Poppins Pop In


Mary Poppins looked me up and . . . up. Considering how tall I was to her small, 5′ frame, she basically had to stare straight up to the sky to meet my eyes.

“So you’re the child I’m supposed to babysit?”

Wow, so this is what Poppins is really like? Her hair is pristine, as well as her clothes. Unfortunately, she doesn’t carry an umbrella. When I had asked her about that missing piece to her outfit, she laughed and asked if I really thought she still traveled in that impractical way.

Impractical it might have been, but Mary Poppins without her umbrella is like me without my cowboy boots. Or peanut butter without jelly.

Actually, it’s more like jelly without peanut butter. Team Jam all the way.

“Child doesn’t exactly fit.”

Snap. I forgot short people can kick you in the shins. I swear, their aim is deadly.

“Watch your words, dear. Just because you could rival Big Ben in height doesn’t mean you can sass. Fifteen going on sixteen is still one hundred percent a child. I mean, look at you. Stick thin, hardly any curve. You’re definitely still a child.”

Biting my tongue is an accomplishment of mine. That is, until the volcano of thoughts pops the top and spills in burning inferno out of my lips. But that’ll be awhile before it happens to Mary Poppins.

Or maybe not.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Mary’s perfect brow quirked towards the ceiling. “Hold still as I measure you.” She balanced precariously on the bed as I held perfectly still, her measuring tape examining me.

Ah, her famous measuring tape. Since when has the height of 5′ been practically perfect in every way? I don’t believe there’s an ounce of magic in that stupid thing. Mary herself admitted to using Uber.

“Tsk tsk, extremely stubborn and suspicious? Well, I shall have to keep my eyes on you.”

If you ask my opinion, Mary’s eyes are suspicious and stubborn. Much more so than mine.

“As I was saying.” Mary bustled around the room. “I’m here to help you.”

“Help?” The laugh was stuck in my throat. “What are you talking about?”

Mary’s eyes finally meet mine again. “You should know, you were the one who asked for help.” Her delicate finger touches her chin. “If I remember right, you were on your bedroom floor, crying, and you said you couldn’t do it anymore.”

The heat creeps up my neck and across my cheeks. “No one was supposed to see that.”

“Or hear that? Tsk tsk, you should know better than that. Whenever your soul cries from it’s uttermost depths, someone will come. You just have to have the bravery to see them.”

“People are scared of you?” Yeah, shocked, too. I mean, the miniature nanny is kinda tough looking, but people afraid of her?

“You are an artist, a creator! You should know if no one else knows, dear.” Mary shook her head, on the verge of tsk tsking again. “People are afraid of what they cannot understand. And my darling girl, people cannot understand Mary Poppins. Oh sure, some have tried. Jane and Micheal Banks have become heroes of childhood tales. But even Jane grew afraid. Afraid to take the medicine, afraid to laugh to the ceiling. Even afraid to feed the birds.”

In one swift moment, Mary was in front of me, jabbing her finger towards my chest. “But you. You are not afraid of what you cannot understand. You are afraid of reality.”

Ouch. I totally wanted my fears to be spoken to the whole world. And the whole world consisted of the sleepy cat in the window sill, and the puzzled dog at my feet.

“So, I am here to help you understand that reality, in it’s own way, is a figment of the imagination. The figment of an unimaginative imagination. One that has been oxidized to desecration, one that . . .”

Oxidized to desecration? What kind of description is that? Would it stand in Chemistry class?

“Excuse me, did you hear a single word I said?” Mary’s hands rested on her shapely hips as she tilted her head, sideways and up.

“Uh . . .”

“For the love of the chimney sweep! You got hung up on the blasted oxidizing, didn’t you?  And you claim to be a writer. What has the creative world come to? It’s about time you went on an adventure. Besides, we need you.”

Need . . . Me? I think I missed something here. Wait, she’s opening that bag, the bag I’ve always hated?

“Are you ready to travel, my dear?” Mary’s red lips corked upwards.

“Travel?” Man, why did my voice have to squeak?

“Mm. You certainly did miss everything I just said. You are needed in the creative world, child.”

“Me?! But I’m the least creative writer, artist, you name it! I think you have the wrong girl.”

