Brothers in Arms #amwriting

This post is a two-parter because first today is a solemn day not just set aside for barbecues and picnics. So I wanted to do a little tribute on this Memorial Day to all of those who have given their lives in service.

And below, a new installment of my Lucy Kilgore story, which has a theme somewhat pertinent today. Many thanks. Sascha Darlington


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Here Without You #amwriting

This is the second part of a short story/novella that you will find under categories as Lucy Kilgore. The first part is here. If I’m successful, for the most part each should hopefully be read as a standalone flash fiction. If I’m unsuccessful, it could be confusing. 🙂


I’m beat and the last thing I want to think about is going to a bar with Billy and his entourage. Ever since I got back from Afghanistan he’s been trying to get me to socialize more, date some of the cute nurses from General. Tonight he and his friends are going to Houlihans to hear some woman sing and play her guitar.

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Never Give Up #amwriting

You don’t know me, but you probably know women like me. Years ago we would have been called wallflowers and then a few years later painfully shy. These days we may fly under the flag of introvert, but ever since I saw these bubbly blondes on a morning news show call themselves “introverts” I’ve had to reconsider the appellation because those women and me are not the same at all. I could never get in front of a camera with a live audience  while also knowing that morning viewers were tuning in to watch me. The only way you might get me to do something like that is if I wasn’t me at all, which is exactly why several nights a week, I am not me.

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The Gray Area

This is a bit longer than the stories I usually post. However, if you have the time, please tell me your thoughts. I would very much appreciate it. Many, many thanks, Sascha. (ps. I am happy to read your longer piece as well, just let me know…except if it’s novel length (sorry).

The Gray Area

I’ve been over twenty hours on this highway, watching the pavement slide under the tires, passing through rain that glosses the road over like ice and nighttime in which reality becomes the repetition of a white dotted line against black. My headlights show the tawny sleekness of deer at the edge of the highway, the fat waddle of groundhogs, and, for hours, a plentitude of nothing except images like a succession of stills from a movie many years old.

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Lost And Thinking Of All I’ve Lost

Try as I might, I can’t focus on the doctor’s instructions and since it’s my Great Aunt Shirl who’s come to pick me up, I know she isn’t concentrating either. So I’m very happy for the stapled sheets of papers that they put into the plastic bag imprinted with patient’s belongings.

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I Didn’t Get To Sleep At All

So if you’re looking for me, here I am in the Carderiff County Hospital, where I was born, visited once when my mother died, and am now under observation for a concussion and smoke inhalation. Who knew that they observed you for smoke inhalation?

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