Part 22 of 29

Saturday, October 12, 2013
Well, actually I'm writing very early Sunday morning in the communal kitchen so I don't disturb any of my fellow campers. And why am I up early on a Sunday morning? Simple: My fellow campers may be beacons of femininity by day, but they snore like longshoreman during the night. Not that I've personally been able to listen to a longshoreman snore, mind you, but there must be some truth to the old saw or nobody would have started sawing with it.

On My Back
A Short Story as requested by Taxidermist
By Maryanne Peters

I used to think that driving a big rig was the ultimate in freedom. The road is stretched out in front of you – this great country – where the road seems to go one forever. Hell – it does. It never stops!

The Letters Chapter 3

Greg opened envelope number three. He had to admit, the belt appeared to work, and he also assumed that his grandfather had somehow either invented the thing, or found somehow.

Thus, when he opened the letter, it was with great anticipation that he started reading.

Kinda neat, isn't it? I really enjoyed it the first time I tried it too. Sorry to say, you're getting a hand-me-down time belt. I'm not sure how long the power will last, but it doesn't seem to have lost any potential since I started using it.

I know you are wondering how I know about you,. What you're thinking. I'll let you consider that yourself. There's no need for me to tell you. You'll figure it out yourself.

 

Part 20 of 29

Angel's Fairy Tale

Part 3

The next day was much less eventful for Francesca. It was me that was the brunt of a salon work-over, coming out with long nails, a new look and earrings. I must say that when I looked at myself in the mirror I thought I made a good looking girl. My height, or lack of it, was certainly a factor in my favour.

 

Part 19 of 29

Friday, September 6, 2013
A light day, only one mid-morning class. That's the ideal Friday for a college student, no afternoon classes to cut to get an early start on the weekend.

Making Changes
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I am in distribution. Ok, so I drive a truck. But I also distribute.

Long-haul work is hard. Guys like me don’t get paid enough. What’s wrong with supplementing income? Shit goes missing all the time. Some of what goes missing ends up in my lock-up. Some of that gets sold for cash. What’s the big deal?

I'd been called queer practically ever since I started school, but I didn't really find out what it meant until seventh grade. This was back when gay still meant happy to most people, and queer was an insult.

 

Part 18 of 29

Wednesday, September 4, 2013 (continued)
All of my musing on the past is how I started my day. Because of my late enrollment, the only English Literature class with any openings occurred at eight o'clock on Monday and Wednesday mornings. Since Monday was Labor Day, school started on Wednesday. Thus I began my day wandering around campus lost and confused. Over the summer I had gotten used to the library's more civilized hours, opening at ten. I had to get up before the sun in order to shower, dress and ride the bus.

Muse
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“You do believe that my work is art, don’t you,” said Claude.

“Of course, I do,” Blythe said. “And I only want to play a role in helping you to be that artist.”

And that, is the title and essence of this story.

 

Part 17 of 29

Monday, September 2, 2013
Labor day. Time for the big parade.

We were up early to get ready for the parade. The living room was full of boxes and hangers containing the costumes when my fellow workers arrived promptly at 8:00 AM to get dressed. Jenny and Beth from the library were part of the group, as well as Audrey.

As I slid down the embankment. Was I safe? I thought. Breathing hard, I didn't know how far I had run or for how long. Once I saw it happen I just took off. Did they get a good look at me? I think they did. Did they get a good look that I didn't know. They didn't want any witnesses though or they wouldn't have shot at me. Just hearing those shots hit the door frame was enough motivation for me to run. And run I did.

Nancy sets forth in the world, qualified by her care of Little Edward, "hopeless as a boy."

Part 2

I woke up in the morning to the sound of a womans’ voice telling me to get out of bed and into the shower. I thought that I had been in the shower last night but obviously I was not clean enough. She told me to make sure I sat when I went to the toilet and to make sure I shaved my face twice while I was in the shower.