It couldn’t be that hard.
Weeks of careful planning were in place.
She lacked one final step: action.
A glance at her watch told her she was out of time. It was now or never.
She put pen to paper, paused, digging deep, before finally succumbing to a consistent flow.
Hillary enjoys sending words to Tim’s house for consideration when her mind wanders away from the autobiographical words that most often claim all the blank pages at her house.
Margaret understood what was expected of her. She had been raised properly and was skilled in etiquette, poise, and all things ladylike and mature.
However, there was a certain satisfaction in watching the knife plunge repeatedly into the body of yet another lifeless, unappealing, and unsympathetic excuse for a turkey.
Hillary hopes you enjoy your holidays despite whatever sinister fantasy may surface.
They say I know you,
But truly, I don’t.
We have a deep connection?
A long history together?
I can’t believe it. I won’t.
You are hideous. A monster!
There is nothing before me that I wish to embrace.
Be gone, deceitful reflection, and take your disgusting lies with you!
October seems to bring about that icy trickle of fear that maybe we are who we think we are, after all.
On the worst day possible, sorrow came.
In great gulps of anguish, it descended upon her. One wave crashed into another with nary a pause. Her sobs were heard throughout the house—and rightfully so.
How deep the wound, how massive the pain, to be catastrophically, inexplicably out of chocolate!
It is well known across the land that Hillary does not like to be without her chocolate. She has been published in 50-Word Stories before, and most recently won a contest with Six-Word that earned her a place in the book “Crush” by Cathy Alter and Dave Singleton (released in April 2016). #1stcelebcrush
I catered to every whim, met your endless needs, comforted pathetic tears of self-pity, supported every mediocre accomplishment, treated you like royalty.
Others were despicable; I was loyal.
I begged you every day to return that love. Instead, you put me outside, discarded me like I was merely a human.
Hillary doggedly tries to never allow her companions to become disgruntled even when they must be put outside for a bit each day like the other children.
Karen spent every waking moment planning the perfect life. Her mind soaked up luxury, sun and freedom. She could almost taste her homemade spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove in her quiet apartment.
The putrid odor of another inmate slapped Karen back to reality.
Only nine thousand days to go.
Hillary blames the delicious aroma coming from her own kitchen and an article in the local newspaper for this story.
“Dark and gloomy has no place here,” remarked the dusty-looking editor as she returned Tony’s manuscript, entitled No Living Allowed.
“I understand,” he replied calmly. While the thunder clapped overhead, Tony raised a hand in his signature departing wave.
After turning to leave, He listened carefully for the satisfactory “thud”.
Hillary knows more about rejection than she ever thought possible but hasn’t let that stop her from turning out the macabre when the urge strikes her.
Lisa kept sweet Kyle confined to her heart, refusing to allow a breath without her approval.
Kyle believed himself lucky. She was, after all, smart, beautiful, wealthy; so he did “good time.”
The seventh time Lisa bloodied him in a fit of unprovoked rage, Kyle decided his sentence was up.
Hillary Nichols is proving more and more every day that it’s never too late, for anything.
His illness couldn’t be seen, but he still needed a quiet place to heal.
I bought the lot of land farthest from potential neighbors and slowly coaxed his help with building a modest home, a small family, a place in our rural community.
He’s still quiet, but he smiles more.
Hillary can be found skating on ivory paper with her grandmother’s favorite pen every day of the week.
The young one traces the puckered lines on her papa’s face.
“Do they hurt?”
“What are they, Poppy?”
“Maps to all the places I’ve been.”
” Can I go?”
“To some, yes. To others, I hope not.”
She kisses the “map” and declares, “I’m gonna start making my map!”
Hillary Nichols only puts down her pen when her duties as a mother to seven, grandmother to three and wife of one compels her to.