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A working professional and part-time writer, full-time Mom and modern day Alice in Wonderland...

Friday, January 27, 2017


Shelly licked at the speck of blood on her third knuckle with delicate, flicking pink tongue. She worried, not for the first time that day, if she might be losing her edge. She stretched and the tendons in her calves screamed in defiance.  The chase had been an exhilarating surprise at first but after she'd taken him down, her body registered the sure signs of her advancing age in painful stages.

At one time her body had been a machine, fierce and fluid.  Her ability to overpower her prey quickly and silently had more than made up for her lack of finesse in the mental demands of the pursuit.  She had honed her skills and soon learned that the real thrill of the chase was the seduction.  The more she mastered the mental, the softer her ground game had become. Over the years, it had gotten so easy for her.

She looked down at the crumbled body. She had seen it in his eyes, the moment when her hold had been broken and the will to live had rushed back into his limbs. It had startled her, losing the connection. He had gotten at least a hundred yards on her before she could get herself together and take off after him. It had been a messy kill.

The hunger had come upon her as it always did, slowly building.  The anticipation was like a drug, firing the senses and touching off all her nerve endings at once.  Shelly could to feel it, poised just under the soft surface of her skin, waiting to rip open the seams and crawl out into the light.  She had fought it as long as she could. She had struggled through an agonizing week, trying to be something else than what she was, trying to feel anything else but that terrible need. 

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Rockabilly Roller Star Never Goes Home Again

 "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
Day 1030 January 4, 2017
Prompt: Dreams have no expiration date. Do you agree with this statement?

Dreams have no expiration date, except of course that dream I once had of becoming a sexy, rockbilly roller derby star...that dream has died a slow death with the unforgiving mid-40's birthdays and sometimes self-dislocating knee joint. Clearly that heady vision of greatness has been moved to the expired column. Everything else...I might still have a shot at!

"Blogging Circle of Friends "
DAY 1511: January 4, 2017
Prompt: Write about moving home.

It seems that the majority of my life has been about moving out and moving on rather than moving home. My parents went through a painful divorce, the worst of it while I was away at school. Moving home, even on the weekends and breaks, often meant coming home to one tension-steeped household or the other. It was a wholly unappealing prospect. I managed to eek out alternative living arrangements, staying with friends in the summers between semesters and finally getting a place off-campus with a boyfriend. In a sense, I feel as if I never really went home again after I started college, not in any real sense. Part of it was, I liked being on my own but mostly I enjoyed distancing myself from the photo-finish family that was imploding and deconstructing before my eyes. I welcome the opportunities to go abroad and stay at school and work through most weekends. As a result of my intentional absence, my little sister bore the brunt of my mother's grief - something I still harbor a fair amount of guilt over. I motored past all the dynamic changes in my family life and just kept moving...moving up and moving on..just never moving back.