Prior Lives
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I regained consciousness with McLennan’s voice in my ear. I looked around his office to get my bearings and noticed the clock on the wall – 4:30 – I had apparently been asleep for well over an hour.

“Well I have to say that it was most interesting”, he said, flipping over some notes in his hand. “And I can tell you that I have reached some conclusions and some possible solutions to your problems.”

Gypsy Healing
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“Before I answer your question, I must tell you that I am not a religious person, and I do not believe in miracles,” said Dr Solander. “But spontaneous remission is a fact. It does happen. It happens rarely, but it does happen. Even without treatment, cancers can disappear.”

“But that is exactly what I am asking,” said Emmet. “How can it happen? Can there be some external influence? I am like you – not at all religious. I am looking for a rational explanation.”

She Wanted a Daughter
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My mother had always dreamed of having a daughter, but she had four sons instead. I was her youngest, named Timothy after her father, my grandfather. But she always said that my name was the only male thing about me.

Big
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Guys my size can never become girls. That is what I thought.

When I was little, I would cry myself to sleep wishing that I had been a girl, but then I would wake up and face the reality. I was male, just like my father and my two brothers.

Frontier Bride
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

If it were not for the disturbances that I had caused, and the trouble thus delivered upon me, I would not have gone West. I was a young man who favored the gentle life, though I could not afford it. I was certainly not ready for the challenge of hard work, it having been avoid assiduously for the first 27 years of my life. But needs must, and I was in need of escape.

Dinner with Polly
A Short Story
(and certainly not an AR fantasy)
By Maryanne Peters

Maggie Dawson looked across at her husband Brian and smiled. They had been married for 26 years and he was still a good-looking man. He was also slight of build and not ruggedly handsome, and his hair was prematurely white, but his skin was remarkably unwrinkled, although thin and pale. She had far more wrinkles than him. She loved him now more than ever. There life together had been much more interesting lately.

“Is Polly coming for dinner tonight?” she asked.

My Father’s Legacy
A Short Story following upon “Legacy”
By Maryanne Peters

Do you remember me? Some time ago I told the strange story of what happened after my grandfather, a famous drag artiste, died and the heirlooms that he left behind. Things that changed my life forever. Those things and meeting my grandfather’s … well sort of his adopted son, I think – Rodney Gaspard.

Life Imitates Art
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My parents did not approve, but as I tried to explain to them, art is not what you want to do, it is what you have to do. They were right. It is not a job, it is a calling.

La Chevalière
A Short Story
Based on Strange Fact
By Maryanne Peters

The Scholarship
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Rescued
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I had never met Samantha Copeland until the day of our confrontation. Thinking back, you have to wonder why. We had lived next door to one another for about five years.

I had met her husband Keith Copeland the week they moved in. I suppose I thought she had taken his name – Copeland. it was not until afterwards that I learned he had taken hers. I found that a hard notion to grasp, at the time.

Shampoo
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I am still having problems with formatting images in a story, so here is another story on pdf

Public School
By Maryanne Peters

Attached as a file so that you can all appreciate the talent that is Ignatious Fluke, the creative force behind Tranzfiction Magazine.
I am looking forward to contributing more material to this gorgeous (free) publication.

Instrument
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It all seemed easier that Manny had imagined. It certainly helped that he had a well-thought-out plan to follow. A plan that he would never have been able to formulate. Not in a million years.

Uncle
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“I don't want you to get you haircut,” my mother said. She was suddenly very serious, and I could see that something was wrong. It seemed like fear in her eyes.

“It's just a haircut, Mom,” I said. I was struggling to see what the big issue was. But there was something very wrong. I looked at her in a way that I thought demanded an answer.

Transatlantic
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“Women and children only! Women and children!”

The Gibbon Girls
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My father was known as “Snake” Gibbon. It was a good name. As hard men go he was not a “Bull” or a “Bear”, he was more like a snake. He was thin and wiry, which sharp, vicious features and greasy long hair in a queue down his back. He was known for getting own way, however he could, including stabbing people in the back, not always with a blade.

Vlogger
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“You owe me Bro, and I need you to do something for me”. Her words sounded ominous. It was as if I knew that afternoon, that whatever she was asking of me would have consequences – serious consequences. But I suppose that she knew I would say yes. Perhaps because I owed her, but perhaps because she was my sister.

Bald
A Short Sory
By Maryanne Peters

Attached as a pdf to view the images better.

Pit Crew
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

When a big motor racing fan learns that his sister will be part of a girls only “pit crew” with a ring side view of all the races over the season, he decides to join the girls.

Riley Jones was my best friend. We did a lot together. We played sport at school. We skateboarded after school. We sometimes skateboarded when we should have been at school. And we both loved motor racing.

Running
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Flicka
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My father had left when I was not yet a teenager. I had only good memories of him, but our mother prohibited any contact between him and me or my younger brother. No explanation was ever given. Because any mention of him sent our mother off in tears or a rage (usually both) we simply never mentioned him.