A Delicate Touch: Micro-Fiction #Monday’sMuse #Romance #Fiction

Watching him took her breath away. It was strange how he was so out of place on that land, and yet, somehow, he fit. 

It shouldn’t have shocked her. Although he’d been a drifter all of his life, farming was in his blood, or as he had reluctantly shared with her, horses.

He’d moved to town, taking ownership of his great-uncle’s farm when her parents’ loan had defaulted and ownership reverted back to the Latfield’s next of kin. Sage Latefield was that man.

Without him having said so, Livia knew that her family’s loss had become the biggest break in Sage’s life. He seemed to light up whenever he looked over the land, ran his fingers over the swaying heads of grass as if he were touching precious children.

The man had a delicate touch. She didn’t know it personally but the more she watched him, the more she learned him, the more she wanted to.


*I hope you enjoyed that little nugget of Livia’s thoughts toward Sage Latefield. I had to stop there as the story has done far more talking than I expected and has given me the synopsis for a full-length novel, or a decent sized novella. Either way, there is much more to their story than the 150 words or so, shared today. Thanks for reading my results for Mondays’ Muse Writing Prompt August 14th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Easier Said: Micro Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Drama

She stood paralyzed in the face of destruction, knowing full well she should run for cover. But the way the wind seemed to snatch the air from her lungs, kept her in place, no, it drew her closer toward the danger. 

The image before her, the one of the storm, was just that, an image. The truth was her love life was the storm drawing her into danger with enough gale-force winds to tear her entire world apart.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, she took a sip of her chai tea latte and backed away from the image that had the power to evoke such trepidation in her world.

She’d heard the cliche that a picture spoke a thousand words. This one gave a full on saga detailing what was ahead if she didn’t follow her gut and cut things off with her beau as soon as possible.

Sad thing ones, some things were easier said than done…kind of like running out of the path of a storm that appears out of nowhere.


*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt August 7th, 2017. The tale is short and sweet, but I have to admit it took a wildly different turn than I had thought it would go. Nevertheless, one should always follow their muse!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

A Dish Called Denial: A Short Story #amwriting #comedy #RomCom

Is it wrong that I hope the knife slips and he cut off his fingertip? Sam is not a cook! He can’t even microwave a hot dog, yet for her, he seems to be making the extra effort.

I shouldn’t care. Sam isn’t my boyfriend, any more or at least at the moment. My boyfriend’s name is Earl, Earl H. Hemshawl, as he likes to introduce himself. I don’t know why he needs to give his full name. He said it had something to do with coming off more official-like or some foolishness like that. I don’t know.

Most of the time, for twelve days out of the thirteen that Earl and I have been an item, I haven’t even thought of us as being official. It’s a vicious cycle for me, one he has no clue about.

Earl doesn’t have a clue about many things. He’s just too nice to notice the mean in people and dang it I am mean! I think that is why Sam left me. He left me for her.

She is vile, I know.

They’ve been all googly-eyed for each other for three months now. It’s a phase. It’ll wear off soon enough and when it does I will be right here to pick him up and forgive him for his transgression. Make that, transgressions, as in plural.

I mean look at them. She’s got him playing the fool by the way he looks and acts. I mean he never looked at me like that nor did he do silly stuff like taking a cooking class! And why would he? Taste my roasted chicken and peach cobbler and you’ll understand.

Goodness! The world has gone to that dark, hot, place where that old sloop-foot devil dwells, by the way women can’t cook these days. I am certain half this class could burn water and that isn’t even possible. Blondy aka the temptress-formerly-called-Jezebel is one of them.

Clearly, her mama didn’t teach her a thing besides sniffing behind some other woman’s man.

Hold up a minute. Earl’s got tears in his eyes. This man is no good when it comes to onions.


*I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of a full-length novel I have no choice but to write one day in the future. I think I will name the main character Ingrid…not sure of a surname yet but one will come in time. Anyhow these are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 31st, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Like Sunshine

The taste of his lips made her think of sunshine, the way it gently warmed her evoking a smile. The pleasure if it was new, his kiss, she’d never been kissed before, and yet this felt right.

He was right.

The wait for this moment, the diligent guarding of her heart had led her to feel like a lone soldier keeping vigil over the sacred, and this was sacred, the melodic play of his lips with hers.

