Saturday Mornings

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Me Time.

What’s your ideal Saturday morning? Are you doing those things this morning? Why not?

I never seem to do my ideal Saturday mornings anymore. Which would be, hop out of bed, have a delicious cup of coffee in a sun room, (I don’t have a sun room, but I want one),  read the paper, then jump in the shower and get all the things done that need to get done. and do it with a smile. Did I do that today? No, I did not.

This morning started out with me sleeping in, or rather going back to sleep, which is never as good as it sounds, due to the fact that I seem to have my craziest “daymares” at that time. It is a time when dreams seem so real that sometimes I wake up and I am disappointed that they were just a dream. Other times, I wake up and I am relieved that they were only a dream. This morning, in particular, I was dreaming that my cat was talking to me. I know, silly, but everything was so peaceful that all I had to worry about was “how in the heck did that cat learn to talk?”

Then reality struck as soon as I opened my eyes again. The dreaded fear set in. The fear for my children’s well-being. The fear of what the day may bring. The fear of how much I had to fear. Unfounded fear. Just plain fear for no reason.

I have to make myself count my blessings that I have a warm bed and house to wake up in.

It’s just one of those days that although the sun is finally shining after a couple of weeks of bad weather, I am down. Depressed because now I have no excuse to sit around the house and mope. I have to get up, get dressed and meet the world, as in shopping for groceries.

Just one more day of wallowing in my unfounded fear? Please?

Then I will perk up and welcome the sun….hopefully.

That is at least what I hope my Saturdays will be like, someday. Like they were in my younger days when I greeted them with anticipation. When, the earlier, the better, because I loved getting out and driving or taking a walk before anyone else was up. When spending all day doing nothing was considered a waste of precious time.

I will get it back someday, just not today.

Sarah’s Secrets Part II

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After Clyde died in the apartment and Jake’s mystery disappearance, Sarah, Clyde’s ex-wife took over the building, bookstore and all. Clyde must have had a huge life insurance policy with Sarah still the beneficiary, because she sure has spent the money lately. She remodeled the bookstore and turned it into a barista, that the locals don’t really care for. She rented the upstairs apartment to some fancy law firm that she is awfully friendly with.. She was said to have also bought a string of motels just outside of town. Sarah didn’t spend much money on the motels themselves, but she had a huge tennis court built on the property. The tennis court, itself, cost more than the property. The contractors said that when they cleared the land for the tennis court, they saw a woman out there digging in the dirt. Sarah then paid the contractors extra to pour the concrete as quickly as possible. And we still don’t know where Jake went to.

This story is in response ro the weekly writing challenge hosted by Flash Fiction For Inspiring Writers. My story is in continuation of last week’s challenge. The story itself was 165 words excluding title and description. To read all stories, follow link

http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=499425

Writing 201: Drawer

They told me to hide them away

Don’t look at them everyday.

They told me it would be so much better

If I did not read every letter.

I wonder if they just might  be right

To keep some things out of sight. 

Pictures of loved ones that have gone away

Precious to my heart in every way.

Poems by my own dear mother

Lock them away, don’t even bother.

My very best friend of long ago

Don’t look at her face all aglow.

So many dear people I have lost

The ones I seem to love the most.

They told me it would be ok

To lock all these things away.

My focus should be about this day

Not in the past that went astray.

But I feel betrayal to my dear ones lost

To not hold their belongings close

Their memory I feel I should preserve

To honor the love they so deserve

Yet to know in the drawer, locked away

Are beautiful memories of better days

The memories in my heart, I hold the key

When I am ready, these loving trinkets, I can see

Writing 201 Fog

I apologize in advance. The writing prompt was FOG and that, to me, means brain fog. It was 3:30am when I wrote this and to say the fog was dense is an understatement. I found it quite comical once I became awaken and saw what I had written. I am good at laughing at myself. 🙂

We are taught to be independent

to take complete control

we pride ourselves in knowing

all we need to know

Then as we age so inevitably

we are considered wise

we fake our way through it all

in the test called life

Something just doesn’t quite click

as it did before

we read it over once again

and one time more

They call it mental clarity

it is not to be found

my mind is all so foggy

I can not see the ground

They say that it is temporary

it will go away

it’s scary to think it will not

and I will stay this way

Too many bumps on the head

or maybe menopause

maybe I need extensive therapy

to find the root cause

Until this fuzzy fog has lifted

from inside this dome

I cannot even try to think

how to write this poem

Sarah’s Secrets

This is in response to a challenge hosted by Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Using 163 words not including title and dediscription.wpid-photo-20150216113911810

What looked like an ordinary bookstore in Small Town American held secrets too horrible for local folks to imagine.

Clyde had occupied the upstairs since 1980. Rumors were that Clyde bought the building from some folks up north but had since sold off the bookstore downstairs. Jake, the current owner of the bookstore, had never met Clyde. Even when the transaction of the purchase was going through, everything was done through Clyde’s lawyer.

Occasionally, when Jake would open up in the mornings, he would hear scuffling noises. Like something being dragged across the floor. Then all would be quite for the rest of the day. Jake just assumed that Clyde was a loner and did his work at night.

The morning that Jake opened up and discovered blood running down the back wall, coming from upstairs, was the day that Jake left town. Neither Jake nor Clyde were ever heard from again.

Clyde’s ex-wife, Sarah, took over the building and never asked any questions.


To read all the stories from Flasf Fiction of Inspiring Writers. follow this link

http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=497160

Writing 201: TRUST

An innocent mistake
Brought on by greed
Came about in a way
Doomed by want not need

Even a simple lie
First not even heard
Gone but wouldn’t die
His heart was what hurt

It was only for a while
Just a few more days
Killing trust and time
Luck finally went away

Much more than a friend
Not saying just what
Over with no end
Proud, she was not

Quality of new trust
Rose without fail
Slowly at first
Then it did prevail

Unravelled no more
Very happy again
While opening new doors
Xeroxed life begins
Years ahead as before
Zealous to the end