I sat by the river contemplating life.
In that short span of time, the seasons begun to change, and I said goodbye to my childhood days.
They disappeared down the river as nature blew a gift into my palm.
I smiled, melancholy.
And the autumn leaves melted in my hand.
Kymberli Roberson lives in Illinois where she is currently hunting down the goblins of writer’s block.
When my mom remembers, she refers to me by both my first and middle name, Carol Ann. When she forgets, she asks for her daughter.
Sometimes I forget what a great mom she had been. Sometimes I remember, and give her an extra long embrace before leaving the nursing home.
Debra Danz was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, and now resides in Switzerland with her two children. She is currently writing a book, which will be dedicated to her late husband and composed of short stories inspired by his photography. Debra participates in a club called The Writing Women of Zurich and contributes to their blog. One of Debra’s Short stories is forthcoming in The Bookends Review.
My birthday arrives with anticipation on a yearly basis. It keeps on coming even after 70 years. My birthday is less important than it once was. No parties. No cakes. Just well wishes.
Yet as I age, the number becomes important. Will I beat the usual life span?
Dave Thomas retired years ago and stumbled on this fascinating writing technique through Daniel Pink. Dave had never written before, nor had he ever been published. Just dreaming.
Mom’s Parkinsons was winning. Ringo, too, was near his end. Yet he stayed close, holding down her trembling foot, keeping her close, guarding her from demons.
Mom needed more help than we could offer, so I placed her. Mom settled in. Ringo, no longer needed, departed for his next assignment.
Kevin McManus wrote this story.
When I was young my father told me I spoke too quickly, but I was afraid he would be gone before I had finished all I had to say.
Now that I’m older, we sit on his front porch. I shout so he can hear:
“Tell me a story, Dad.”
Georgina is an avid writer, reader, and carer for two wonderful little boys. She currently resides in Canada.
Moira dropped the unopened letter from the Gas Board into the bin. She knelt, weary knees aching, to turn up the oven’s temperature dial as she peeked inside. “Filthy.” She wiped away crumbs and debris. House unkempt? Never.
Sorted now, she thought. Her sigh masked the hiss of escaping fumes.
Dawn, a stay at home mum, likes to write as a release for her busy life.