The sense of blooming in her soul, called forth by such intimate waters, was meant to flourish into a garden where more life would grow. And it would grow with sweetness and hope.

And it all began with a precious kiss.


~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!


Playing Fair: A Short Story #amwriting #family #story

Truth was, he didn’t want to parent, let alone know how to parent. But staring at her solemn face, eyes ready for seemingly common rejection, he didn’t feel as if he had a choice.

“Are you my dad?” she asked with very little enthusiasm, the ears of her bunny slippers flopping with the same cadence as the grandmother clock on the mantle.

Jared suddenly felt ill. He adjusted the collar of his button up shirt and cleared his throat, his blue eyes, the same as hers, glancing to the window as if that were a way out.

“No,” he croaked. He was stunned at his own tone but she, Lou, Loula Grace, seemed not to notice. He swallowed and tried his answer again. “No, I am not your dad. Dad…Dad, uh, he passed away a few months ago.”

He pressed his eyes closed and forced back the burn of tears. His father’s death was still so raw, the pain of it unexpected although him passing at seventy-four wasn’t. Jared senior took too many risks especially when it came to his health. He constantly indulged and did so with a smile, singing the cliche mantra, ‘you only live once.’

Still, the burn of his passing came when his final will and testament was read. Jared junior, thirty-four, successful in his own right, and heir to his father’s company was not an only child. More shockingly, his father had amended his will.

And so he sat, in the living room of a foster-mother who’d taken in Lou, his unclaimed little sister. He’d been told she was only six, her mother forty. She had been out of the picture since Lou was two.

That made things easier Jared supposed. There was no one to fight him for custody, no one to claim the child in hopes of getting their hands on her trust fund, preventing Jared from taking hold of his own.

If he wanted that, he had to take responsibility where his father had failed. It was a cruel way for his father to say goodbye. Dad played, he played hard, but he never played fair.

Jared choked again, coughed once more. Lou’s dark brow slowly rose. She clearly wasn’t impressed. She was definitely their father’s daughter. She hadn’t known Jared for more than fifteen minutes and already she had judged him as inept. At least he wasn’t after what was hers.

No, he only wanted what was his and in order to get that he had to do what their dad had failed to do and that was to raise her as the Carter she was.

“I’m your brother,” he managed to push out. Lou looked skeptical.

“You’re too old to be my brother.” She finally said after three long minutes that felt more like hours as she took stock of him once again.

“Yeah, well, maybe somebody should have told Dad that,” he thought he said it in a low whisper. Lou’s response proved otherwise.

“I thought you said he died.”

Jared only smiled before standing. If he sat any longer he was going to bolt. Staring down at her gave him more confidence…he prayed he looked confident. “We’ll be alright,” he said. “We’ll make things work without him though.”

Finally, a show of emotion played on Lou’s face. The expression wasn’t promising. She suddenly looked horrified.

“You’re adopting me,” her face was pale.

Jared glanced out the window and then back again. “That’s the plan. We’ll do alright. We-we’re family. We will make this work.” He offered her his hand.

Lou glanced at it and then scooted off the sofa, pulling her dog down from with her, avoiding Jared’s eyes altogether. “If you say so. You don’t look like you know very much about little girls, or dogs.” She walked into the back of the house.

Jared followed her, hating that she was right, but praying that they would somehow be proved wrong. Too much depended on it.


*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 24th, 2017. 

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER

No Time for Complaint: A Short Story #AmWriting #SciFi #Fiction

He stared down at his phone, relishing the reminder he had saved as his home-screen. Without it he would fall to shreds, he would never be able to stomach what he had to do.

“Stop complaining. Stop complaining,” he mumbled the words under his breath, wiping the sweat from his palms down the side of his jeans. He always got nervous on these assignments. He wasn’t cut out for this line of work.

“What’s that, sir?” The driver asked, his water gaze-liquid from his senior age-glanced back at him through the rear view mirror.

Harvey smiled, forcing the heavy corners of his mouth to stay upward. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

The driver nodded and returned his gaze to the road. “It will get worse when you get older, the talking to yourself. You tend to forget a whole lot more when you get to my age.” The man chuckled.

Harvey’s stomached roiled. “How old are you exactly?” He couldn’t resist the urge to ask. He envied people like him, those properly balanced upon the threads of time.

“Seventy-eight this December,” he smiled through the mirror again. “Me and the missus have been going strong for fifty-eight of those years.”

