Fox and Rabbit: A Trickster's Tale_Thereby Hangs A Tail_Bedtime_Always and Never
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Fox and Rabbit: A Trickster's Tale
Rabbit and the Fox A Trickster Fable written by: Jennifer M. EngelThe worm moon was high in the silent March night sky, making it easier for Fox to see while digging his burrow. It had been a long, harsh winter.www.onedoor.cc Much of his food supply perished underneath the bitter snow, which seemed to laugh every time it heard Fox’s growling stomach. Fox’s natural personality was not malicious. It was just that Mother Nature seemed to force him into situations that caused him to perform acts of devilish means, in order to ensure his (and his families) own survival. And so he used Mother Nature’s own ...
Thereby Hangs A Tail
There was once a boy called Billy Nutbeam who lived with his mother and father in a small cottage near a dense forest. His father worked at a nearby farm. Billy accompanied him to see the young calves and the new yellow chicks.But animals and birds didn’t like Billy. He always pulled their tails. He just did it to tease them, and they hated it. It frightened them. Billy didn’t care, and he just went on pulling them.Billy pulled the tail of Whiskers, his mother’s cat, and often caught hold of the long, shaggy tail of Bingo, his father’s old dog, and made him yelp with pain. He pulled the pony’s...
Bedtime
TW: mention of child abuse To most, memories are flashes. At the sound of a familiar tune or the scent of distant days, the memories come flooding in, sharp and picturesque or the briefest hint of a feeling.To me, though, they come in big spiky punches. Liquid razors, if you will, being served to me like a lung-puncturing drink."Hannah, I swear to god you don't put down that f*** phone while I'm speaking to you and I'm taking you to the doctor to get you fixed up."Ah, my mother in all her ginger glory. She lunges towards me with a gangly claw out and an expression of pure malice- the kind wher...
Always and Never
Sensitive: sexualized language, and cursing. Three years ago today, it was a Mother’s Day Sunday. There is an anniversary picture on my cell phone of my infant daughter sitting in my ex- husband's lap. The memory holds a story of spouses, out to dinner, with two beautiful children. In the picture, her Father looks blankly beyond the camera, with no affect in his face; the musicians must have been in that direction because my infant daughter is also gazing in the same direction (and there is a rational voice inside me that knows certainly they are not BOTH avoiding my gaze). The memory holds ...