Winston stepped into Central Park from the Upper West Side as if he owned it. He had walked the same paths hundreds of times with no luck, but today he somehow knew she was here, waiting for his arrival.
It was a warm sunny afternoon, and the park was alive with activity. Annoyed that he had to navigate around a swarm of tourists paying tribute to John Lennon and taking pictures of the “Imagine” mosaic in the center of Strawberry Fields. Winston thought, I ‘imagine all the people’ hanging out somewhere else.
“Stop pulling, Winston,” he heard his servant utter…
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Gujarat, India — June 18, 1983, 07:41:30 EDT
Neeti screamed out, “Mummy,” as she tugged on one end of the TV remote.
Her mum yelled, “What? What is it?” as she ran in a panic from the kitchen into the tiny living room. She wiped her hands on her apron and carried in aromas of the chicken curry she left simmering on the stove — a dish made from an ancient recipe handed down by generations of women in the family. Her mum’s cooking talent had cast a spell on young Neeti. …
A member of my writer’s group, Valentine Wiggin, issued a fiction playlist challenge. We each had to select a story from one of the group’s members, create a playlist consisting of at least five songs, and explain why each song was selected.
I chose neil chapman’s haunting short story, “About A Boy.” After reading it, I told Neil it would make a compelling episode of “Black Mirror.” If you haven’t yet read the story, you should read it before continuing. Spoilers ahead.
In “About A Boy,” the unnamed protagonist met the love of his life, an eighteen-year-old boy, when he…
Veronica directed her cameraman. “When we go live, focus on me first. After my intro, pull back to pan the crowd and then focus back on Stephanie and me.”
He gave her a thumbs up and said, “We’re live in thirty-seconds.”
Veronica looked over at Stephanie, who was standing next to her and said, “Just relax. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks.” I do have this, Stephanie thought, as she scanned the faces of students and parents surrounding her, pleased she’d been able to get the protest going in three short hours. Anger and disappointment fueled her determination to fight the injustice…
Hard rain pelted the window panes of Christian’s hotel room. Paris in February. He knew the weather wouldn’t be perfect, but he was never one to miss an opportunity to visit the “City of Love,” a welcome escape from his lonely existence in Boston.
Perfect day to spend at the Louvre. He stepped out of the hotel onto the busy sidewalk and headed for the Metro. The aroma of hot bread lured him into a bakery along his route; his journey paused for a pain au chocolat and an espresso.
Once the museum opened, using a ticket he purchased online…
Fiction writer; avid reader; music & design enthusiast; Bulldog lover. “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” — Maya Angelou