Mary’s smile was more alarming than any other response. “Child, did you paint this? Write this poem? Create those videos? Your music, that one song you put your soul into because you aren’t afraid like you are on the others?” Her accusatory finger pokes at me again. “You have it deep within, you are just afraid to let reality see the kind of human you are inside. And that is part of the reason we’re leaving.”


“Since you weren’t listening, you’ll have to find out once you step through the bag.”

“I’m not –”

“Mm. Yes, you are.” Mary’s eyes twinkled as she stepped back. “I know you. You think you can resist the curiosity, but you aren’t that strong. This is a story to write, a painting to create, a poem to pen, and a song to sing. So step through, and experience it to the full. I’ll be right behind you.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I took a deep breath. Trusting Mary seemed like going against my gut. But since when had I ever followed my gut?

“Alright. Just once.”

Because I didn’t want to end up on the floor. Not again.

So I jumped.

Into the dark.


The Weather Dispute


It ’tis Christmas time, and I have yet to do a Christmasy post. This week has been really busy and long, and I’m trying to get through this Saturday. Which isn’t hard, I should probably finish my cup of tea and then drink some coffee…

This is the first “really” busy Christmas season I’ve had in a long time. And it became busy…like a week before the season, so I didn’t have time to prepare. Thankfully, the past three days has been very calm because we’ve been sick.

Not that I’m thankful to be sick, but it is nice to not be rushing.

Today I am going to tell you a Christmas story, so please. Pull your chairs around, and sip your hot cocoa as I begin.

Most people don’t know this, but there are people that live in a world called Cloud Nine that are named after the weather. There’s Icy, quite a stone-faced woman with a warm heart underneath her layers of ice, who was preparing for her usual Christmas appearance to the world underneath the clouds when Rain, her close cousin walks in.

“Greetings, Icy, how are you today?” Rain’s blue hair was dripping down her back as she paused at the mirror to make sure her makeup was runny.

“Preparing for the usual Christmas run, of course.” Icy tightened her ice skate without looking at her cousin.

“Oh? Again? Isn’t it someone else’s turn?” Rain turned away from the mirror. “You always get to go, giving children places to skate, and people no reason to drive their cars. For once, people should have a very wet Christmas.”

“No one wants a wet Christmas, Rain. That idea is simply preposterous!” Icy shook back her long, white tendrils of hair as she stood. “Now, I must be on my way, or I’ll be too late.”

“No. I am calling a weather council.” Rain said, abruptly stepping into Icy’s way.

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Oh, no, I am.” Rain swiftly pulled a piece of cloud, which resulted in all weather beings appearing on the spot. Sunny, her pleated dress ironed to perfection, her straight blond hair past her waist, and her smile bright enough to be a Crest commercial bounced over, followed by Snow, a rather white man with ice blue eyes. Windy and Breezy came in, along with Fog, Drizzle, Cloudy, Hail, and Blizzard.

“I purpose that Icy has had too much power over the Christmas season.” Rain stomped her foot. “And it is time for her to give up her power of the world. We should all take turns for our Christmas runs.”

A loud murmur arose until Blizzard stood up, the dark and whiteness of him contrasting greatly. “I second this motion. There is absolutely no reason for Icy to always appear on Christmas Day.”

“It should obviously be all of us.” Snow said. “At least, me. Mostly me. I’m the best looking out of all of us.”

“Just because you’re a model, Snow, doesn’t mean you can hate on all of us!” Windy tried to smooth her tangled hair but quickly gave up.

“Hey, just saying, I have 87,524, 342 uses of my hashtag on Instagram and you have…what? Three?”

“I have a total of 4, 365, 378, so you better hold your tongue, Mister Snow!”

“Hey, hey, no fighting here, guys. We’re just trying to figure this all out.” Sunny wrapped her arms around Windy and Snow’s shoulders. “I think it would be best if we each had a different part of the world to appear in during Christmas, so then it will be fair.”

“That’s…not a bad idea.” Icy admitted. “It means I don’t have as much work, so…Let’s do it. All in favor, say aye.”

