Number 983 #Short Story

“Open to page 983 in Webster’s.” That’s all the cryptic note said.

I went to my Merriam Webster Dictionary- New Eleventh edition. The  cover said it had 2000 new words, over 75,000 definitions all clear and precise.  I opened my relatively new, already very used copy. I bought this thing for my writing. I hate googling a word in the middle of a sentence. Page 933, 935, 939.

“What??? There is no page 983 – it stops at 939! What is it I need to know?”I dropped the dictionary none too gingerly on my desk.

The cat left her perch on my printer in a huff.

I don’t usually get upset (well at least not so that people know.)  Then again I wasn’t used to receiving cryptic notes that magically appeared on my keyboard. Something gave me the  feeling this was less of a treasure hunt rather it had galactic importance. Why? I guess it’s instinct. I’m a writer for goodness sake! I write the cryptic messages, direct people on circuitous routes to nowhere. I’m not usually the recipient of those messages.

I looked at the message again. “Look further” was on the note where a minute before it only said “turn to Webster’s page 983.”
This had to be a joke from my teenage son who is always doing some crazy chemistry in  the bathroom. So far we have  blown up a mailbox, a gate, scorched the cat ~ oh and the dog house sans chien. I was just going to yell “Sean” down the stairs. Then I remembered Sean was at his father’s for the week.

I leafed through my Websters again. Maybe there was a misprint and 983 was secretly tucked between 111 and 113.

“Nope just page 112 – fancy that! What is it I’m looking for?” I yelled at my dictionary. Then a smile curled on my lips “they would lock me up if they heard me talking to my dictionary. Correction – yelling at my …”

The note flipped over almost as if it had willed itself. “Just Look!”

“Great now the note is carrying on a conversation with me.” My brow furrowed suspiciously.

With the note in one hand and the dictionary in the other I closed my eyes. At that moment, I thought of Mary Poppins when she jumped in the chalk drawing. “How silly” I mused as I took a deep breath. Maybe some incantation would work.

“Stop it you have watched too many movies about sorcerers lately. Ok I’ll look,” I said, with a little cheek, to the note. I opened the dictionary to the back. This time I touched the last page. All there was on the back page was an ad of sorts telling me that the best companions to my dictionary were…

When I opened my eyes, I was… Where was I? I was standing with one leg in a giant dictionary and another leg on the ground. But the ground wasn’t normal it was blue and swirly. Kinda like I was standing on the Milky Way.

I closed my eyes trying to regain my bearings “no more cold medicine for you” I chided. When I opened my eyes I was whizzing past a huge spinning ball with rings – “Saturn.” I gasped. “Girl your imagination is good but you have never gone this far before.”

Then I heard it. A whimper.  The sound reminded me of our puppy when she was left locked up in the laundry room. I closed my eyes willing myself to find the source of the sorrow. I opened them again and I was standing in front of a forest; it radiated beautiful blues and greens, magenta and yellows. The trees were magnificent in stature but the roots were not bound to the earth; they floated above quite stately with no connection to bedrock. Roots and all floated in a silvery pink, star-dust dawn. I tried walking toward a slightly moving root. My legs wouldn’t work. I had to will myself to move. I closed my eyes; it took several tries to get there.

There crumpled in the roots was a child. A little girl. This was no ordinary child. Her garment glowed as if encrusted with millions of diamond chips. I reached into her little cocoon. “There, there little one” My arms seemed to grow in size and strength to hold her.  She didn’t speak but her eyes glimmered; no they sparkled. As I pulled her close, they radiated with growing intensity. As I held her, she grew warm; the heat that normally would have burned my human flesh pushed back at her until there was a nova like halo covering our bodies. I don’t know why but at that moment I sang. It was an Aria I had not sung in years. When it was done, I sang it again as if someone had pressed the replay button on my vocal chords. She sang with me. With each note, her voice grew stronger. Her voice was not like mine. My mezzo soprano chords could only carry the melody or the harmony. Her voice sang with the strains of an entire choir – spellbinding. I closed my eyes with her still in my grasp. When I opened them, we were in a dark spot in the universe no planets, no pinpoints of light, nothing. She kissed me on the cheek and I released her into the emptiness reluctant to let her go into this cold emptiness. I held my breath; there was no longer an empty void in space but a concert hall of sound and brilliant light. “Oh little one you lost your way. You are more beautiful than all the rest.” She smiled and waved “goodbye” as I was sucked back into my world.

