The cage was cramped and reeked of waste and wet animal. The attendants tried to keep it clean, but the filth piled up quickly with four animals to each cage.
Zagra, curled in the corner against the metal gate, trembled as she tried to nap on the cold, uncomfortable grate floor. The only warm pet bed was occupied by Chimera, the dominant female. They were all afraid of Chimera and chose to allow her the queen’s bed when she napped. It was wiser not to instigate a fight. If they were caught, the attendants might deem them hostile; a death sentence for most in this homeless animal shelter.
Chimera yawned and stretched her gangly legs. They protruded over the edge of her bed, stealing even more valuable floor space from the others. Still, none of them protested. They merely adjusted their positions to accommodate her. When Zagra unintentionally bumped Chimera’s leg, the ferocious female nipped at her, almost drew blood. Continue reading
Thanks to Eccentric Chai for picking my slightly weird tale for their Flash Fiction Contest. I love being a winner! In case you’re wondering, the story is based on the black and white photo. Happy reading!
…Continued from Part 1
“Boys, you’re in trouble. Unless you got a magic get out of jail free card, you’ll be going to jail. Directly to jail,” Officer Mallory said. “Now, you’re both under arrest.”
At the jailhouse, they sweated and squirmed in the crowded cell. One of the inmates, Jake the Jailbird they called him, seemed right at home sprawled out on the hard, wooden bench like he owned the place. Car avoided him. Dog stayed close to Car.
They were left with their self-pity and anger for several hours, until Car had finally had enough.
He walked over to the cell door, smashed his face between the bars and yelled, Continue reading
This short story is dedicated to Stacy and Josh… My brothers, tormentors, and partners in crime through countless hours of Monopoly mayhem. How time flies when it’s not on our side.
Playing a Game of Chance (Part 1)
“I got a plan, Dog. A sweet plan,” said Car.
“Is that right?” replied Dog, sometimes a little skeptical of Car’s get-rich-quick schemes, but always loyal. “What now?”
“Man, you sound like you don’t trust me. I’m smart,” Car reassured him. “Just ask Iron. He knows.”
“Don’t bring me into this. I want no part of your harebrained scam,” interjected Iron.
Car, Dog and Iron, the three Jersey boys, raised on the unforgiving, capitalist streets of Atlantic City, called themselves the Baltic Avenue Boys. They grew up poor in modest houses with hardworking parents who could never satisfy their desire to live the high life. Car, the leader, thought he could fix their predicament the easy way. Dog, the obedient one, trusted everyone. Iron, the smooth talker, was the levelheaded one. Continue reading
Yes, it’s true. I’m giving you permission to drink beer in the morning and with dessert. That old adage, “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” is out. Try instead, “It’s 5 o’clock a.m. somewhere.”
Around our house, we’ve developed a predilection for cooking with beer; well, at least I have. It all started with a visit to the Yuengling Brewery in Tampa, Fla., where we bought a little cookbook filled with beer recipes. I made a scrumptious beer pancake syrup to accompany the fluffy apple and light lager pancakes. And that was it! I was hooked on cooking more beer confections. (Don’t worry, I’ll give you Yuengling’s yummy recipe later.)
Of course, the popular Guinness Stout Chocolate Cake is always good, but the other day I made a tangy Lemon Summer Ale Bundt Cake for my husband’s birthday. I think it was the best lemon cake I’ve ever made, and I used a box mix, ’cause I’m not always a “from scratch” kind of cook. So Easy! I’ll share the wealth: Continue reading
Fungi, mushrooms, toadstools, no matter what you call them, I seem to have developed a growing fascination with photographing them. I decided to learn a little more about them. I’ve discovered that they are quite peculiar.
Mushrooms are not plants. They’re in a class of their own called fungi. They break-down and “eat” dead plant matter, storing nutrients in their body until they have enough to produce that lovely fruit that pops up from the loam. Everyone knows some of them are delicious when fried, some are tasty on pizza and some are best left alone. But I’m not a mushroom expert, so I only eat the ones that pop-up on the grocery shelves. Continue reading
Remember the Mistakes
A short story
It started with a short, handwritten note that appeared on the dining room table; a shaky scrawl that she didn’t recognize. The first note, found early on a Saturday morning, merely said, “It’s me.”
She ignored it.
The next note appeared in the same place on Sunday morning. Same wobbly writing that said, “Me again. This is a test. Reply if you get this.” He found the note and showed it to her. They wondered and then threw it in the trash.
The next morning the third note appeared, “Why are you ignoring me?” She found it. They read it. Talked about it. Worried over it. Who wrote it? What did it mean? How did it get in their house?
When the forth note came, an angry undertone, it demanded, “Reply or you’ll be sorry!” He began to worry she was the writer; lately, she seemed to be acting strange. She began to believe he was trying to trick her, after all, the writing looked a little like his. They argued. They accused. They said things they didn’t mean. They slept in separate rooms that night. Continue reading
Your Cherished Heart
A Short, Short Story by Lisa Yow-Williams
He said you were the one. He chose you over a million others. He was partial to your smooth, dark skin. No blemishes. No wisdom lines. Unspoiled. A sign of strength and youth. You were his one love, but what he really cherished was your heart.
As he perched the scalpel over your flawlessness, he tenderly said, “I chose you for what’s on the inside.”