Written circa 2006.
One morning, Marie Kaline woke up to her mother shaking her. “Marie! Wake up! Mitchell disappeared last night!” Mitchell was their next door neighbor. It was only eight o’clock in the morning and already the day was disastrous. Marie gasped. “What happened?” she asked. “Do you know?” “No,” her mother replied, “but he was kidnapped…His mother just phoned. She wants us to go to their house. Now hurry and get dressed.” In a few minutes, Marie and Mrs. Kaline were on their way. Mitchell’s mother met them at the door. Her black hair, normally neat, was uncombed. Her cheerful face was now white with worry. Continue reading
The second edition of Al(m)as is here! A heart-wrenching tale of sibling love in a broken family, Al(m)as explores the power of the imagination to overcome all obstacles.
I promise it’s a short story — less than half an hour to read, and in convenient PDF form to read on or offline on all devices. Read it by clicking the image on my blog’s right sidebar, or
READ IT RIGHT HERE: Al(m)as, 2nd edition
This project is very close to my heart and I’m looking for any and all kinds of critiques, as I mentioned when I first published it. If you read it, I’ll love you forever. If you read it AND give feedback, well, we might just have to get married or something.
READ MY STORY: Al(m)as
DA DA-DA-DA DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! [insert loud, obnoxious fanfare here]
Al(m)as has arrived!
Here is a promotional blurb from my Number 1 Fan:
I was glued to the story from the start.
A simple “fairy tale” story that the brother told over and over for various reasons — i.e., comfort, helping to fall asleep, hiding from the reality of their father’s addiction — turned into a powerful reality for the little girl who will not be held down.
The end gives a sense that she will thrive in life and be a inspiration to all who meet her in her future life. In spite of a tragic occurrence, the ending of this uplifting tale creates not despair, but optimism.
That, my friends, is a good story.
New to this story? Read Part 1.
Patrick raced down the sidewalk, sweat trickling down his back. As he came within sight of his house he skidded to a halt. There, across the street, sat Nellie, playing in the flowers in their front yard.
Patrick rubbed the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of bike grease above his right eyebrow. This was ridiculous. They had been at it for hours — the “quick” bike repair was proving to be anything but. He was opening his mouth to tell Mark he could not stay much longer when his cell phone rang. It was his father. Patrick grimaced and flipped his phone open.
The next day the sun was shining bright, with no trace of yesterday’s dismal rain clouds. Last night, Patrick and Nellie had waited in the park for a couple hours, then snuck back into the house. Their father was sprawled on the couch, snoring loudly. Patrick hoped he wouldn’t remember any of the night’s events when he woke.
Nellie sobbed into his shoulder. Patrick hugged her tightly, his pulse still racing as he sat on the dark play structure with his sister in his lap. “It’s okay, Nells. It’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay.” He repeated the words for seconds, minutes, hours — he didn’t know how long — until they both caught their breath.
“T-t-tell me a story?” Nellie pleaded, teeth chattering. Her brother took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Patrick was lying in bed staring up at his ceiling when he realized the rain had stopped. The sun had already set, cloaking the house in dusky twilight. He stood up and cautiously emerged from his room. He had to eat sometime, and he’d better make sure Nellie had eaten, too. He crept downstairs, praying to the god he hadn’t believed in since his mother died that his father would be somewhere, anywhere else.
When Patrick woke, he was alone. His room was dim, but the clock read 11 am. Saturday. He dragged himself out of bed with a groan and walked over to the window. His frown deepened as he looked outside. Rainy and dark. He hated the rain almost as much as he hated the weekend.
New to this story? Read Part 1.
Patrick’s eyes snapped open to a deafening CRACK. Startled, he rolled over in bed and propped himself up on an elbow, scanning the shadows of his small room. The various shades of black were interrupted only by the dark grey outline of his window. The sound came again, crackling and snapping — thunder. As he eased back onto his pillows, his door creaked open and a petite form appeared in the doorway.