The Water Is Perfect_The Tiny Kitchen In The Sky_My Mothers Eyes_Betrayal
Catalog Guide:
The Water Is Perfect
Normally I'm the one who skips the hot tub and helps with the dishes because hot tubs at parties kinda gross me out a little-- you know when you see little flakes of skin or hairs or whatever floating on the surface?--but I have a sprained shoulder and think it might help. The host is my co-worker, Kelly, who works beside me in the warehouse, and has become more or less my supervisor. She invites me to these things all the time, and I almost always say no, because big social gatherings stress me out. The tub is aglow with blue light, making everyone's face look surreal. I find the darkest sp...
The Tiny Kitchen In The Sky
She was naturally a quiet person; she didn’t shout out or raise her voice very often. The only time she ever screamed out loud was when a lizard jumped in her path when she was on a walk or when her Dallas Cowboys scored a winning touchdown. Otherwise, she remained calm and peaceful, keeping her thoughts and opinions to herself. Now have no fear, she had a lot of opinions about everything, but she never volunteered them out-loud in basic conversation, unless she was directly asked about a topic. She kept her aunt Emma’s words to heart, its better to remain quiet and let them all wonder what y...
My Mothers Eyes
My mothers glasses. I kept them in a drawer. They had been there for almost 10 years. Truth is I kept them there because I didn’t know what else to do with them when she died. She’d been cremated after a long and painful fight with lung cancer. The disease was cruel, slowly chipping away at the person she was before. Her body diminished, refused to gain weight, and oxwww.onedoor.ccygen tubing ran around her once rosy cheeks. She had no energy at the end, no energy to do much else but watch the tv and wait for visitors. I would visit, at 40 years old, and without an ounce of shame, I’d climb up onto the bed ...
Betrayal
2/6/22 Word count-1996 Betrayal By Cheryl Barghout Down East Maine 1959Convent of the Holy Spirit “Are you there God? It’s me, Elizabeth,” she gasped as shiny trickles of sweat dripped down her brow and between her heavy breasts while she labored. Except for a few short unavoidable shrieks, she kept her distress to a series of panting breaths interspersed with low groans. Warm, humid air inside the bathroom stall added to her discomfort. But the floor, made up of tiny grey and black tiles, felt mercifully cool against her bare skin while she sat with knees drawn up to her chest, back against t...