A belated Halloween story


Screen shot 2012-10-12 at 1.37.47 PM

.

Cloe had a skip in her step; she couldn’t wait to see her second grade teacher again. It was the first day back at school after the holidays and the warm sun lit up a perfect spring day. Cloe’s little three-year-old sister Wendy happily held hands with her father as they walked to school.

“I had a dream last night Daddy.” Wendy said, her blonde hair and pink skirt glistening in the sunlight.

Very attentively her father bent down, without slowing his pace.

“A dream? Was it about pink bunny rabbits?” He asked.

Wendy’s dreams always seemed to be about pink bunny rabbits.

“No.” Wendy said happily. “No pink bunny rabbits.”

At that moment one of Cloe’s classmates and her mother appeared out of a side street. The mother’s smile as stiff as the rest of her botoxed face.

“Hello.” Cloe said giving the other girl a hug. “Was Hawaii fun?”

“Awesome. We all got to surf at Waikiki.” Cloe’s friend said.

“I’ve always wanted to go there.” Cloe said throwing her dad a nasty glance.

“I dreamed about small, little people.” Wendy said.

“Did you go away?” The other girl’s mother asked Cloe’s father.

“No, just hung out at the local beach. Hawaii sounds like fun.” He said trying to move the subject of the conversation away from his unspectacular holiday.

“The little people came into my bedroom and played with me.” Wendy continued.

“Oh, Hawaii was so fun. I’m not sure who had more fun the kids or us. Expensive though.” The other girl’s mother said.

“Tell him about the Hula skirts Mum.” Said the other girl.

“The little people told me a secret.” Wendy said.

“We bought all the girl’s in the class a grass Hula skirt.” The mother said.

“They told me that you were going to smash up the car and that I was going to be dead.” Wendy added.

“Hula skirts for everyone? I hope you brought one back for me.” He joked

“No.” The mother said a little uncomfortably.

Cloe and her friend ran on ahead laughing and playing. While Wendy, her dad and the other girl’s mother walked silently the rest of the way to school.

 leaf

Wendy was wearing a new yellow swimsuit as her father walked her towards the car.

“No, I don’t want to go in the car.” Wendy stopped.

“C’mon beautiful. We’ve got swimming lessons today.” Her dad said gently pulling on her arm

Wendy stomped her right foot on the ground. “I’m not going. I’m not going in the car. I don’t want to.”

“C’mon, you love swimming, let’s go.” Wendy’s dad said picking her up and carrying her towards the car.

Wendy started to cry and she frantically wriggled to escape his hold

“We can have popcorn after the swim.” Her dad said.

Tears streamed from her face as Wendy wailed and screamed. She tried desperately to hold onto the doorframe as her father put her firmly into her child safety seat and fastened the seat belt.

“Let me go, I don’t wanna go in the car.” She screamed.

“Wendy, you’re just being silly now. Stop that crying, stop it now or we won’t have popcorn. It’ll all be over soon enough. Stop the silly behaviour.”

Wendy’s father started the car and drove off with Wendy still screaming and thrashing in the back seat.

“Stop the car, stop the car, I want to get out.” She wailed as she struggled to free herself from her seat belt

“Don’t be ridiculous. Stop it, stop it now.” He yelled looking back at her.

Desperately Wendy pulled and struggled.

“Stop it. Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself.” He said glancing back at the road.

“But, the little people said I was going to be deaded.” She choked out breathlessly.

“What?” Her father asked spinning around in his seat.

Wendy’s father did not see the car recklessly speeding out from a give way sign.

leaf

The last thing Wendy’s father saw as he was wheeled into the back of an ambulance was a little person standing beside the unrecognizable remains of his car.

“Wendy, Wendy my beautiful Wendy.” The last words he uttered before he lost consciousness.

Advertisements

The books that travelled the globe


540150_600777993294035_1485655033_n.

We’ve all heard of the ‘well traveled author’, but this is a story about a secret global quest undertaken by a couple of books.

It all started about six months ago, two copies of the book PARANORMAL ANTHOLOGY WITH A TWIST began a journey that would take them around the World, where the books would be signed by each of the eleven authors.

Visiting three continents, the books began their journey in Washington D.C. Then they traveled to Sydney, Australia and then on to Germany. From Germany they were sent back to mainland America were they visited Colorado, Idaho, Florida Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Hollywood California.

During their travels the books disappeared in the postal system of a German military base for a short time, and were even lost in the back of one of the author’s father’s van for a month or so.

A little travel worn on the spine, last week the books finally found a sweet home in Alabama with Cynthia Shepp, the books editor.

There’s a book in that!

1374930_600778159960685_941155054_n 1381037_10201637779001758_78203000_n  1371529_10201637800162287_382477226_n 1371399_10201637778961757_1545190141_n

My first review, of someone elses book.


 I have been slowly savoring this book like a cup of hot chocolate on a winters night, thoroughly enjoying every sip. I’m not sure if it is due to how beautifully written it is, but I found it a very personal experience.

Peter Barry’s second book “We All Fall Down” is an exploration of a married couple and their small child, as they are buffeted by life and the problems it brings with it. Even though they stand strong against these problems they can’t help but be affected by them, and as a reader, I couldn’t help but be affected by them either. Their problems seem to reflect my problems. While I read this book I couldn’t help but examine my life as much as the lives of the characters and question the way I would react under similar circumstances.

From the boy who sits on an old brick wall eagerly awaiting his father, to the man he grows to become longing to see his son one more time.

I felt their joy, their grief and at times I wanted to cry.

I wish that I could write this superbly.

One month of blogging, impressions from a talentless Hemingway.


Last night I was seated at Raffles somewhere in the 1920’s.
A talentless Hemingway, lips glued to a warm glass of red, eyes glued to a passing parade of human flotsam and jetsam.
Small, dark bohemian café, where there is always someone willing to share opinions.
Never knowing who I might run into next, a poet wearing their heart on their sleeve, an artist splashing words like paint on a canvas or a writer who’s anger is barely concealed beneath their sticky-sweet syrupy words.
I can only picture many of these people in my mind, just barely making them out through the smoky haze, some sad, some tired and many lonely souls, all with a story to tell.
Others might only see the sadness and loneliness, but I see beauty.
Blog; such an ugly name for such beauty.
While the old Raffles rots beneath its freshly painted veneer, like a sad amusement park, this outlet for creativity, this bespoke community will find its own place in history.