note: an easier format to read can be found at Fictioneer.org

--o0o--

The aisles of the warehouse store wound around like a worm committing self-abuse. High up on one shelf sat a fifty-five gallon drum. All frosty white and silver on a midnight blue and black background, letters spelled out "Winter" like that was the name of a new energy drink.

"Why would anyone want a can of Winter that big?" asked little Jodie.

MISSING

I leave behind the usual clutter
Of unfinished business,
Regrets, and roads not taken in life

I also leave my heart poured out on paper
Undiscovered glimpses of my life
To be enjoyed by any who find them good

Or perhaps to be ridiculed,
As being to soft and light for the modern world

Whatever the fate of my work,
It seems petty, in the face of the poetry
Of my true and final resting place

I say now to those who might care for me
“Do not look for me in the harsh lights of the city
Nor in the cool foothills of the mountains
I have gone home to stay”

A Very Eventful Summer
Chapter 11
by Freya
They survived everything so far so how hard can a little rock climbing be?

A Psalm of Dorothy

This came to me after reading these blog posts:

http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog/20438/my-purpose-joining-big-closet

http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog/20454/could-i-be-loved-be-considered-beautiful

 © 2010

Out of the Frying pan...

Storms: an angry night

GRANNY’S SONG

When I was a young girl, my granny held me on her knee
She used to tell me stories about our great country

Stories about the riggin’ men and the cowboys true
About the winters so cold, turn your fingers blue

She taught me right from wrong, to be good to everyone
And to never leave a chore alone, until it has been done

Sometimes I could ride a horse, or go in a pickup truck
I thought that nobody else had ever had such luck

She would sing of the river red, and how she would long
For the range, and her man, my granddaddy, who was so strong

Falling
I have now edited this story, to answer some of the issues commentators brought up

Dawn entered her apartment. It was sparse, little more than the size of a hotel suite. It had a tiny kitchen, a bedroom, and a small dining room. She went into the bedroom, sat down at the computer, wiped away a tear, and started to type.

Dawn’s Story:

“I should have seen that coming. I bet everyone has said that at least once. Well, sometimes, you are better off not knowing. Take me for example.

GARDEN OF LOVE/ SCORCHED EARTH

I pass by a garden of love
Once planted and tended by a pair of friends
Now reduced to a tinder
Bare and black with ash

Torn

The first of a trilogy by three different authors, chronicling the problems and a possible resolution when a wife pours out her anguish to her husband.

The story will be continued in:
"A Typical Day" By Chagrined and finished in "Resolution" By Patty Marie