Evangaline clucked in disapproval at the vaguely-translucent Aunt standing between her and the fireplace; the Aunt, in turn, shook her head at her.
“Who,” Evangaline asked carefully, “thought that this particular tradition was a good idea for our family?”…
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“…right behind Carl Anderson’s house, there, next to that eyesore of a pool that he put in last year.” Tom Esker was a very tidy white man, maybe in his mid-forties, wearing a polo shirt and chinos, pleats perfectly pressed, while he stood in his living room and kvetched about werewolves….
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Hello! It’s time for the December Theme Poll!
These polls determine the theme for Patreon writing for the month, spurring the prompt call and from there several stories.
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A legend of Tír na Cali
“I know it’s awful, darling, but there are reasons for every law.”
Bóinn’s mother sat behind her, brushing her hair, although the Lady Almha was a Baroness had had better things to do with her time than soothe her grown daughter’s wounded pride. Bóinn felt a little ashamed for that, and more than a little pleased that her mother was taking the time, and a little ashamed about that in turn, so she sat and listened where she might not have done so, otherwise. “Reasons?” she coaxed.
(read on…)
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“And up on that peak, that’s where the great dragon lives.” The Mayor of Mount Pleasant gestured upwards for her visitor. “You can see her outline there, on that ridge. She circles three times around the peak, there, there, and there.”
His visitor eyed her with some skepticism… (read on…)
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The thing is, our town isn’t that big. It’s a city, technically, yeah, but the next city away is an hour in any direction, and most of those aren’t very big either. So the mall is the only real shopping around except Wal-Mart and Main Street, which is to say, the only real shopping at all.
Or at least, it was…
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Rosaria is known in the family for her fairy tales, in all of which you can find a thread – or sometimes a hole tapestry – of truth. On occasion, Rosaria deigns to write down one of her tales. This is one, and I won’t say that it’s true or that it’s not, simply that this is how she chose to write it.
The bear had been coming around for quite some time before he vanished.
Nieves and Rosa called him that – at first it had been their private joke, but as time went on, they liked to tease him with it. It wasn’t that he was so very hairy, but he’d been wearing a dark brown coat when they first found him wandering in the snow, and his hair and his beard were long and tangled.
They lived alone with their widowed mother…
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Hello! It’s time for the November Theme Poll!
These polls determine the theme for Patreon writing for the month, spurring the prompt call and from there several stories.
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(Please pretend the poll below says “November Theme”; I can’t change ’em once they’re entered and I was sleepy last night).
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Now I’m not saying this is how it happened, and I’m not saying it didn’t happen that way. If you look at the journals for that day, you don’t see anything that interesting. But a few tipsy whispers say otherwise.
~
Asta’s journal from this particular October, 1968:
Attended Corina’s wedding to a lovely young man – Anthony.
Met a wonderful woman, Anthony’s great-grandmother Margaret. Shall have to get together with her sometime to exchange recipes – and perhaps knitting patterns.
There was a bit of a scuffle at the wedding –
(read on…)
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Rosaria and Willard kept journals when he left the family. This story covers the beginnings of those journals: anger, fear, and loss.
I told Rosie I’d write down my experiences, but it’s been three days since I left the family formally, and this is the first time I’ve been able to stand putting pen to paper.
It is still unpleasant to think about, much less to analyze, but the knowledge is rare, even if the situation is unpleasant. When people leave the family – which happens so rarely Rosie and I could think of only two – they do not normally leave behind notes on their departure….
(read on…)
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