Posted at 2:46 am , on January 24, 2019
“Fort Awsome,” the sign read. In all actuality, it wasn’t a “fort” and “awsome” was spelled wrong. Both were mortal sins in her book and she felt no remorse in ripping the shoddily made wooden plaque off the rickety beach shelter, placing it in the garbage bag she carried.
Virginia was a creature of habit. Every Sunday without fail she walked to the local coffee shop near the harbor and read the newspaper over a pot of black tea. Then she walked the two mile stretch of beach, picking up litter and washed-up trash with her gloved hands.
Posted at 7:59 am , on January 10, 2019
Charlie’s trained eyes peered through the binoculars from his vantage point at the top of the playground castle. He had a full view of the park and the turret shielded him from view of onlookers. He jotted notes in a little pad with a pencil, kept tucked in his suit pocket.
The man had approached the bench from the south, glancing furtively to his left and right several times before catching sight of the pretty young woman and quickening his pace when she looked up from her book with a smile.
Posted at 6:55 am , on December 27, 2018
We grew up sailing San Francisco Bay, indisputably the best sailing in the world and one we generally take for granted. On a typical day on the water we’ll motor up the estuary (which we fondly refer to as the “Alameda Riviera”) raising sails just beyond the Port of Oakland. We know all the stories associated with the local landmarks such as President Roosevelt’s refurbished USS Potomac and Jack London Square, the old Navy Base and the various Coast Guard stations.
Posted at 5:44 am , on December 13, 2018
Laura stepped off the bus and headed towards home. If you could call it that. An illegally converted garage wasn’t much of a home. She shared the single bathroom with three others and had to keep her food in a cooler so it wouldn’t be stolen from the community kitchen. It was all she could afford but was far better than the house she used to live in with her alcoholic husband.
“The life in front of you is greater than the life behind you.”
Posted at 5:44 am , on November 29, 2018
Amy saw the poster tacked to the phone pole at the bus stop.
LOST: Female Dog.
Beloved Family Pet.
Sat., Oct. 6
near Grand and Otis.
Answers to Cookie.
The picture below the text showed two adorable little boys with their arms around an even more adorable little brown dog. Her heart sank. It looked exactly like the dog she had found just after midnight two days ago.
Posted at 4:33 am , on November 15, 2018
Every weekday morning Mama would walk us to school and chat on the schoolyard with the other mothers, discussing their supper menus and any juicy news they had heard since the day before. We lived in a small town where walls were thin and lips were loose. Today’s hot topic was the recent sale of the old Dorst home to a couple from out of town.
Martha, who lived across the street from the house, couldn’t wait to share her latest insight, “This morning the wife drug the trash bin to the curb and then drove off in the convertible. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the husband yet.”
Posted at 2:22 am , on November 1, 2018
Her head hit the shower door hard and she slumped onto the cold tile floor. He slammed the door behind him with a bang without looking at her or saying a word. Enough had already been said. Blood dripped down her cheek and she licked the droplet as it reached the corner of her lips. Warm and metallic tasting.
She heard the crackling noise and looked up. A dozen cracks crept from the spot of impact, creating a spider web across the glass. Fascinating. She shifted into a more comfortable position and waited patiently. Even the slightest sound would bring him back in a renewed rage.
Posted at 1:11 am , on October 18, 2018
Lisa was a bartender at a local club and always terrified that she’d be hit by a drunk driver on her way home after closing up at 2 am. What she didn’t account for was nodding off at the wheel, blowing through a red light and being broadsided by a produce truck on its way to market.
She opened her eyes to a shattered windshield and blood everywhere. It seemed hours before the fire department arrived and pulled her out with the jaws of life. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness in the ambulance as the paramedic jabbed a needle into her arm. Then the world went black.
Posted at 1:11 am , on October 4, 2018
It’s been a month now. I haven’t done much writing other than my morning pages. My practice of handwriting three pages as soon as I get out of bed and have my first cup of tea brewed is more therapy than creativity; a brain flow without any deep thinking, editing or re-reading with a critical eye. I let my thoughts and feelings fly directly from mind to pen onto paper. This daily ritual was my saving grace as I grieved for my Nana … pages of tear-stained anguish that eventually became sweet memories.
Posted at 12:28 am , on September 20, 2018
“Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” she said upon waking, a childhood ritual taught to her by her English grandmother. Folklore stated that saying rabbit thrice on the morning of the first day of the month would bring good luck. She was no longer a child but figured it couldn’t hurt and she could use some good juju on the long drive ahead.
She was playing her harp at a wedding gig in Napa and decided to drive up the night before so she’d be rested before the mid-morning ceremony. The highway was clogged with weekend travelers and she was barely moving. The mechanical voice on her navigation app notified her of another route and she took the next exit to follow it.