Whodunnit? (Gargleblaster #156)
My roses were big and beautiful with gorgeous color. Now a dozen are missing; the bushes look forlorn and naked. Then I spy him mounting Ms. Johnson’s front steps, his wrinkled hands clutching roses and his face as hopeful as a teenager.
The Misery of the Heat (Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty)
Sweat poured down her back, beaded on her upper lip, and pooled between her breasts. She risked a backwards glance:
It was coming closer.
She hitched up her bag and began to run. It was getting hard to breathe.
She was almost there…
She sagged as the bus passed her.
“Do you see her much?” (Gargleblaster #157)
“Do you see her much?”
“Every night. I hear her come up the stairs and down the hall. She comes into my room and stands at the foot of my bed.”
“Could you close the door?”
He shivered. “She walks through it.”
She eyed herself in the silvered glass, feeling out of place amongst lace doilies and colorless photographs in tarnished frames. The tall, stern woman in old fashioned clothing addressed her: “Victoria!” She turned and with 21st century cool stated, “The name’s Vicky.”