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Binary“Okay Cassie, give us a kiss. Time for bed!” her mother yelled as she walked upstairs carrying Cassandra’s nightly (doll sized) cup of hot cocoa. Cassie was staring up through her frosted window at the two stars so close together that they sometimes appeared as one when she crossed her eyes. The six year old had been upset all day, it had been overcast and snowing. She was afraid she’d miss the annual conjunction. Her heart thrilled when the sky cleared at sunset. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Actual Nightmares I Had As A Toddler“Why are you crying, Anne?” a syrupy voice asks. A stranger’s hands near to change my diapers. She grabs the waistband and pulls it. I flail. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Tea with My Dead HusbandBy Maria Cook QuailBellMagazine.com When your dead husband shows up at your door, it turns out that the first thing you do is hug him. I’d have thought that I would scream, but there you have it. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The LibrarianSomewhere between the covers of hard-bound books, lost among the individual pages and all those trodden over stories, are the remnants of a forest that has been mulched and shredded and processed until nothing of the past remains. Though, if all those books stacked five, six shelves high, were comprised of a once-upon-a-time tree, then the library, in essence, could still be thought of as a forest unto itself. Every weekday morning the librarian walked up the steps to this library, unlocked the front door, and entered the once upon a forest. |