Darla noticed him watching her while she was at the gas pump. Beneath the flaring blue lights of the overhang, she caught his reflection in the back window of her car as he walked behind her. Black eyes. Hat low across his forehead. He darted a look at her as he passed between the pumps. … Continue reading Nighttime Terrors
We walk up through the neighborhood houses on the last warm October night. The breeze tugs at the fallen leaves lying in the gutters, and they skitter along behind us. They sound like the pitter-patter of a thousand invisible feet stalking us from the shadows. I swing my boyfriend's hand back and forth. We peer … Continue reading The Last Warm Night
Hello Prose Lovers! 🥰 As I write, it is a rainy and gray, though unseasonably warm, morning here at my house. I've already been for my run and have watched the dark clouds roll in over the hilltops, soft rumbles of thunder giving ominous hints as to their intent. It is the kind of morning … Continue reading Author’s Note: Spooky Season
Are we just the sum of everything we’ve ever said? Does this include the angry things? The drunken confessions. Distracted outbursts. And misery fueled rants, colored by depression, pain, or anxiety. If everything we’ve ever said is sitting in the docket, which of us would receive acquittal from our judges? If the real you or … Continue reading New Religion
I started this story two years ago, just before the pandemic hit. It wasn't something I was in love with so I let it sit unfinished for a while. I've added an ending and got around a rough draft to share with all of you Prose Lovers. Enjoy! It is cold here. In the winter, … Continue reading Solitary Water
The words feel slippery today, as if they're a pat of butter sliding across a sizzling skillet. Take a fork and stab them, but they'll slide on past. The words seem to dissolve, leaving nothing more than an iridescent residue on my page--nothing I can build with. Nothing than even resembles a good idea. I … Continue reading Writing is Hard Work
The October colors have come to full display. Russet, ochre, lime, and amber. Misty morning fog hangs above the hills and sprinkles the windshield opaque, like a stained glass window, painted by nature, colored by time. Speeding through the fog and rain. Empty road. Full horizon, hilltops multipling to the edge of sight. A half … Continue reading October Memory
I reach down to open the saddlebag on my boyfriend's Harley, and realize, once the top springs free, that the back half of the bag is no longer attached to the bike. "Oh. Uh-oh," I say, wiggling the hard bag up and down. "The back bolt is gone on this saddlebag." "Seriously?!" My boyfriend pops … Continue reading Saddlebags and Zip Ties
Up before the sun. Outside my windows, streetlights shower diffused light down through fog and mist that stalk white beneath the trees. The street is an alternating pattern of shadow and light. I stand inside my neon-lit bathroom, half-awake now as I braid my hair, pop contacts into my eyes, and yawn. Stumbling through my … Continue reading Runner’s High
The town is a throwback sort of town--the kind that experienced renaissance for about twenty years after World War II and then slowly began sporting vacant and fading storefronts like gaps in an aging man’s teeth. Its claim to fame is suffrage and some fictional movie that the current generation finds a symptom more than … Continue reading A Throwback Sort of Town
