Category Archives: Fictional thoughts


It had taken many years for her to raise enough courage to come back here. She stood by the grave staring at the church and while she had imaged these moments, playing them in her mind like an old black and white movie, the flood of emotions she had expected were not forthcoming. She was cold both outside and in, and where there should have been relief for the forthcoming closure of this part of her life, there was only emptiness.

She remembered this place as a conundrum, a multifaceted hub of her younger days, with many aspects carving out parts of her soul and discarding them with no remorse. Love and hatred, happiness and fear, clearness and confusion; all had been foisted on her at some point in her youth here. Here in this now damnable place, which had been such a formable part of her life.

She thought of him now, allowing herself a full moment to bring it all back to life for her. How she loved him. How he was like a god to her. How she thought he could do no wrong. All those things that a child depends upon in a father, they were all wrapped up in a neat package within him and that gift was only for her. That was the fairy tale that she lived for and with her vivid imagination she could feel the hugs, hear the laughter and bask in the love. Unfortunately, as fairy tales more often than not tell, well they don’t pan out as expected; often coming to horrid endings. That had been the case for her.

The fire and brimstone that he preached each week left him filled with power rather than love. The anger that he spewed towards the congregation, scolding them for their sins, he never learned to leave it within the sermons. The disgust he projected in order to bring them to their knees knew no boundaries and as the congregation would hang their heads in shame, the evil would fill his heart and it would travel with him till an opportunity arose to release the darkness.

In a warped perception of her world, the church before her, that should have been her respite, was instead the cause of all of her pain. The abuse she suffered at his hands, she could not blame on him so she blamed it on God. She felt forsaken and left to fend for herself; there was no one to save her, no one who cared.

When he had died the love/ hatred she had amassed had been buried in the ground with him, and she was left an empty shell, unable to function without the anger to fuel her. Gathering the strength to come here had taken all her resources. It was finally time to finish it all and to get beyond, one must destroy the previous.

The wood of the old church was brittle and dry and the brush and grasses that surrounded it would only add fire to the flame. One final act, one final match, let the fire burn away all the memories, let the ash fill the emptiness in her soul. It was time for her living to begin.


Posted by on April 2, 2014 in Fictional thoughts, Flash Fiction


A Letter to Myself or Reincarnation is da bomb.


 Dear Me,

Having recently crossed over and upon my arrival at the depot heading to…wait, I can’t tell you where you will end up, but that is not the purpose of this letter anyway, so let me regroup.

Dear You (and me, that makes it us, right, I’m so confused?)

I have just discovered that we get a second chance to do it right. Well that is not actually true. It seems as if we get pretty close to infinity to improve ourselves, so I just wanted to take the time to say, “don’t give up and hang in there”.

While sitting in the debriefing room, waiting on the speaker/curator to come in, we (you and me) were watching a slide show of where we had been, what we had done, what we had accomplished and I discovered that we have been around a very long time.

Our first forage into our life looked daunting from this side, lots of dinosaurs, who seemed to be always hungry. The clothing was minimal and the cave was a tad cold and drafty, but food was plentiful and other than the fact that fire had not been discovered, I got used to raw meat pretty quickly. Guess that was the beginning of our affinity for oysters on the half shell and steak tartare.

Our lives then started flashing before me pretty quickly as somebody hit the accelerator button on the projector so the next millennium or so flashed before my eyes in a muddle, so can’t really give you much insight till about, I reckon the 1800s. We were somewhere in the West and there were buffalo everywhere. I mean one really had to watch where one was walking. Patties all over the place if you get my drift…and the smell…gosh… I think that was what put us into searching for an alternative food source and could be the reason for the raw vegetable and fruit diet that we went on thru in the 60’s. but I digress, ( or progress, kinda hard to tell direction from where are at the moment.)

The projector pretty much slowed down permanently then and brought me up to date to where I (we) am today, which is well, not really sure exactly, but I do hear music and the temperature is comfortable (not too hot if you get my drift). This leads me to believe that what I ( we ) think to be MAJOR blunders in our lifetimes, aren’t going to totally damn us on down the line ( no matter WHAT the nuns say). Well, there are some BIG TICKET items, murder etc, but we never went down those roads anyway, so nothing to fear.

Anyway, You (us) are just starting out and you have a pretty long ride ahead of you. So I just have a few pointers for you.