“Oh,” Harvey’s head was beginning to pound. He shouldn’t have asked.

“Yes indeed! Me and Gladys have ourselves five strapping sons, thirteen grand kids, and three great-grands.” More laughter. “There are blessings to old age.”

“I would agree,” Harvey sounded more bitter than he’d intended. At this rate, he’d never know what it was like to be old, really, old…properly dead. As far as his accounting, out side of his thirty-one apparent years, he was more accurately two-hundred and forty-six.

His phone buzzed in his hands. A text message, the same as his home-screen came across his phone. “Stop complaining…Do your job…You are on borrowed time. Mr. Lemon doesn’t abide panic-attacks.” Harvey’s fingers cramped they curled in so tightly. He couldn’t help but panic!

He was going to panic. He always did when he was done ruining someone else’s life.

The car stopped and as if he was breaking through the surface of water moments after the threat of drowning, Harvey pushed open the door and forced air into his lungs.

Three deep breaths, and he was in the necessary fog that he needed to not complain, not panic, not make a mistake as he tore one more poor soul from the threads of time, sentencing them to a fate similar to his own.

At least Mr. Lemon would be pleased.


*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 17th, 2017. If you find yourself confused, I apologize. This story is another thread woven into the world of  Mr. Lemon, Madelyn Haze, A Necessary Call, and so many others. If you stay tuned and follow my Author Site, you will get to find out a little more about Mr. Lemon and this world of his through my Debut Novel NEXUS GATE 4037: THE ANIMAL, Book 1 of THE MINISTRY OF TIME SAGA, Coming this FALL 2017/WINTER 2018! Stay connected and stay tuned!!!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Worth the Sunshine: Micro Fiction #Fiction #AmWriting #Story

“You’re never going to find it!” She yelled at his back. The melodic giggle of her teasing voice made him continue his search. 

The car keys, what sane man would give his three-year-old the car keys? “One who is trying to convince his little girl that she is a big girl,” he shook his head at his own folly, wading through the cheery blooms of sunflowers whose faces seemed to follow him like they did the sun.

Sure, there were other ways to help her feel like a big girl. He could have been a bit less adventurous and simply taken the training wheels off her tiny bike. That would have given her confidence. “Along with several scrapes and bruises, and probably a broken limb.” He whispered to himself still continuing his search.

All of this trouble was just to convince her to sleep in her own room. He laughed at himself and stared back at the picture of his wife, their little girl grinning widely in his arms.

“Don’t give up, Daddy!”

Stopping in his place, fisted hands on his hips in mock anger he said, “But I thought you said I would never find them?”

She giggled again and buried her cherub face in her mother’s hair before her large brown eyes darted over to the public trash can. It was her usual slip when she played her practical jokes.

His heart sank, but at least his hope rose. Heaving a resigned breath he made his way to the trash can, shaking his head at his wife as she insisted they call for a tow.

The moment he touched the can his little girl shouted with sunny joy, clapping her sticky hands as she hailed him her hero.

All he could do was laugh, his pride rising at her loving praise of him. Parenting was messy business but it was certainly worth the sunshine, especially when it meant he got to be the hero.


*Honest answer…I forgot to do the prompt up until a few moments ago BUT I did enjoy my imagination giving birth to a light-hearted story. I hope you enjoyed the read. For the original prompt and instructions, see Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 10th 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Left in the Dark: A Short Story #AmWriting #Monday’sMuse #Drama

He talked with his hands, specifically his pointer-finger and his thumb. She couldn’t stand a man who did that, still, she smiled and nodded as if she heard what he was saying. 

In reality, she heard nothing, nothing except the last words he’d said to her nearly eighteen years ago. Sure, she was being petty, discrediting the man that he probably was because of the sins he’d made as a boy. And he’d been nothing but a boy to her girl back then.

She was two years ahead of him in class. He’d started his college career after taking ‘sabbatical’ from institutionalized learning in order to study the ways of the world, and he was worldly. That is what had drawn her to him even though for months she had brushed him off.

But like he clearly was in business, he wasn’t a man to take no for an answer when there was something he wanted, something he was told he could not achieve.

She hadn’t known then that she was nothing short of a prize, proof that his charm could win the heart of even the most prude of prudes. She had won herself the unintended label back then.