The chorus of ayes settled the matter, and that is why, my friend, you have so many different kinds of weather during Christmas. But it still isn’t fair that Snow models them all. I mean, you shouldn’t always dream of a white Christmas, you know.

I hope you enjoyed this story, and your hot chocolate. Have a MERRY CHRISTMAS.



Ode to Holy Holey Socks

One by One you fell

On the battlefield called life.

One by one you scaled

The ladder to sockly afterlife.

And now I must say you’re holy,

And holey, and overly dirty,

But your piety others encouraged

To take up the fight

To warm my chilly feet,

All through the dark night.

Your work might be finished,

But you’ll always be

very holy, holey socks

To me.

Socks that I wore

Throughout good and bad

Socks that stayed close

Even when I felt sad

Even when I pushed everyone away,

I kept my socks near me

And wouldn’t send them astray.

For socks certainly save the day.

They make life better,

And they help keep your feet sweet and clean

So then your special other

Doesn’t smell your feet

and make a scene.

Socks mean much to me

It would be hard to repay

Every single one of my socks

for every single day.

And so I decided to write this poem

To show everyone

That socks are important to them.

Wear your socks

Until they’re thin

And then remember

Everything you did in them


A Light to the Past

Image 12-6-18 at 1.30 PM

Wassup, y’all?  I enjoyed all your answers to my surveys, and I learned your least favorite posts are writing advice.  (Haha, guess those won’t be showing up on my blog. 😛 )  I was honestly astonished to see that encouragement posts were the top ranking, which makes me a little bit happy.  What made me a LOT happier was to see that my rambling posts were the second favorite. 😉

(Oh, and if you voted for videos as your favorite, I plan to post more consistently on my YouTube channel, so check it out here.  I won’t post every video I post there on my blog, so I just thought I’d let you know.)

Today I’m going to give you a short story I wrote for a contest.  The theme of the contest was true love, and I wrote on a topic that is fairly close to my heart.  Before you begin, however, I must warn you that it’s not exactly kid-friendly.  If you’re under the age of 12, please ask your parent or guardian to look over it first.  I try not to write anything that I wouldn’t read to my younger siblings, but this story is a more adult-ish topic.  Thanks. ❤

A Light to the Past


This might never be told, or it might leak out on a rainy day, when only tears can wash it away.  Lenna looked up from her notebook and let her gaze fall on the fire that crackled in the hearth.  The mountain cabin was quiet, and most importantly, it was safe.  But not safe enough to keep the memories from haunting her.  The past was still the past, and she hadn’t let it go. The memories flooded in, faster and thicker, causing her to shiver even with the bright fire beside her.   She drew a deep breath, shaking her head as she pulled her sleeve up and looked at her arm, scared.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Lenna said to her reflection in the mirror.  The makeup had been taken off to reveal the black eye and the puffy lip that he had given her.  Her body was full of bruises, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. A shadow ruled her house, and it loomed over her family, making everyone of them scared of their every movement.  

“I have to do something. I can’t go on.  I just can’t. Oh, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” The tears splashed on the counter, and Lenna’s eyes fell on her brother’s knife.  Without thinking, she snatched it, the insults hurled at her flitting through her brain. She set her jaw and shook her head.

“I’m ugly,” she whispered, as she flipped the blade open and slipped it down her arm.  A trickle of red followed, and the rage and hurt in her only grew. “I’m stupid,” she added, making another red line.  “I’ll never be worth anything, I’m retarded, I’m unwanted.” Each time she added something, she let the knife cut deeper, but it didn’t cut deep enough for her.  It didn’t make her arm hurt as much as her heart.

Lenna pulled her sleeve back down her arm and brushed her sleeve across her eye to dry the tear.  She fiddled with her pen before she put it to the paper and continued writing. I’m free from that now, but if you’re reading this you need to know.  I grew up abused, and in constant fear of my father’s shadow. Lenna sighed and bit her lip.

I didn’t know how to handle it, and so I began hurting myself and telling myself lies.  I was anti-social, considered both awkward and shy, so the children at my church and school left me alone.  Alone to my thoughts, to my fears, and to my tears. I had no future and no hope, so I tried to do the only thing I knew.  I decided it was the best thing I could do.