1. Dress in layers, one never knows where one will end up. ( Exmple, the ICE AGE was the pits as was the life in swamp near the tar pits.) Who knows if the global warming thing is really for real, so be prepared, just in cast.

2. Blood is thicker than water. While your siblings may pick on you when you are young, birth order does get reversed from lifetime to lifetime, so revenge can be yours. Just remember, it works both ways, and what goes round can come round and bite you in the butt.

3. Try some of those “other roads”. You will know the ones I mean when you get to them. They will be the ones that you anguish about, “should I , shouldn’t I”. In all your lifetimes you have never been a wuss, so don’t let us don’t let us down now. Take the chances, go for the golden rings, follow your heart and allow your soul to soar. If you take a wrong step, remember, second chances do happen.

4. Most important keep your humor about you. Lives are tough, lots of roller-coaster moments and the only thing that will help you keep your sanity will be the ability to laugh in the face of things when they go wrong. (I would tell you to laugh in the face of death, but it seems we did that several times already to some pretty rough conclusions, so just bear that in mind)


Well the speaker has arrived and is handing out assignments shortly. Hope you get this letter before you are too far into your “way of living you lifetime”. Have fun and we will see us soon enough I’m sure.


Me ( You)




A Sudden Departure


The door slammed with a resounding thud.  She was determined that her sudden departure would not go unnoticed by all being left behind.  “I’m gone for good”, she wailed, although the last word was cut off by the noise of the door, so all those remaining folks just heard “I’m gone for…” leaving some thinking she was quite possibly heading to the store. So much for theatrics.

Bryan, her husband of many years, was propped on the couch, in his usual position, slouched back, with a beer in one hand and a bowl of popcorn between his legs.  His first thought when she came storming thru the den was, “I hope she is headed out to pick up some  nacho chips and more beer”.  He hardly even noticed the rolling suitcase that clattered  behind her over the tile floor.  Of course Bryan, hardly noticed much of anything anymore, which was part of the whole problem.

The twins were in their bedroom, lounging in the bean bag chairs,  headphones on, pretty much oblivious to anything outside their narcissistic world.  They barely glanced up as she breezed by, thankful that she hadn’t stopped to yell at them to pick up their nasty clothes, strewn all over the floor or to start their homework, even though it was 8:30 pm and bedtime was 9.  Geez, she was such a MOM…which in their minds should equate to personal slave that should do EVERYTHING for them.  This too had added to the implosion in her head.

The dog had shredded the evening paper all over the kitchen floor and the cat,  passing by, had determined that the paper piles were an extension of his litter box and had promptly proceeded to squat in the middle pile.  He  then sauntered away a short distance, took a break, stretched out and was licking his behind, not noticing the sopping smelling mess he had created nor the flurry of activity as his sole food provider left the premises.   Just more ice on the tip of the berg?

The baby awoke screaming with the slamming door but between the blaring TV and the headphones went pretty much unnoticed, until the scent of his loaded diaper wafted down the hallway into the open bedrooms, with the piquant aroma finally layering like California smog  in the den.  “Honey, I think the baby needs changing”, yelled Bryan from the confines of the blanket he had tossed over his head in an attempt to quell the smell; he quickly forgetting that “Elvis had left the building” so to speak.  Whining screeches emitted from the bedroom as well…”MOMMMM…. it stinks in here, Do something”.  All pleas were to no avail as they were falling on ears gone out the door.

She had made it to the car, tossed her bag in the trunk and was sitting there fiddling with the GPS.  The problem she had was not knowing where in the hell she wanted to go.  She knew the answer fell somewhere between, hop a plane to Bali,  the hotel two miles down the road or as a more realistic outcome, to her own bed with a good book and a glass of wine.   Some peace and quiet was all she wanted, with a little appreciation tossed in from time to time.  She really didn’t think it was much to ask, then she remember those of whom she was asking.  Impossible..never happen, pipe dreaming.

The tears began to fall, slow but steady. Most times things bend. They sway back and forth with hardly a notation, then again, when you least expect it,  they will bow to the wind , breaking with a snap. They swirl up and away as the turbulence pushes them down the road, out of control but not really caring.

As she finally came to the realization that this really wasn’t a snap decision or a sudden departure, but one that had been a long time coming; she turned the key, pulled out the drive and she was gone.

