Swimmers’ Remorse_My Little Dove_My Letter to Peoria_The Clearest of Minds
Catalog Guide:
Swimmers’ Remorse
The acrid scent of chlorine wafted up from the pool as Shannon climbed atop the starting block at the first high school swim meet of the 2005 season. She scanned the stands for Coach Stevens and her teammate Rachel, a blonde wisp of a girl with an easy manner, a free spirit, and a smile that made her heart beat faster than swimming 100-meter backstroke intervals. As the shrill beep of the starter's signal pierced the air, she pushed off the block and launched into the pool. She glided underwater, dolphin kicking for added momentum, before bursting through the surface with a flurry of sweeping...
My Little Dove
“You came down here to tell us something, did you?” Mum asks, everyone sitting around the table; Mum, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Jean, Uncle Daniel, and a few others. I feel seen for once—as I sit at the head of the table—but it doesn’t feel good. “Well, yes,” I clear my throat, my lungs heaving with all the grief I have shoved down for all these years. It’s time to tell them the secret I have been keeping for four years. “Spit it out then,” Grandma hurries, her voice scratchy and breathless from the countless cigarettes she has probably smoked since she was seven years old. “Fiona, don’t h...
My Letter to Peoria
Isolation and alienation had become my only companions and other then that time in a Bangkok hotel bathroom… I never felt so low. Hold up maybe I should back up for you. See today, I saw old friends who came up from Peoria that I have not seen in over year. It was good to see them however, I learned people wondered where I went or what happened as I did move away very abruptly, with little communication to anyone about why and did it in a private manner. So, it is time to poke my head out and make contact share a bit of my story and no I did not join a cult or run away to work for a carnival...
The Clearest of Minds
Two girls approach me, each carrying a little heap of yellow mangoes in conical hats that they’ve flipped upside down, the air around them sticky with the nectar-like smell of the ripe fruits. It is the peak of noon, when the sun beams gloriously www.onedoor.ccdown and penetrates even the leafiest of branches, and the girls slump down at my feet, their fruits spilling on the ground next to them. Pulling their hats from under the mangoes, the girls wave them back and forth, fanning themselves and catching their breaths. They were plainly dressed in worn cotton garments, the kind to help them cope with the h...