Lenna felt another tear slip down her cheek, a tear for her past self.  Now, she wasn’t only remembering, she was praying that she would have courage for the future.  That others in her situation would have courage to speak out.

Lenna held the blade and idly let it cut up her arm.  Her body was black and blue. He had just hurt her more than ever before…And there was nothing she could do.  Nothing she wanted to do.

She closed her eyes to think.  She was just tired.  She could see no future that was any more appealing than the present or the past.  She was tired of living, and as she thought on it, she realized something.  Just one cut in the right place, and it would all be over.  

She looked numbly at the picture she had pulled up on her phone.  There, that was were the vein was, it wouldn’t hurt. At least, she had gotten used to the pain on her arms.  It would be quick, and then it would be over. No more physical, no more emotional, no more mental pain.

It would be better for everyone.  No one cared for her, no one wanted her.  She wouldn’t be a worry to her mother, she wouldn’t be a bother to her brother, and he could never get her again.  She would be safe.

Suddenly, a wave of emotion flooded over Lenna.  It was like blood rushing to someone’s numb limb, and the pain of the emotion caused the tears fall, splashing to the floor.  She savagely slashed at her leg, the only way for her to express her emotions.

“I hate myself.  Oh, how I hate myself!” she burst through gritted teeth.  She paused in exhaustion from the emotion and watched with interest as the blood dripped on the floor.  A book was sitting on the bathroom counter, and she pulled it toward her. It was a Bible, and it flipped to Jeremiah 29:11.  “For I know the plans I have for you.”

Lenna’s thoughts whirled.  If God knew, wouldn’t He stop this?  But the verse went on to say they were plans of hope.  Maybe, maybe she could get through just one more day.

Lenna wiped the tear away, and silently thanked God for saving her from that path.  From taking a life that was only God’s to take. The dark clouds then seemed darker than she could bare, but a smile broke through, happy this time, when she thought of the next thing that had happened.  The only bit of sunshine that had crossed her past.

“Hey, squirt, what’s your name?” Lenna looked up to see the new boy at church standing near her.  Her eyes instinctively dropped to the ground, and she remained silent as the boy’s eyes looked her over.  “I’m Andy, by the way.”

“I’m Lenna,” Lenna gathered enough courage to look up into his eyes.  

“Why were you standing over there alone?” he asked, following Lenna as she started walking towards the woods nearby.  

“I don’t have any friends,” Lenna answered, her eyes nervously darting around.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?  But I don’t have any friends at the moment, either.  Just moved, and so I thought I’d get to know you.” Andy grinned, and tried to catch her eye, but Lenna resolutely kept hers to the ground.

“Interesting,” Lenna said, finally sneaking a look at the boy walking beside her.  Andy was lanky, with sandy blond hair, and blue eyes that continually sought the sky.  He had a type of jumpy spring to his step that made one think he was going to take the world in one stride.  

“What do you enjoy doing?” Andy asked, his blue eyes locking with Lenna’s.

“Nothing,” Lenna said quickly, crossing her arms over her chest.  

“C’mon, you have to like something,” Andy answered.

“I like quiet, walking, the woods.”

“I like the woods and walking as well, but I doubt I’m ever quiet, so I guess I don’t like silence.” Andy broke into a wide smile, a smile that scrunched his eyes and added a twinkle to them.

“I don’t talk much.”  

“Then we’ll get along,” Andy flashed another smile.  “I’ll talk for the both of us, as long as you help. Oh, and I heard we’re going to the same school.”  The random fact made Lenna feel wary. She couldn’t let him find out, and yet, as time went on, it got harder and harder.

One summer day, Lenna remembered, they had been walking out in the woods, and Lenna had gotten hot, so she had carefully rolled up her long sleeves.

“Why do you wear long sleeves in summer, anyway?” Andy had asked.  

“Oh, just do,” Lenna shrugged, looking at the ground.

“Here, take that jacket off, silly,” Andy said, but Lenna backed away.

“No, I don’t want to,” she answered, looking around for an escape.

“Why not?  It’s hot, you might get a heat stroke.”

I’m good,” Lenna said stubbornly, slowly backing away.