Thinking Ten Thursday: a sudden departure

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Posted by on September 26, 2013 in Fictional thoughts, Flash Fiction, Southern Humor



The Fall

People watched me.  I could feel their eyes and the under the breath sarcasm.  “What a disaster.  What a mess.”  those were the nicer things I imagined.  Were those words about the broken bag with it’s contents rolling about the sidewalk, or were they directed at me personally?  One could never really know.

I rolled onto my butt and sat up slowly,  taking a long hard look at the blood starting to rise to the surface on my scuffed knees.  God, you would think I was back in elementary school, falling in the playground, feeling the tears start to well up but being too scared to attract attention of the kids who would knowingly laugh and point.  What an embarrassment.  Even back then I could feel their eyes.

My nose was running now and I started to pick the gravel bits out of the palm of my hands before I began a search thru my pocketbook for what was sure to be a non-existent tissue or even a more imaginary wet-nap.  I was never prepared for anything.

The grocery bag was split down the side and thru the bottom so everything had busted, of course.  There was pickle juice and orange juice co-existing in what was surely to become a nasty tasting brew to the line of ants that was starting to head in my direction.  Did they stay constantly alert for any sign of a food source within their reach or was it just dumb luck that they happened to be marching by?  Gods plan perhaps or they were just watching too.  It made we wonder.

I didn’t dare look up as I didn’t want to see the faces.  Embarrassment could never be hid especially when one could feel the redness creeping up one’s neck.  The rosiness in my cheeks had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with my personal and ever present knowledge of all the inane things that I did on a daily basis.

Slowly I began to pick up the shards of glass, a stray olive here, a soggy loaf of bread there.  Of course no one bothered to help.  There were no volunteers, no voicing of concern.  Just their eyes, ever watching, ever condescending.

I slowly eased into a shaky but tolerable standing mode, smoothing my skirt and making a feeble attempt to tuck in my shirt. Desperate to display some sort of normalcy in my appearance so that the eyes would stop.  It was then that I realized, I was in the city.  The land where no ones cares or if they do, admittance is frowned upon.  There had been no need for my mortification, none what so ever.  None of this mattered as there were no eyes. No one watched…me.

Thinking Ten: Tuesday, Take it away: People watched me…



Through the Grey

The colors of the holidays could not dispel the grey in her soul.  Two that she loved had passed during the previous months and their memories seemed to drape, over what should be a glorious time of year, a thin veil of melancholy on her life.   Her continual stream of activity: the baking, the shopping, the wrapping, none seemed to enable her to rise above the shroud of what could only be a re-occurrence of mourning; that which she thought she had, if not moved past, at least buried deep beneath the facade of her smiles.

Soon Christmas day would be upon her and the house would be filled with some of the ones that she loved, at least with the ones still left behind.  The spirits of those gone would take it upon themselves to return into the corners of her heart and  the memories of holidays past would once again begin to fill her with, if not total happiness, with at least some peace.

Those that were gone, would never totally leave her to bear the sadness alone especially during the holidays, for in their lives they had been there for her and in their deaths their love was enough  to carry and sustain her through the grey.


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Fade to Black





She finished  the painting and stood in the middle of the room gazing at her hard work.  It had not been an easy job, lots of attention to detail and she was such a stickler for detail. It had to be right this time around; the perfect room to reflect her innermost self.  Colors had always played an important part in her life and she was, at least in her own mind, one of the few people alive that could properly express their true inner feelings via Sherman Williams Latex,Satin or Gloss.

When they had bought the house so many years ago, the first thing she had done was begin the restoration, a transformation really.  Paint cans, drop cloths, brushes, containers of turpentine had been scattered about the house.  Being a slight bit A.D.D, finishing one room at time was just not within her scope of reality.  Her husband had realized that fact from early on, so he just tried to stay out of her way as she moved from room to room, wall to wall, painting the pastel colors of pink, teal, and cream to reflect her contentment with her life.  Things were calm back then, smooth was her life; smooth as the satin coating on the chair rail.

Years passed quickly, as they are often apt to do.  Her life became a whirlwind of activity.  Kids, social butterflying, working toward being a supermom like all of her friends, “frantic is the way”  became her mantra.  She stretched herself thin so to create a decorum of perfection. She had to show the world just how vibrant her life had become, again mostly in her own mind.  Out came the paint paraphernalia  and the interior of her house now assumed the colors of her life.  Bold reds, shocking blues, vibrant greens and small splashes of delusional orange, just enough to catch your eye and make you start to wonder, “Was her life really all it was cracked up to be?”  Perception is reality for some, but especially for her, reality was defined in the colors of her life.