I sat back at my desk shaking star-dust from my mind. I was looking at the phone book contemplating a shrink. The note jumped into my hands. “Star #983 named after you!” I hadn’t noticed but on my finger was a ring wrapped in jewels that resembled starlight. It was so rare and precious I would never take it off. My life seemed to be covered in a glow. “It hadn’t been a dream,” I chuckled. I could never tell anyone about this excursion but I’m a writer; I could write a story about it. And I did!

This short story is just one of many stories submitted to the Tenth Daughter of Memory. The prompt was the picture. If you are a writer join us if not come read some fabulous stories.

Those stars were shot byJared Tarbell

Also Please check out Moondustwriter Thursday at One Stop Poetry for a poetry duet with my friend Sean Vessey.

Make Me Yours (10DOM – #short story)

He said “Take it!” As I was non- chalantly fiddling with a gum wrapper in my pocket.

It really didn’t sound like a suggestion. I didn’t suppose I got a second option.

The guy with the tiny mustache, a bit of a joke if you ask me, and the coke bottle glasses had an edge of authority and faint threat in the tonal quality on those two simple words.

My hand grasped her. She was smooth, sleek. I started caressing her. Realizing too late they had known my weakness all along. I wanted to push her away, release my grasp. Under the bright light, they had planned on the mind game. She was just a plaything willing to be manipulated. I had more lasting tangible loves in my life now. I eyed her. Was she gazing back at me? There it was – the invitation. I knew they were watching me. I believe I heard a sneer from the mustache character. They really should have just left me alone.

Then I heard it – almost audibly “Take me, hold me, make me yours.” she beckoned.

What if I do? My mind was reeling with split second precision. I had to make a life changing decision.

“Oh what the hell. I might as well get it over with. They won’t let me leave here without it. Give them what they want.”

In the seconds of silence, we got intimate. I knew her shape, her temperature and what she concealed inside that metallic but beautiful exterior. I could almost taste what she would be willing to do for me. She could do the job of that I was assured.

“Baby,” I held her close to my lips, “don’t let me down.”

I knew by the weight that she was loaded.

Later as I showed off my new prize; another 22 to add to my collection. I told my buddies “It may have seemed like I was shooting in the breeze. Maybe I was but none of my captors are alive to tell the story so you’ll just have to believe me.”

thanks to the Tenth Daughter of Memory for the “Shooting in the Breeze” prompt

The Bowie Knife Mystery (Part One)

“You found what?”  Stewart said to the young man working the loading dock.

“A 10 or 12 inch bowie-knife wedged in the sidewall of your rear tire, Sir.”

He held back the profanity that was creeping to the surface. Stewart stomped off to his late-model, pearl white Lexus. “I didn’t need this today.”

“A doozy of a fight with Amanda and now this, ” he said under his breath. “What else can go wrong?”

The bowie was wedged perfectly to render the tire irreparable. “Great!” He wanted to kick the tire but there wasn’t enough air. Foul language spewed forth with pounds per square inch intensity.

“Here Donny ya want the knife?” he said pulling the knife from the tire.

“Sure sir.” Donny, knowing the blade was razor-sharp, wrapped it in a cloth he had in his back pocket . He waved as he walked back to the dock.

With his hand on his hip in disgust, Stu dialed AAA. He knew the number by heart. He walked around the car to see if there was any other evidence of vandalism.

“Yeah I came out to my car at work and someone has crammed a knife into my tire. Can you send someone to change the tire. I would change it myself but I’m in my Armani suit. Armani just doesn’t go to well with oil and grime .

“Certainly Mr. Cristoph.  I can send someone over in the next half hour.”

“Thanks Brenda.  I’m hoping this will be the last call for a while.  Not used to having so many flats.”

“It’s fine – that’s what your AAA service is for.” He knew the smile in her voice as she hung up.

She had been a great couple month affair. “Too bad she met a nice, unmarried guy.” Stu was thinking. “Ah well.” His thoughts momentarily shifted to Valerie; an old girlfriend from long-ago.


He got the call from his secretary that the guy had come for his keys and was changing the tire. Stewart was peering out of his window, as he heard the repairman let out a scream.

“Now what?” Stewart wanted to bellow.

As the repairman turned to Stewart, he looked white as a sheet.

“What is … ” His voice caught as he saw the bloody body in the trunk. He recognized the clothing but that was all that was recognizable. He ran to the bushes and lost his breakfast. He started to tremble and fell to his knees. A crowd formed around the trunk.

