And now... well, go look at my blog. The one titled, 'Fred,' that is.

It wasn’t the sort of world spanning disaster portrayed in movies, it wasn’t even the sort of disaster you might find in many smaller stories. No, it was just a personal apocalypse. Just the sort of thing that rips out your very soul and makes you feel like someone has stomped you into hamburger on some sidewalk somewhere. The death of a dream.

There wasn’t anything I could do to stop it, to make it better, so I whistled and hummed a tune to myself as I packed up boxes and gathered items for disposal or storage. Somehow, the tune that was stuck in my head seemed to fit.

I'm not much of poet but this is some idle thoughts that came to my mind while waiting in line the last few days. Meter and other terms are a mystery to me and I'm sure that others could do a much better job. However such as it is I thought I would share.

I wondered why is that?

She was a young, vibrant artist.
He was a block of clay, with a checkered past.
It all seemed so unlikely ...

My name is Janet. I met Danny when I was almost twenty.

Danny
By Janet Baker

Danny was the first love of my life. I was nineteen at the time, Danny was younger but that was all right, he made up for our age difference by his unlimited enthusiasm and his devotion to me.
I lived on a farm. Danny came to live with us. He was an orphan, his father unknown, his mother killed in an auto accident. Danny was bereft, he cried constantly. I comforted him and we became inseparable.

Gaby Verse - John Ward's View

Just a little exercise, to see who all is in the neighborhood.

"And how many in your party?" the man was checking off something and it didn't look like he was paying attention.

Do telephones distort the truth or give glimpses into reality. Too many times I have been called "Miss" on the phone. Have you?

After taking way too long of a break, I just had to answer Rasufelle's Writers' Challenge. The silly little ditty just wouldn't give me any peace until I wrote it down.

Alexandra and the Horrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Day.
by Ray Drouillard

One-one one-two one-three one-four one-five...

Parents

by Susan Heywood

Philip’s PTA evening is interesting (this really did happen to a friend)

“You OK son?”

“Yep”

“Ready for this?”

“Let’s go”

Coward?

He sits there, trapped by his fear, his cowardice.
He's afraid to do anything that might draw attention to himself.
He's afraid to meet with his co-workers off hours.
He's afraid that he won't be able to bluff his way through all that guy talk.

He's afraid that he'll have a bad time.
He's afraid that he'll have a good time.

This is a very short story/vignette about a father who's doing what he believes is best for his child and what happens when others disagree with him.

Daddy's Little Girl

Copyright 2008 by Heather Rose Brown
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Not always the Write way by Dreammaker

He sat down to the computer, his goal to write another story for the BC website.