How I Came to Leave Hartfield Manor_Tough Girl_The Head Nodders_Final Beats of a Lonely Heart
Catalog Guide:
How I Came to Leave Hartfield Manor
CW: Sensitive themes relating to pregnancy/childrenI never thought I’d leave Hartfield Manor, but the train is moving now, and there is no going back. Everything I hold dear is stowed beneath my seat or in a bundle on my lap; I took only what I needed to start over. I shall miss the staff and little Peter and the twins, but they’ll all forget me soon enough. Once they’ve hired a new nursery maid, I’ll become a distant memory. Lord Thorne will probably fabricate a tale to besmirch my good name—something about how I was a fraud or a danger to his children, but they will grow up someday and see w...
Tough Girl
“Momma, do you hear that noise?”“Yes I do. Those would be cicadas. They are dreadfully annoying. But, I’ve heard them before, that sound is something you will never forget.”“Cadas? Can they hurt you?”“Nope. In fact, that very noise reminds me of a story.” “Ooo, I love your stories!” “Well, ok..”The cicadas hummed in the distant wooded trail, just like they are today. The sound often drowns out all thoughts.I grabbed a browned leaf leftover from fall. Crunch. “I loved the sound that those leaves made!”“How old were you?” “Eight or nine, I think. A little older than you.” “Wow, that was a long ...
The Head Nodders
She watches his body language through the camera, his neck taut, hands gesturing widely at the empty space in front of him. Ray is her last client of the day and has spent the last half hour waving around a cigarette – unlit, as if he is waiting for someone to light it for him. “I told them all they needed to do was make me a list,” he says, “and I would go to the store for them. Or I’d have it delivered.” In her work as a licensed therapist, she has found that most issues start with the banal things, the mundane. The dishes that remained unwashed, someone’s husband sneezing too loudly, TV sho...
Final Beats of a Lonely Heart
Tick, tick, tick. The grandfather clock in the corner measured the final beats of a lonely heart. A wrinkled man rocked in the wooden chair, waiting in horror as the beats became wilder and more erratic. How many seconds left? Looking out the window, the sun upon his face, he watched as the world passed by, leaving him behind. Long ago he had forgotten his name, as twww.onedoor.cchere was no one to call him by it. No reason to remember it, really. Tick. How many seconds left? He watched as a woman scurried past his dilapidated fence. He watched a group of teens gawk at the yard that had long since been str...