Stewart heard a voice at the end of a tunnel. “Get back to your offices. Now!”

He recognized the stentorian voice. It was his partner Randy. He felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder. He hadn’t heard Randy whisper to the secretary -” please call the police.”

“Let’s get you to the office, Stu.”

“I don’t understand, I just don’t understand…” Stewart mumbled over and over. “I just saw her in the kitchen before I left this morning. She was going to work out and we talked about where we were going to have dinner.”

Randy kept him talking until he got to a chair.  Stewart slumped into a despondent heap.

“Here drink this,” Tracy tenderly placed a cup of water in his hands.

“What is it? What is this? What is happening? What…”

“Sir, we are here for you. Please just rest.”

“There was a knife. What was the knife doing in the tire? What is my wife doing in my car. She’s supposed to be at the gym. Maybe that isn’t her. Call the gym, ask for Amanda Christoph. They all know her.” Stewart said babbling incoherently. “That’s right it’s someone else. It doesn’t look like her. Not at all. It only looks like her running shoes and pink work out top.”

Stewart looked with the glazed eyes of a madman. “It didn’t look like her did it Randy?”

“No Stu. You are right didn’t look like Amanda at all.”

He wasn’t lying. The body may have resembled any thirty year old woman. The head had been jaggedly cut off below the neck. It wasn’t with the body. A mangled, bloody mess was lying in the trunk of Stu’s Lexus. Randy felt like being sick as he thought about Amanda’s body.

“Tracy, get my wife on the phone and contact the gym for Stewart.”

“Yes sir,” Tracy wasn’t looking too well either.

Stewart looked up and saw flashing lights circling his Lexus. “Oh good,” he thought “someone has finally come to take care of the flat tire.” His head fell to the side.

Join The Tenth Daughter of Memory for many great stories as we try to write according to the prompt “Below Then Neck.”

Thanks to: A Fonticiella for that beautiful handled Bowie


It was over (part three)

Charles sits back reading a magazine and holds a bear when a frame  (like a movie reel) flashes through his mind.

There she is , Mae, his beautiful little sister. His breath catches; he loves her so much. He sees her run into the house  at 456 Ivy Court. He quietly peers into her room as his father forces his body into hers. “Daddy don’t you are hurting me,” she shrieks and clutches her bear close. “Don’t hurt my bear; I will do anything daddy,” she says as her father pulls the bear and rips off an arm. “She’s dying,” Charles moans as he sees Mae lying in her blood. Charles runs at his father with the first knife he finds – a fillet knife.

“Stop you stupid fool.  A fillet knife would barely scratch me.” His father chuckles.

The next frame slows and shows Mae lying in her bed hardly moving. “She’s still alive,” Charles sighs with relief. He brings her food and treats – nothing.  He realizes what he needs to do for Mae.  Shaking out the last of his coins from his piggy bank Charles goes to the store to buy Mae a new bear.

“Is there any way someone could sew a heart on the bear? It’s for my sister to replace a bear that got hurt.”

The lady at the counter with tender eyes took the fabric the boy offered and sewed on a heart. Her eyes sparkled as she threw her arms around her brother’s neck.

“I know momma sent an angel to bring me this bear. I love you Charlie.” Mae kept her bear close. Charles Sr. marries several months later.

The next frame  pans in to the campus of the University of Tennessee in Memphis where Charles Sedgewick Sr. is an acclaimed writer and  literature professor.

“I am proud of you Charles – first in your class. I hope Mae does as well when she goes away to college this coming fall.” Charles’ father pats the grad firmly on the back as he smiles.

The beginning of many sad frames move through.  Charles receives a phone call from Mae. He can see her sitting on her pink fluffy comforter in the dorm at the University of Louisiana.

“He is the man I have been hoping for. I know he loves me. I love him more than life. He is handsome and smart like daddy. He says one word to me and I melt.”

He got the call several months later;  his sister was pregnant and the professor was married.  “Mae I will be there for you honey,”  he angrily hung up the phone. He convinced Mae to meet with the professor one more time. He told her it was best to say goodbye  in a romantic setting. The Hotel Monteloene was perfect.  Mae’s professor was found dead the morning after.

Charles could feel the weight from the next frames as he gave up his dream to be department head to take care of Mae and his niece. Mae was able to live on the money the professor had put into her bank account. Charles, Mae, and Rosie moved to Seattle where Charles took an adjunct professor position at the University of Washington in Seattle. Mae registered for classes. She never loved another man like she did Greg but Mae had a soft spot for lit professors. This one was dark and handsome like the others. He was a poet and spent hours weaving words through Mae’s heart.

