Soft, lavender petals fell around her rose, another cut flower which she knew would have been a perennial if not separated from the earth that sustained it. Still, John presented them to her. Lorna did not want cut flowers, and she did not want John.
With dainty precision, she wrote, “to Mark with all my love” inside a book about Hebrew society. Nothing interested him more. Every weekend she’d seek out some beautifully illustrated volume for him.
Although Mark stared into an ebook edition of the Torah, he thought only of Sarah, his Jewish princess. He’d cross their cultural divide.
Dottie balked at mopping the ER’s dead body room. Peers scoffed at her protests, refusing to budge, so she grudgingly mopped while her pin curls stood on end. A corpse’s evil essence preyed, stalking Dottie home.
Darkness fell and cast a Shadow over her. Later, an incubus bore down on her, tantalizing her id. He whispered sweet nothings and dealt temptation. With Faustian carelessness, she lost her soul in a tunnel of love, and Charon was the gondolier. Her demon clutched her heart until it ceased throbbing.
Now coworkers believe Dottie, feeling her heart would fail, foresaw her own death.
Who’s the scariest one of all? Trick-or-treaters tease my imagination, especially ones like Miranda. Perhaps because she tried to look wicked. Or perhaps because her black ruffled skirt ended high on her thighs and she wedged a broom between them. Or perhaps simply because she looked around eight years old.
Explaining that my candy basket needed refilling, I asked her in. I imagined what I’d do to her. An adult voice called, “Miranda!” She trotted obediently down my walkway. Gone.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall.” Breathing a cloud of fog onto it, I drew a stick witch with my finger.
As anticipation enveloped Sadie, our universe held its breath before announcing whether or not she would be whisked into a rags to riches fairytale. She gripped the key to her fortune. One thin dime. Scrubbing off filth, wiping away excrement, and catering to egos of others delivered this dime, as well as any other Sadie ever possessed. Yet she lacked four walls, which meant “unfit” to mother. Her children’s father, who could afford to buy love, ensured those courts enforced that ruling. Still, she shared all she had left ~ sunshine and love.
Grasping her dime, Sadie scratched the lottery ticket.