Sad thing was, she had allowed him to tarnish it … she allowed herself to tarnish it. Owning her mistake was one thing, listening to him tell her how it wasn’t that serious and that she just needed to lighten up was another thing.

The memory of how his pointer-finger and thumb pinched together those many years ago as he dictated to her all of her social failings and the reasons he would no longer be considered the ‘one’ in her ideal ‘two’ still bruised her insides. He’d gotten more than the prize of her company, he’d gotten a bit of her soul, and then he rejected it.

“Did you catch those numbers?” He said, pulling her out of her painful revery, the heat of his hand upon hers made her rear back as if he’d burned her. She batted her eyes, pressing the tears away, and forced a plastic smile, all while hating herself for still feeling the sting after that many years.

She was better than this! She had prayed about this. She had rejected this ache and yet facing it seemed to slice open the wound with the efficiency of a brand new blade. More than facing it proved the problem it was the way he spoke to her now with ignorance, as if he didn’t know her, didn’t remember how much she’d loved him.

That hurt.

She felt the muscles in her face bending into a hateful scowl but faked a cough instead. She had to comfort herself with some credit she owed him back then. He had left her, humiliated her, broken her heart into a thousand pieces, but he kept the extent of their coupling in the dark where they had once laid.

No one knew but them.

She pasted on another smile and swiped away the tears, blaming the water of her eyes and the pink of her face on the non-existent tickle that had assaulted her throat.

He stared at her curiously for several silent moments before splaying his fingers across the table top, his eyes turned down. When he returned his gaze to hers, the man of nearly forty was gone, but the young man she’d hidden and left in the dark was there, his eyes solomn.

“Marlow, I’m sorry.”

Her iron-clad ways, the stoic woman who cut deals and left others to rot with purposeful percision refused to show her face. She wouldn’t come and play pretend, not while his mask was off, pointer-finger and thumb no longer pinching together as if to cut off her sense of reason.

Marlow touched her brow with chilly fingertips and forced herself to nod. She had no words, not at that present moment.

She didn’t know what to say. Better, neither did he.


*These are my results from Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 3rd 2017. Twenty minute time limits cause for a break in the thread. I say that this is a reluctant end because these two truly need closure even after nearly two decades. Thanks for reading along.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

A Necessary Call: MicroFiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Fiction

He glanced back again, surely more times than was necessary. They had lost his trail and were no longer following him, at least he prayed they weren’t. 

He slowed his gait, but not so much to lessen the gap he had created between himself and them, but enough to not draw unnecessary attention to himself.

What he needed to do was get to Madelyn and he needed to know they weren’t on his trail anymore. If they got to Madelyn Haze…

Things had gone beyond tense between himself and her. His cover with her had blown the very moment fragments of her memory began to return. He thanked God the bits were no more uniform than the particles found inside a kaleidoscope.

There was time enough for her to know the truth, the real truth about him … about herself, but now was not the time. They needed to get away.

Feigning a chill from the slight blow of wind, he pulled up his collar and began to speak into the mobile phone he had tucked in the front pocket of his shirt, his voice little more than a whisper.

“I will be there in seven minutes. I need you to be ready, Madelyn. We have to move to our next position.”

The strain in her clipped answer was enough to show she wasn’t ready, wouldn’t be ready, refused to be ready.

He ground his teeth and felt the pressure clear into his temples. “Madelyn, they will kill you, or worse. Be ready.” He ended the call.

He ended the call only to have to make another. They were on his trail, they’d actually cornered him.

“Mr. Lemon, I’m going to need immediate assistance. Madelyn has been compromised and so have I.”


*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt June 26th, 2017, and a surprising Part 2 to Miss Madelyn Haze. You are probably wondering who is Mr. Lemon. If you stick around long enough I promise you will find out. Thanks for reading.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

As Sure as His Eyes Were Blue: A Poem #Monday’sMuse #Romance #Poetry

The warmth of his hand against hers warmed her far deeper than the coffee she held, and it was totally unexpected.

The blessed bliss, the memory of their first kiss, was instantly resurrected.

How touch and hold and glimpses from his eyes could turn the tide with truth, a truth so deep, of love so sweet, and as sure as his eyes were blue.

She dared not move, nor even breath, though the need pressed against her lungs.

The smile he gave was what she’d craved assuring her new things had begun.


*Creativity is a funny thing. This began as a short and wove its way into poetry. These are my results for Monday’s Muse June 19th, 2017

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!