Month: November 2011


The word that Emily had finally settled on was “fake”. For weeks she had struggled to define the feeling that had been overwhelming her. All summer the anticipation of starting college had consumed her thoughts, but after her first month of classes, anticipation had changed into a feeling she could not shake.

“It’s all fake…” She mumbled after a bite of scalloped potatoes.

“What was that honey?” Her mother asked from across the table.

“Oh. Nothing.”


In The Rain

The soulful sound of Nat King Cole singing Oh Holy Night greeted Morgan Thames as she walked into Starbucks. She mumbled under her breath, “It’s too early for Christmas music.” Thanksgiving was still a week away, but fake holly and miniature Christmas trees throughout the store were already bringing joy to the world.

Joy felt like a slap in Morgan’s face. If she were a drinker she would have found a rundown bar with seedy characters in the dark corners. But she was not drinker so dulling her sorrow with large amounts of caffeine had become her chosen alternative. Morgan rolled her eyes when her vanilla latte appeared at the bar with a smiley face in place of the “o” in her name.


Mismatched Socks

(Author’s Note: Mood greatly effects the work that creative people produce. As you will soon find out, this piece was created when I was in a peculiar mood, to say the least. It is a different kind of story than I usually write. Whether that is good or bad I will leave up to you.)

Friday had always been the most popular day. Monday, being the nerdiest day, had always tried to be like Friday, but never met with much success. Tuesday and Wednesday mostly ignored the rest of the days and could often be found huddled up together and laughing at some inside joke between the two of them. Wednesday was the quiet one and Thursday tried to get along well with every day. Sunday was the oldest and most mature, but tended to be long-winded when it came to spiritual matters.


The Gift

Melissa was running behind on her rounds, but could not force her legs to move. The boy who held her attention looked to be about 7 years old. She half hid herself behind the wall at the entrance of the waiting room to help conceal her bright pink scrubs as she watched him. Through her years at the children’s hospital she had seen hundreds of kids in this room, but none like this. Some were afraid and held on tightly to their parents. Others were easily distracted by the bright colored walls and toys and began playing as soon as they could escape the grip of their parent’s hand.

The small boy sat on the floor next to the Lego table quietly watching the people around him with deep blue eyes. His shaggy brown hair shifted slightly every time he turned look at something new. His eyes moved slowly around the room, taking in everything, until they came to rest on her. He met her gaze and she waited for him to look away shyly like children do, but he never did. She smiled and he quickly returned expression as if he had been waiting for an opportunity to do so.