They were just children when they met. Even then he was drawn to her. She used to run through this field, her blonde hair would bounce about her shoulders and he would chase the sound of her laughter until the suns parting rays bid them to go home.
Two
She was fourteen years old the first time he kissed her. She hadn’t even seen it coming. Truth be told, neither had he. The shock was enough to stop them from talking to each other for an entire week.
Three
When she did finally speak, he watched her lips move. The words she spoke that day were never heard. That fleeting child like first kiss occupied his mind so deeply. It still does. Continue reading “Story Time: Twenty”
Cathy ignored the interruption and continued reading her e-book. She savoured every second of time on the single tree-shaded bench in the barren schoolyard, a rare oasis in their industrial neighborhood. And, she had no need to visually identify the speaker. Everyone at school recognized big Kathy’s snarl.
“Yah, Ninja Nerd. Where’s our homework?”
Cathy shuddered at the ensemble growl of the Swarm, the cabal of tough girls that shadowed Kathy. She had no fear of Kathy one-on-one, despite her reputation for pummelling other students of either gender. Cathy’s black belt gave her the edge she needed—and the first part of her hated nickname. However, she couldn’t take on the Swarm too. She rose as the gang encircled her. Continue reading “Story Time: Homophones”
Indies Unlimited featured three short stories this week by three different and talented writers. Now is the time for you to choose your favorite. The winner of course, will get a bucket of prestige poured over her head and not much else really. All the same, why not make your voice heard? I guess in this case it would be your mouse.
As my car sputtered into the nearest garage spewing whitish gray smoke, I knew I was doomed for another week of nursing nightmares. I’d have to jam my latest manuscript back into the file labeled “edits” don my scrubs and stethoscope and fly to the nearest hospital resurrecting Nurse Noelle. Being a registered nurse desperate for cash reminded me that my life resembled that of a scullery maid. By definition a scullery maid’s duties included– “the most physical and demanding tasks.” Hoisting obese patients and giving enemas to clear came to mind. A scullery maid also was responsible for cleaning and scouring various areas—does armpits and anuses count?
The mechanic whirled me back into reality when he announced my car needed a new tube here, a radiator there, and some other outrageously priced part that I couldn’t afford. I tuned out and called the office for work.
By seven am the following morning, after taking a bus laden with perfume and various body odors, I found myself stranded on the scariest floor yet; the transplant unit at St. George. St George was known for their influx of organs coming and going like a fish market bustling with the latest fresh catch. The place was impacted with patients desperate for livers or kidneys or new bionic feet of some sort. As far as my eyes could see there were swollen scrotums, distended abdomens, and general zombie like folks scattered about. Continue reading “Story Time: The Chronicles of Nurse Noelle — Double Duty at St. George”
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