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Memory Keeper

Some tales cannot be told when someone goes away. There is nothing left to say. Without an ending the beginning becomes blurry and tentative. All that can be known is her sadness. She left when the world was dimming and the moonlight was flickering like and old bulb about to burst. Heads tilted right and starred at images they thought they knew. It’s not that no one cared, but energy and fear is a drain on the spirit.

Uriah closed her book and filled an old tapestry bag with the least of her clothes. From the bedside table she took a small surprisingly round black rock. The rock had been given to her by an old dear friend, now long gone into the deep gray winds. The little rock was the only thing she cared about or needed.  As she cradled the rock she felt its power. She held tight knowing it was the memory keeper.

Five Minutes To Midnight

Kelly was named after his great grandfather. It sounds like a girls name to him but he doesn’t mind. He loves women—most of them he’s ever met—even feeling a quieter sense of himself when around them. Kelly is fearful of the days coming, but he can’t quite put his finger on the source. He knows a darkness yet desires a peaceful life and someday, perhaps a family. Somewhere there is a desire to look beyond his hard fought achievements. Time is escaping. It is five minutes until midnight.

From the series: Now Playing
Buy from gallery:  Feminine Mystique Art Gallery

Jackson and the Rat

Jackson says he was “something” back then and likes to claim those were the better times in our world history. He walked tall in the streets of Chicago. Men walked wide around him and women hung on his shoulders like worn out suspenders. He never loved any of them but enjoyed their sagging comfort and usefulness (the women and the suspenders!).  He says he was happy back then, but now complains about things of little consequence. He wonders, did he just get old? Is it just that simple? Did he lose this audience? Or did he ever have one at all? He wonders if he dreamed it now. Yet, a saxophone still stands in the corner of the back bedroom.

From my series: Now Playing
Buy from Gallery:  Feminine Mystique Art Gallery, Tubac AZ


Jesika starts fires. Fires of the heart are her special brand of self-consolation. Fire is a distraction—a compromise of her soul and she doesn’t blame herself for the outcomes. How could she? It is simply circumstance – happenstance in her mind, a deserved outcome as she finds herself unable to face her fears. She had been told to be mindful, but doesn’t believe silly words bent on changing her methods of simply surviving. Beware. On the outside Jesika acts resilient to the world, but her inner monster hides and is full of surprises for all.

Another excerpt from my latest book. The story begins with a fairy-tale of familiar tone, but with a twist.