Andrew McCarthy...

So when I was a teen I LOVED Andrew McCarthy,

 and I just knew I'd meet him some day. 

Well, guess who I getto meet tomorrow?!
I was also positive he'd be my husband. Considering the universe is satisfying my first prophecy, 

I'd say he dodged a bullet!! ♥

http://www.stargazerstheatre.com/a-conversation-with-andrew-mccarthy/

I have a post on Southern Writer's Magazine's Suit T  blog! Come on over and say hello!

http://southernwritersmagazine.blogspot.com/

Water Burial...

Writing Wednesday! I start...you finish. Aren't I nice?

He ran through the cemetery, pushing down the panic threatening to choke him. White gusts of air exploded from his mouth into the freezing night with each breath, ghostly apparitions in the resting place of the dead. 

Foot steps pounded behind him, orders shouted for his pursuants to flank him on both sides effectively trapping him, conveniently in a burial ground. Clean up would be easy.

Desperate, he scanned his surroundings for a place to hide. A shallow fountain to his right, large headstones to his left bordered by pines.
His attackers closed in on him. He could hear their voices, their grunts of effort from the chase. The moonless night his only cover from detection.

Without a second thought he slid into the freezing water. He'd have minutes before hypothermia threatened, less before his lungs gave out.
With a great inhale, he slipped beneath the surface just as an attacker broke through the trees.

Through the murky depths he made out the outline of two shadowy figures. They paused beside the fountain, frantic gestures, muffled curses.

Seconds ticked away, his lungs burned, his body shook, the water like icy blades slicing at his skin.

When he feared he could stand no more, his lungs on the verge of exploding, great pain radiating from his chest...

An Insistent Dream...

Writing Wednesday! I start, you finish. Aren't I nice?

She peered out into the street, anticipation buzzing in her head like one too many glasses of wine. Flipping the closed sign to read 'welcome', she unlocked the door and then propped it wide open with a cement sculpture of a stack of books.

The realization of this day overwhelmed her. No one believed she could do it, hell, she'd questioned herself--more than once.
But dreams had a way of poking and prodding until they became reality.
And the reality? She owned a brick and mortar book store full of fantasies, dreams, and discoveries.
Shelves of books accompanied by the old stone and distressed wooden beams from a century past beckoned to the curious, the searching.

"Oh God..." She closed her eyes for a beat, she might be sick.

She could do this. On a deep breath, she brushed her hands on the front of her jeans, pulled her shoulders back, and stepped behind the cafe counter. Coffee, pastries, cheese plates, and wine. She'd never have to leave with all four food groups right at her finger tips.

The chime of bells warned her of her first customer. Shoulders back and spine straight, she turned to greet....

Night Call...

Writing Wednesday! I start, you finish...aren't I nice?

She opened her eyes to the darkness, blinking once, twice fighting the weight of sleep. The rhythmic beat of the fan, soft to her ears. Stretching, she rolled onto her back, reveling in the comfort of warm sheets and a soft mattress. She reached across the span of the bed to find the comforting heat of her husband's form.


Her hand met empty space.

Confused, she sat up, and brushing her long hair from her face, checked the time. 3:30 a.m.
He'd had a late meeting. Surely he'd returned by now.

Scooting to the edge of the mattress, she lowered her feet to the cold unwelcoming floor and padded to the hallway. She paused and listened. Nothing but silence.

A quick search confirmed her husband had not returned.

Confusion and concern mixed a cocktail of dread in her stomach. She grabbed her cell phone and called his number.
One ring. Two.

A low voice rasped like sandpaper against her ear. "We were waiting for your call."

"Who is this?" Shock followed by a cloak of unease wrapped her chest in a vice.

A muffled commotion ensued, indiscernible slams and smashes, the sharp clattering of the phone as if it had fallen to the ground.

Panic gripped her in a fist of fear. "Hello? Hello!" she cried.

"No! No! No!" The shout of her husband clear across the line.

Bang! 
Bang! ...

Cacophony of Whispers...

Writing Wednesday! I start...you finish. Aren't I nice?


She pulled the laptop closer and ran her fingers along the keys. Slick and smooth, cool to the touch. 
Thoughts whirled in her mind, but trying to grasp on to just one proved more difficult than catching a butterfly in flight.

She had so much to say, conversations, stories, dreams carried on in her mind, a cacophony of whispers.


Pressure to create increased, pushing against the inside of her skull, tingling through to her fingertips, an urgency to share, to release the pent up words and set them free.

A fleeting thought burst forth and her fingers tapped a melody of words, an immediate release, the rhythmical click, click, click calming her angst, loosening the muscles that bound into a tight ball.

A sigh escaped through parted lips and promises poured forth...

Amaurotic Optimism...

Writing Wednesday. I start...you finish. Aren't I nice?

The cry of sea gulls broke through her daydreams of breakfasting on mimosas and crepes while languishing in the comfort of silks caressing her skin under the warmth of the morning sun. 
The moist salty air and rhythmic crash of the waves upon the shore lulled her with ease into a state of amaurotic optimism.

 

On a sigh, she pushed up from the sand to a seated position and crossed her legs. She brushed the tiny grains from her skin, marveling at their tenacity to stay in one place. Something she lacked.

Without any thought for time, she plucked at the loose threads hanging from her shorts in a lazy, unhurried manner. Women paid good money for the same distressed look, but she'd earned every tare, every unraveled string.

A shadow fell upon her quiet refuge and she glanced over her shoulder...