“Mae you inspire me. We should be together.” She sighed hoping at last she had found true love. She had until her professor found out about Rosie.

“I could never love another man’s child.” His face reflected consternation.

She begged for a last night at The Edgewater for “old times sake.”

Charles sees the frame of wear on Mae’s face as she flees rejection. The frames whiz by as he sees Boston and professors, San Francisco and the historic Fairmont, Chicago,and an utter waste of time. Faces of police and questions and Mae fleeing one last time.

Then there is the frame of home in Memphis. Rosie going to school the first day.

“You look so like your mommy Rosie.”

He looks in the mirror and sees a man who resembles his father. He see’s Mae crying in her old room

”Men have failed me,” she wails as her father wraps his arms around her.

Charles in jealousy glares. He longed to be the one to comfort Mae. She had forgotten that day long ago; her father had not. When Charles walks in and sees Mae kissing her father, he loses it.

Kyle read a morning report and was on the next plane to Memphis. He knew who the killer was; he had actually talked to this professor about the murders. An APB was out for a man named Charles Sedgewick, tall, dark, blue eyes…

The overhead speaker squawked:

“Last call for flight 645 departing for Rio de Janeiro.” A stooping, blond man with glasses with a young girl gets up and walks down the jet way. As he gazes at the tarmac, he hears his sister’s voice “it was over before it had begun Charlie…” A tear slips unnoticed down his cheek.

Thanks to the Tenth Daughter of Memory for a great prompt – “The Morning After”

It was over … (Part 1 – Short Story)

“It was over before it had begun… ” Mae awoke to these words banging against her head where had she heard them before??? She had to close her eyes to reach deep. Several frozen frames shot by rapidly until they stopped at…

There was the frame of a girl climbing up in a tree. Scabs on her knees; her hair in a tangled mess. “I will save you princess,” she called into the air. In her make -believe turret was a teddy bear with a satin dress. “Away with you ogres” she looked down in disgust at the ogres dressed like leaves.

Suddenly, she was yanked from her fairy tale by her older brother Charles.

“Get down here quick. He’s asking for ya.”

“I’m playing,” she pouted.

“I know sis,” he said as he smoothed the dirt from her beautiful cheek. “We don’t want him mad.”

The reel spun to another frame.

“Mommy, I will always remember this day and my special gift.” Mae smiled as she hugged her mommy and her new teddy bear. A tear fell from her eye; that was the last memory she had of her mother alive.

The frame moved. She was in her first year at the University of Louisiana. He was older; A professor, like her father. He assured her of his love for her. That he was struck by her beauty. “We will be together someday soon I promise princess,” he said as he stroked her brow and gently touched her lips.  He was her first lover; she poured all her desire to be loved and adored into this talented man.

Then frames whizzed past other men who all seemed to resemble each other. Were they all brothers? “No they were all professors,” she sighed.

Then a frame with two people: Charlie her beloved brother who took good care of her. Too bad they were related he would have been a faithful lover. Rosie, a little blue eyes rosey cheeked little girl who always brought her mommy rose petals and smiles.

She pulled herself up and wondered what it had all meant. What was her life, why was her life? She didn’t know who she was anymore. “Really?” Why was there so much heartache and pain? How could she survive another day?

The last frame was more ominous. It was a girl laying with her bear. On closer inspection, it was a woman who was “girl-like.” A knife driven through the heart of the bear and the woman.

Thanks to Dom H for the Teddy Bear with the Heart


Just a Text

“Damn you,” she clenched her fists wanting to throw her iphone, where she read his last message, against the wall.

“Are you really going to just walk out of my life after a text?”

They had met on-line. Isn’t that where everyone meets these days? Many things in common: thrill seekers, loved life, hated commitment, music, romance oh yes the list went on.

They actually met because he had tweeted lines from a favorite song. She loved that song and RT’d it. Then she responded with a line from a favorite song of her own. He happened to RT her back. This went on for weeks. Once in a while they’d exchange a few words; not much more you can do on Twitter.  One day he put up words from a song that spoke to her personally. He knew it and she knew it. Now the air was swirling with innuendo.

He wasn’t the only guy she “talked” to. There was something about his words and love for music and life. They finally started a Facebook relationship. He saw pictures of her rather than a postage stamp avatar. “You are beautiful and so athletic” he commented. The remarks about her beauty were daily. They went past her beauty to what she was wearing. She looked for ways to turn him on in text.