Little by little as time marched on it  did to her as it does to everyone; create a vacuum. Kids grow up and away, friends slide to the peripheral  and her whorl-wind of the moment in primary colors began to fade.  The  tints began to separate as loved ones near and dear  began to fall by the wayside.  Life  now had become more than she could bear and once again it was time to repaint the house and change the final hue of her humanity.

She stood old and gray, alone with her sadness, paint brush in hand, it hung at her side.  The windows were shut so not a breeze kissed her face as she allowed her eyes to gaze at the walls.  Black was the paint, flat and cold, perhaps a true reflection of all that there was left in her life.  From the ceiling to the floor the color wrapped her in the starkness of being alone.  It had been a good life but for her she knew it was soon to be over, The proof was on the walls, the colors were all gone.

Thinking Ten: Plot Thickens, Thursday:

…black paint…

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Posted by on September 23, 2011 in Fictional thoughts, Flash Fiction



The Hunters

The old man stood under the pines, just at the edge of the field.  A fine hint of cool fog blew across his face as he awaited the sunrise.  He loved this time of day, where things were peaceful and the hours and minutes seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation of wondrous things to come.  The old man had stood at this spot many times over the past thirty-some odd years and the dog at his feet had been there waiting with him for a good number of those.  Looking down at the Lab, the man smiled,  “Today is the day old fella, he’s coming to join us in the hunt’.  The dog as if understanding the  words, thumped his tail in response.  It was all good.  Of course any day of hunting was always good, but today had been a long time coming.

There was a small herd out in the field.  One buck with a massive rack and three does and their fawns, all supposedly unaware of the man and dog watching from the sidelines. The breeze was at their backs so they were calmly enjoying their early morning graze.  The pair had watched this band of deer for quite some time and over the years had learned their habits; from the cool and secluded stream that they favored, to the hidden pathways they utilized, woven like a maze through the forest.  While the old man always carried his shotgun, cradled in his arms, for all those many years he had never taken a shot.  It was as if he was waiting for the right time, the right moment.  He didn’t know when that moment would be exactly, no one was ever privy to that information, but he figured that he would be given a heads up, so as to prepare himself and the dog and to insure they would  be in the perfect spot when the time came.   He was correct in that assumption.  Just recently it had seemed, a whisper had floated on the wind and a sense of anticipation had brought a clear realization to his mind.   It was time.

The dog heard the foot steps first, soft and with stealth as they were, but the dog was a pro.  He stood slowly and gazed down the trail that ran the perimeter of the forest.  Recognition brought a slow wag to his tail and the dog looked from the approaching figure, up to the man’s face standing by his side, and back to the man heading their way.  The deer in the field sensed rather than saw the man, but they did not flee in fear, as they were there for him, waiting just the same as the old man and dog.

The approaching hunter trod steadily towards them, his hat worn low over his forehead, and his shotgun also cradled in his arms, just as the old man had taught him.

Upon his arrival, the hunter stood in front of the old man and the dog. There was no fatigue upon his face even though he had endured a long journey to reach them.  The men stared at one another, mirrored images only adjusted by their ages.  The old man once older, the younger man now understanding the truth, that time is relative and never absolute.

“I’ve been awfully proud of you son, over the years.”, were the old man’s opening words.  “You lived a good life, raised a good family and stayed true to yourself.  You were a little hard headed at times, but as your Mother and I discussed just a few weeks ago, you came by that honestly”.  The old man broke into a smile…”Damn it’s good to see you again”.

Raising the brim of his hat, the son looked into  his fathers eyes.  “It’s good to see  you too Dad. I had missed you.”  Waiting for a moment to gather his thoughts he then added, “I had always hoped you would be waiting here for me, and I’m glad that was the case”.  He looked away quickly so as to not be overcome with emotion and  then knelt down to pat the dog, which he swore had been smiling up at him.

“I have always been with you and your brother and sisters, as well as just waiting here”, the old man said, touching his sons shoulder lightly.  “Now that you’ve arrived let’s get to it.  I’ll show you the way”.

The son rose and spoke to the Labrador, “Heel Coach”.    Turning slowly with their guns still cradled in their arms and the dog between them, the three headed towards the field…. heading towards the dawn.


Posted by on June 16, 2011 in Fictional thoughts