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SurvivorThe door was open to all those who needed solace or a place to stop and think. It was a sparce, plain room, with two windows, a couch, an old boombox, and a garbage can. The windows were open, and the room smelled like summer air. The boombox was playing the Beatles at full blast; as though talking directly to you, Paul McCartney sang, "There will be an answer. Let it be." In the garbage can was a green canvas bag, torn on the bottom. Like many of us, it was broken, but full of memories. On the couch was a woman. I stood in the doorway, studying her wordlessly. In her lap was a cat whose fur was soft, smooth, and warm. The woman was in her late forties, with a sweet, sad face and a mask of flawless makeup - red lipstick, foundation, turquoise eyeliner. Her skin was clear and olive-toned, her kind eyes were as blue as the sky, and her short hair was dyed firetruck red. Only in her late forties, she had a young-old face - creased with only the faintest of lines, but careworn by a rough l
Can't Let Your Cold Heart Be Free"Do you and Billy ever fight?" Angelina asked her coworker and friend Josefita as she sat down at the desk next to her. Josefita seemed to have the most rock-solid marriage in the history of ever. Angelina felt awkward for asking. But then again, Josefita - and everyone else at Middleton and Associates - had probably felt awkward when Angelina and her girlfriend Alice had come to work that morning screaming at each other.
Josefita took a drink of water and turned to look at Angelina. "Nope. I just always get my way." Her pretty face broke out into a crooked grin and she said, "I'm joking. He's not really the fighting type. But whenever we start disagreeing with each other and I start getting mad, he just says somethinh funny and I start laughing and then we just talk it over. And then we usually get it on."
Angelina rolled her eyes. It seemed like Josefita was always either jumping her husband's bones or thinking about it. Not that Angelina could blame her. Billu was cute, sweet, funny
25 Cromwell StreetIf these walls could talk
I don't want to know what they'd say
I don't want to hear the stories they'd tell
Stories of pain and horror
Stories that shouldn't have to be told
Of thirteen young girls
Of two victims not yet born
Of fifteen bright futures
Snuffed out like candle's flamel
Blood stains the walls
Some sorts of blood stains
Don't show up with Luminol
And never wash out
They huffed and puffed
And the hell house fell down
But the real destruction
Happened long ago
And can never be rebuilt
Rosebush ReviewJane Freeman is beautiful and popular. She's best friends with the coolest girls in school. Her boyfriend is gorgeous and completely in love with her. Jane's life is perfect.
Or is it?
When Jane wakes up in the ER, everybody is convinced she was the victim of a hit-and-run, but Jane is positive that someone tried to kill her. The only problem is, she can't remember anything about that night. Jane's not sure if she's losing her mind, or if everyone around her is.
As Jane attempts to piece together what happened to her, the perfect facade begins to crumble. Everyone around her has a secret. Everyone has a reason to hate her. Jane can't trust anyone - not even herself.
Michele Jaffe is well-known for her hilarious Bad Kitty series, but she is equally skilled in writing suspense and drama. Jaffe builds a seemingly perfect world for Jane to live in, then slowly and meticulously peels away the layers of that world with each revealed secret, each recovered fragment of a memory. With each char
If You Need A Friend I'm Sailing Right BehindThree knocks. Urgent, fast. James stood up and reached toward the door. Billy got there first, throwing the door wide open. His shoulders slumped in surprise. “Ygnazio?”
James looked over Billy’s shoulders; not hard to do, since James was six four and Billy was five eight. Ygnazio Reynolds, the skinny Hispanic teenager who worked with Billy, James, and their other roommate Frederick as a bellhop at the Sunshine Motel (aka the Bates Motel), stood in the doorway of the room shared by Billy, James, and Frederick at the Bates Motel, trembling. His lower lip was split. One blue-gray eye was swollen shut, the other darted around.
“Oh, Lord, Nacho,” James said as Billy escorted Ygnazio inside their room. “You okay?”
Ygnazio shook his head, his thick dark hair flying around. “Me and the old man had a helluva row.” He sounded like he was about to cry. His open eye was wide and terrified, like an animal in a trap. His head was bowed, his shou
I Will Lay Me DownBilly Maguire really, really didn’t want to bother his wife while she was away, fighting crime in Savannah, but he really, really needed to hear her voice. He needed her right that instant, before he exploded.
As he debated whether to pick up the phone and call or not, Billy struggled to breathe. His legs were shaking. His hands were sweating. It had been sixteen years. Why was this still happening to him? Why could he still hear his aunt Mary Lynn’s voice in his ear, still feel her cold hands in places where she didn’t belong? Why did the mere thought of her make his lungs close up, his heart pound, and his head spin?
Abrana. He needed Abrana. Now. Or else James, his best friend. They could both talk him down from the worst panic attack. But they were both in Savannah, chasing a killer. They had bigger fish to fry.
“Daddy?” a little raspy voice piped up from the doorway. Billy looked up. Charisse, his newly adopted eight-year-old daughter, shuffled into t
Of Snake Charmers and TreesThere are mathematicians
that calculate the gravitational
pull that tethers us to one another,
teasing sense out of the fabric
of Time and Space like
wizened snake charmers.
I thought them so horribly
unromantic, searching for
logic amidst wildflowers--
reasoning being reason enough
to put one foot in front
of the other each day.
True beauty lay printed
on petals and pages,
where I delved for pearls;
the patterns in the pathos
intriguing me into each
rising of the sun.
I do not remember when
it occurred to me that
without fractals there would
be no trees, nor without love
would people have any reason
to calculate the distances that
separate them from their muses.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More