They discussed places and people and things and sometimes they discussed their bodies and what they would do if they were in the same time and space. The wonderful thing they both knew – there was no commitment. How can you be committed to a blip on the other end of a computer chip. So they kept chatting; little by “chatted “with went by the wayside. They were sucked in to a relationship.

“Naw that can’t be he shouted one morning. I can’t be in love with her. I don’t even know her.”  But when he thought about it he knew more about her than his ex-wife. They talked about everything in great length. He knew where the scar from her first bicycle accident was she knew when he had his first crush. They got alot more personal – he knew moles, tender spots. he knew the word to type that would drive her crazy and she? All she had to so was whisper his name in text and his heart started racing.

He couldn’t do this. What if she wasn’t who she said she was? She could be a dog. But he realized that wouldn’t matter he loved her heart though he’d never held her body. He yearned for that woman at the end of his  computer and phone.

He sent her a text: “Sorry can’t talk anymore – no commitment rule.”

She hated the fact that she would tingle when she heard from him. Now the words she had always embraced shot an arrow to her heart.

The battle had just begun. In her mind, she contrived all sorts of hateful things to post about him on Facebook. She had an arsenal of  insults in 140 characters for twitter. Her blog would carry a series of  poems lined with sadness. Her launch date – the day they met.

But – she still hoped he would change his mind before that date. She would will her iphone to buzz or beep. No cooperation. She lost her desire to chat on Twitter and Facebook.  She dreaded running into him.

It was the countdown. Tonight at midnight she would launch her retaliatory effort at his heart. She was walking into her building after lunch. It had been a good week so far. She had stopped looking at the phone and the computer screen every second of the day.

She looked great in her business casual, attire. Just then a man walked up with a bouquet of pink roses. Grabbed her arm and said “I can’t do this without you. You have become my world.”

She stared at  the man who, until this moment, had always been at the end of her computer. He was sooo much better looking than his photos. She let him sweep her up in his arms. They lost track of time as they kissed, listened to each others voices, and kissed.

Back at her office she got a text:

“Have dinner with me for the rest of our lives….”

As she cleared her computer of her “War Room”, she mused “All is fair in love and war.”

Our prompt was War. Please go to The Tenth Daughter of Memory for more War Stories.

Never Mix Business with Pleasure

It was another late night at the office. I had to get that damned report done and on the President’s desk by 8 am. He always had these last-minute jobs for me. But he had dangled the carrot – the promotion, the bigger office, the fat raise. The coffee was the way I liked it cup for cup. One cup of the finest grounds from my favorite coffee place, and one cup filtered water – black. Forget the sweeteners and the sickly sweet additives. Black coffee was for the serious coffee drinker.

I was finishing up the last touches of my fifty page report when my mind started slipping into a day dream (night dream to be exact.) I was reflecting back on how I got to this place and time. I could feel the impressive resume, on expensive vellum, in my hands. I could see the lettering bold and professional: MBA from Stanford University, the long list of internships at Fortune 500 companies…  I debated between the black suit and the blue suit. In the end, the black suit with the blue silk blouse and the four-inch black pumps won out. I’d  had plenty of practice with the perfect look courtesy my hair dresser not Stanford University.  I wasn’t one of those prudes with the tightly pulled back hair.There is nothing wrong with looking pretty for an interview and I did. My hair and makeup spoke business but a little flirty and the perfect accents: diamond stud earrings, gold necklace, diamond tennis bracelet. At the last-minute,  I unbuttoned another two buttons on my blouse. Why? I do not know.

The interview was perfect. When the VP of Ops asked me what my favorite wine was, I was taken aback (in my mind) but without the slightest hesitation answered “Merlot.”  “Hmm he said that happens to be mine as well. If you get the job, you wouldn’t want to join me at The Park for dinner on Friday?” “That would be charming,” I smiled just a bit of a twinkle in my eye.  No one told me about this part of the interview process at Stanford.  Should a figured.

Dinner at The Park was classy; the Merlot was excellent. When he asked me back to his place, I politely said, “no!” I had to draw the line some where; after all sleeping with the boss was not part of business 101.

I shook my head wearily finishing the report. The report was neatly placed on my boss’ desk. As I drove back to my place, I tried to gather my thoughts and dream of the bigger office. I quietly shut the kitchen door behind me. As I climbed into bed, I slid my arms around him. “The report is on your desk.”