“Just roll your sleeves up, it won’t hurt you.”  Andy coaxed as he walked closer. “Is something wrong?” He paused when he saw Lenna’s face.

“No, I’m fine,” she sucked in her breath.  “I’ll take the jacket off.” Lenna let the security of the jacket drop off her arms, showing the scars and a few new red lines.  

“Lenna…” Andy trailed off, a puzzled expression on his face before a look of understanding flashed.  “Lenna, I…”

Lenna squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from falling.  “Andy,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Lenna, don’t go,” Andy grabbed her hand to keep her from running.  “It’s all right. You don’t have to do it anymore.”

“You don’t understand,” was her only response before she ran away.  Away to a different part of the woods where she could hear Andy calling her for the next fifteen minutes.  

Lenna smiled as she picked up an old journal and flipped through it.  There was a red rose, the rose she had found on her doorstep when she came home, left there by the person who knew her problem, and the person that was trying to understand.  The person who actually stayed.

Andy hadn’t left, but he didn’t know the whole story.  At least, not enough. She had never had enough courage to speak her mind, to take the time to tell him and take him to her past.  The past that had scarred her, and left her with a burden.

But then, she smiled again as she remembered something else.  The love and concern of a humanly friend had led her to the real sun, the Son of God.  In a way, that to her was as magical as the fairy tales she had delighted in when she was younger. She had learned about the love of a God.  A love so strong, that it wasn’t even destroyed in the second strongest force on earth…Death.

Then, there was that Valentine’s day in the last year of highschool.  Andy had already graduated the year before, and he had astonished everyone by skipping college and working for his family’s business.  

“Hey, squirt,” Andy greeted, as he pulled up in front of the school.

“What are you doing here, Andy?” Lenna asked.  

“Thought I’d bring you home.  Your mom invited me to dinner, and your school is on the way to your house.”

“Yeah, but it’s three in the afternoon, not six,” Lenna answered, opening the car door and dropping into the passenger seat.

“Coffee can fill the time.”

“Really?” Lenna’s brows went up in mock surprise.  “I thought we would just go home and pass the time staring at each other.”

“I like staring at you anywhere, so it’s up to you where we go.”  Lenna squirmed at the tone and words, and yet, they warmed a part in her heart that had been locked up her whole life. But she couldn’t trust anyone.  She had to protect herself. “Lenna? Where are we going?”

Lenna swallowed before pasting the smile she had grown accustomed to wearing on her face.  “Let’s go for coffee. It’s an adventure, right?”

Andy let out a laugh, scrunching his eyes and adding the twinkle that made them irresistible.  Soon they were at the coffee shop, sitting across from each other. “So, what are you going to do once you get out of highschool?”

Lenna shivered slightly as she thought about her home, and she knew she would do anything to get away from it.  “I don’t know.”

Andy leaned halfway across the table.  “Lenna, I love you, and I want to share the rest of my life with you…”

“No, Andy,” Lenna interrupted, “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?  You’ve stopped hurting yourself, and you can move on.  I’ll help you, and I need you to help me. I want you to love me, Lenna.”

“But, Andy, what is true love? What is love in action? How can I love you?” Lenna felt a cold fear settle on her.  She had known Andy for almost four years now, but could she really trust him?

“The greatest love the world has ever known came through Jesus.” Andy answered.  “All throughout my life I have wondered, how do I give that to others? When I first saw you all alone, I knew that I should show you the love of Christ.  You stood as a withered flower, asking someone to help, someone to show you the love of your Heavenly Father. And I tried, Lenna. Now I realize that God has ordained it that we should become one, and model Christ’s love for the church.  Lenna, will you trust me?”

Lenna fingered the two rings on her left hand, and looked up with a smile as a well-known step walked down the hallway.  There were still tears on her cheek, and she knew that tonight, as the blizzard roared outside, she would tell Andy about the things she had been too scared to talk about before.  Today, she had the courage to bring a light to the past, because today she had courage enough to forgive and to love the father who had abused her. She looked at the Bible next to her, and read the verse about love before Andy sat down.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” And then she remembered what her Savior had said when he walked this earth. “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,”

Lenna took a deep breath as Andy sat beside her and threw his arm over her shoulders.  “Andy, I have a lot to tell you…”


Who Are They?

