This is a continuation of Strange Trio Redux.
The rain came down in the streets like an ALS ice bucket challenge from the heavens. Miss Hill shivered under the black cape.
“I hope this place isn’t very far!” she yelled. Ms. White didn’t seem to hear.
It wasn’t. After only a block of the cold water treatment, Ms. White stopped in front of a brick wall. “We’re here,” she declared. Continue reading
This post follows the story In the High Tower.
Stroke? Ah, there you are. I nodded off for a second there, I think. I couldn’t have been asleep for that long. Continue reading
Call it collective amnesia or group brain flush, but we don’t remember how we got here. I don’t mean the oasis. I remember that quite well, actually.
The oasis Continue reading
Seriously, who hasn’t heard the stories about the Gartoyli Beast? My father certainly had. Of that, there can be no doubt. Hadn’t he put a sword in my hand on my fifth year? Hadn’t he taught me how to use it well? That smug Alben. He could tell you. If he could get over being bested by a girl, that is. Continue reading
“This is the last time I listen to you, sis,” said the older sister.
“What are you mad at me for? This trip wasn’t my idea.”
“What? How is it my fault that you didn’t get your letter to Santa written and mailed?” she asked. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Continue reading
This is a follow-up to Strange Rain.
* * *
Callie White made a hurry-up motion with her old wrinkled hand. Miss Hill didn’t react at all. She just stood there.
“Well?” asked the old woman in the cloak. Continue reading
If you knew Uncle Sal, the card made perfect sense. My uncle was a cabbie in New York. Boisterous and loud, he loved being the center of attention. Loved hearing his own voice, delivering one-line zingers so fast his audience couldn’t catch their breath. His laughter booming around the room like a cannon ball. Continue reading
As she entered the city park, she passed the sign. It read, “Please Do Not Feed the Ducks.” It might seem a rather simple instruction. Idiot proof even. But appearances are slippery critters.
The trail emerged from the trees onto a boardwalk and there they were. Continue reading
This is a follow-up to Strange Brew.
* * *
Miss Hill got off the subway near midtown. The station smelled of exhaust fumes, oil, and stale sweat as she was carried along by the mob of humanity like a small cork in a swift stream. At street level, she stopped to get her bearings. A cold blast of wind shouldered its way down the concrete streets between the buildings. An exasperated taxi operator hammered on his horn nearby. Continue reading
They passed in the street, each walking with the aid of a cane. A man. A woman. Two dancers grown old.
The big stages had once been theirs. Continue reading