“Coffee maker and coffee is in your new office. Merlot for tomorrow night- pool side. Clothing optional,” he murmured with a sleepy kiss.

We had both agreed, early on in our relationship, not to mix business with pleasure. We never did.

Always great short stories at The 10th Daughter of Memory

Thanks for the wine photo: Yashima


The Cheap Shot

She was driving down the PCH in her red  Mercedes C230. Her mind in fast forward. The walls were closing in on her. It would soon be over as she knew it. Wasn’t it already over? This was it – her last hurrah before the house was foreclosed on, the Ethan Allen furniture toted away to pay off some  debts, and she was alone with nothing.

This wasn’t her fault. She didn’t spend extravagantly. Her husband had pulled in a million over the past five years. Well -until the recession. Then BAM – nothing. Creditors starting sucking them dry. He borrowed against everything, including the life insurance policy, until there was no place else to get money. So he did what any red-blooded American would do, he blew his brains out. She wished there had been one living cell left in his body when she found him – she would have kicked it and cursed it.

“Why are you leaving me with this?” she screamed at his dead body.

She was tempted to roll his body down the steep driveway. Instead she stalked out of the house and called his best friend. The only friend they had left in the world.

Because of her husband’s “untimely” death, the bank had given her a few more weeks before foreclosure. The clock was ticking until she would  be out on the street. She had applied for jobs. No one was hiring linguistics experts these days. Before she got married, she had worked for the United Nations; they definitely weren’t hiring.

All she had left was her engagement ring. She sold the diamond for seven thousand dollars. A steal as it was a $15,000 diamond when her husband had purchased it. She was taking the money to Vegas. Her husband had always said she was good at counting cards and always joked about taking her to Vegas and cleaning up if they ever were down on their luck.

“Cheap shot Honey! I’m going at this all alone. I don’t have any idea how to do this. We could be doing this together.”

She hated being inside. She was a California girl. Her life was directed by the sun. Today or tonight her fate was going to  to be directed by fake lighting and fake people. Her game- Twenty One. The stakes – her life.

The Theme “Living like There’s No Tomorrow”- hosted by The Tenth Daughter of Memory

I Can’t Be Crazy!!!

Alicia had heard enough. This couldn’t be. All she had been told was a lie.

“Wasn’t it?” she thought.

My life as a mom and wife can’t be over.

She would need to be drugged until they could find help. How could this be? Just yesterday, she had delivered her baby boy or so it seemed. The doctors hadn’t said anything then. Wouldn’t they have known? She fought back despair. After all wasn’t despair another form of mental illness?

“Alicia – think! What do you recall the symptoms would be: erratic behavior, emotional, angry, can’t make wise decisions. What is the rest ?  I must be crazy. That sounds like me. But- did they ever consider postpartum depression?”

For one moment she had a reasonable thought. Then -“Alicia you are talking to yourself. You are nuts!!!”

Alicia knew her husband and his new assistant would never give her drugs and keep the children away if she wasn’t crazy. Sonya, his assistant, was so sweet.

“Young and pretty- like I was as a young wife.”

There was still that hesitation.A stronger more rational thought.

“Alicia don’t take the medicine! If they make you, force it back up.”  She had to know.


“Alicia, honey, here is your medicine.”

“Oh good, thank you- I was waiting. I think it’s helping. Could you get me some juice? It helps with the after- taste.”

While Sonya was gone, Alicia slipped the pills in an empty envelope.

“Oh thank you. I was able to get them down but this will help with the taste in my throat. I’m tired – I’ll take a nap.”


A week or two went by. Alicia felt better; her terrible headaches were gone.  She didn’t feel like staying in bed round -the -clock though she did so it looked like she was taking the medication.

“Hello Katie. I’m sorry I haven’t returned you calls. I need you to do me a favor. I’ve not been well.  I”m feeling so much better. I was wondering if we could go shopping tomorrow. My husband is overly concerned -please don’t let him convince you I can’t. I think the best thing for me is to get out.”

“Hello Tracy. It was so kind of you to offer to have the children come over. Would you be able to have them tomorrow – and the baby? My husband feels it would be good for them to have a play date. Oh they will love it. Would you mind calling and telling my husband’s assistant your plan.  Thank you so much.”


It was a bright sunny day, children were playing, two friends were shopping, an employer and his beautiful assistant discussed when they would live like there was no tomorrow…

For more stories visit The Tenth Daughter of Memory – theme “Live Like There is No Tomorrow”


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