what I intended to be my final weeks. Please read with caution.

Kylie smiled her first genuine smile in several weeks, maybe even months. The plan was simple, but genius, and foolproof. An hour later, she set her plan in motion.

I’m moving out on January 4, her text to her case manager read. We can talk about it on Tues, if you want.

The first step was taken; there was no turning back. That simple action -a text message- banished any fears or uncertainty she may have had. She went downstairs to the staff office to add some momentum.