The Sinister Savior.

Rain pelting my skin, I limp towards the road. My body weak, head pounding from the blow to the steering wheel, I shield my eyes from the truck lights approaching. “You ok?” he asked. “No. I’m hurt.” “I’ll help you. Get in.” **photo by One Foot Over the Moon via Flickr

The Departed Subject.

I wish I knew. She died when I was fifteen. Time with her was sporadic before that. It pains me that I’ll never hear her reaction to it. The book wasn’t easy to write, but my mother’s story deserved to be told.

The River Ran Through Her.

Hannah had been driving through the Adirondack mountains for hours, racing the river to clear her head. She left her family behind on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, with an urgency even she didn’t understand. She kept one eye on the road and one on the river, convinced she was looking for something, just not sure what. Hannah slams on the breaks and pulls…

No Escape.

He’s drunk again. I see the black and blue outcome. There is no where to hide. He pays the bills. He puts food in the children’s mouths. If I run, his heavy hand will find us. The beatings are necessary – for them. *************

Uneven Frequencies.

“Hi Kenneth. How are you today?” Kenneth gently rocks on the plush loveseat.  His clothes are heavy with the scent of stale cigarettes and look as though they haven’t left his body in a week -an unmistakable symptom of his maddening disease. His hoodie over his head, he looks at the floor and speaks rapidly. “Doc, I can’t shut…

Her Story, Unearthed. Part 2

Kendra drove by the little yellow house twice, before parking on the other side of the street. She tried to look through the front bay windows, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the woman she was about to confront. As she was getting out of her car, a tall, thin woman walked out the…

Her Story, Unearthed. Part 1

Kendra’s eyes were barely open, as she reached for the pen and paper, always on her nightstand. She wrote it down this time, every detail she could recall. There’s a man in my house. I can see him but he can’t see me. I feel scared of him. He’s loud and aggressive, yelling at a…

Southern-Fried Yankee

*** Sharing one of my favorite fictional pieces on this beautiful weekend. Hope you enjoy! “Claire, come help your Momma in the kitchen.” Maggie called to her 14 year old daughter. “I’m busy Momma!” Claire said, as she studied the outfits laid out on her bed. Claire was on her way to being as synonymous…

Rock Bottom

Jessica wakes and rises off the cold bathroom floor. Why am I naked? She stumbles to her bedroom, wondering what it will take before she finally quits drinking. “There you are! Good morning, beautiful.” Oh my God, who the hell are you?  

Writing Out Loud.

She writes out loud. The words, her armor. She defeats shame with every key she strikes. She dives in to the remnants of the abuse, choosing to dissect the experience and name the invisible scars. Healing herself and others, along the way.