Thank you to Rochelle for bringing us Friday Fictioneers!
(I seem to be having this issue lately of remembering to add my link to the blue frog. Hopefully this too will pass. 🙂 )
July 10, 2018
Blurb: Life is meant to be savored, but that’s not easy with no family, limited prospects and a past you’d rather not talk about.
Callie Smith doesn’t know how to feel when she discovers she has a brother and a sister—Malcolm, who grew up with affection, wealth and privilege, and Keira, a Continue reading
with roles reversing
love to hate to love
to something else again
and maybe not all are like this. Continue reading
You could say that I’ve learned my lesson. Just post. Don’t pause.
Today I knitted hats.
Three while bingeing on Netflix. Continue reading
There are two sides to every story, every relationship. Ms. Maggie McConnell, romance author extraordinaire asked about Bill’s side of the story in reference to yesterday’s Cradle Broken Glass, which told JJ’s side. If you write about relationships, you know that it’s really easy to write one side, but what about the other? Well, dang, it’s a
little lot harder. 🙂 Here’s Bill’s.
Oh, and it continues yesterday’s theme of songs with “black” in the title.
The “oh” escaped my lips, high-pitched, definitely surprised.
Alecia smiled, nodding. “I know, right?” she said. “I’m as shocked as you are.”
I looked at Jason who wouldn’t meet my eyes. Alecia captured my hands in hers and jumped up and down just like we used to do when we were teenagers. I was supposed to do it too, jump up and down and screech because she was engaged to Jason, my Jason. My stomach did, however–bounce up and down as if on a nausea-inducing carnival ride.
“I’m happy, so happy for you,” I said, meaning it, for Alecia.
She frowned. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m feeling kind of yucky,” I said. “You know, hanging around preschoolers five days a week, constantly catching something.”
She hugged me, preschooler ailments be damned. “We’ll celebrate when you’re feeling better.”
Which felt like it might be when hell froze over, but I kept that to myself. I wouldn’t let her get hurt, even if my insides felt like they might explode. I glanced at Jason once more, met his eyes, and my imagined preschooler sickness grew in leaps and bounds and hopscotched around and suddenly my life felt like an REM song and I felt not so fine.
We each have our own truth.
I thought I knew you well enough so our truths overlapped often to become one truth.
And, yet, here I am, amidst the wreckage of your vendetta: ripped memories, broken souvenirs, walls stained with graffiti, realizing I did not understand that it wasn’t truth you were seeking nor justice in the way I understand it. Rather, you sought vengeance because I was born at all.