Image 12-6-18 at 1.30 PM

So, I’ve only done flash fiction once, and I decided to do it again.  I’ve chosen a prompt off of Pinterest, and I’m going to show it to you in a second.  First up, I’m going to lay myself some rules.  Number one, which will be the hardest for me…(Just playing) End on a cliff hanger.  Number two, No killing characters.  And number three?  Have fun. 😉

Screen Shot 2019-03-05 at 11.09.39 AM.png

“How did we get into this mess again?” Aaron asked.  Kate’s hand gripped his mouth, and it tasted like grime and mud.

“Shh, they’ll find us,” she hissed, crouching lower into the pine tree.  Aaron looked towards Naomi, who was sullen watching the people who were slowly scanning the field.  Beside him sat Luke, who was leaning out just a bit too far.  “We need to stay low for a while,” Kate finally broke the silence, as the people in the field walked past their tree.

“I wanna go back,” Naomi said in her sullen tone.

“We can’t,” Kate said, sitting on her ankles.  “If we did, we’d be in more trouble than you’d believe.”

“I still don’t know how I got into this mess,” Aaron reminded.  Kate gave him an amused laugh.

“You’re my boyfriend.  You’re stuck in whatever mess I’m stuck in.”

“Poor boy,” Naomi said softly.  “You had a choice in this matter.”

“Did I?” Aaron asked, shaking his head.  Luke sat up and rubbed his beanie.

“Yeah, you did.  We’re doomed to be Kate’s siblings, but you chose to be Kate’s boyfriend. Now we’re running away from them…Again.”

“I’m still not sure who they are,” Aaron commented in frustration.  He looked at Kate as she stood up and grabbed her backpack.  “And I might be better able to help if I knew.”

“Okay, here’s the rundown,” Naomi stood up and looked at him as she crossed her arms.  “We lived with our grandmother our whole lives, since our parents got divorced when I was three months old.  They didn’t want us, so our maternal grandmother adopted us.  When Kate was my age, she was stupider than she is now, and so she ran with the wrong crowd, and almost ended up in a trade that isn’t admirable.  They’re still trying to get her.”

“But who is they!?” Aaron asked, looking from one face to the next.  His eyes rested on Kate’s, and they held a fear that chilled him to the bone.

“They are the people who lead the trade,” Kate said in a cold tone.  “And I’m not going to do what they want me to do.”

“Why not go to the authorities?” Aaron asked.

“Why not indeed?” Luke scoffed.  “We’ve been, but we don’t have any proof.  These men are too good at their job…Too good at avoiding justice.”

“So our only choice is to avoid them,” Naomi added, as she stood up.  “They haven’t been that close in a long time.”

“What if they actually get you?” Aaron asked, a dark look on his face.  The siblings didn’t respond verbally, they simply pulled back their jackets to reveal .22s.  Aaron’s eyes grew wide, and he looked from face to face.  “Do you know how to use them?”  Again, the siblings said nothing, only nodded their heads.  “How have I dated you for six months and not known a thing about this?!”

“We’re secretive,” was Luke’s only answer.

“It’s better that way,” Naomi shrugged.  “And we weren’t sure if they were still chasing us.”

“So you’re just going to keep running your whole life, Kate?”

Kate’s eyes held a weary look in them as she looked at Aaron.  “I don’t know.  Maybe someday I’ll get married, and then they’ll not want me.  But until that day, I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do, and I’ve got to keep myself and my siblings safe.”

Aaron looked from tall, clownish Luke, to small, sullen, but determined Naomi, to Kate.  His girlfriend.

“I’m not going to make you come with us, Aaron.  If you want to return to your normal life, you’re more than welcome to.  We’re moving on, though.”

“To where?”

“Well, where do you want to go?” Kate asked Luke.

“Michigan!  Let’s get a house near the Great Lakes,” Luke asked, his face lighting up.

“No, let’s go to Florida.  I don’t like cold winters,” Naomi groaned.

“Florida’s too expensive,” Kate cut her short.  “Let’s go to Kansas.  There’s no one there, and we can have a fresh start.  Aaron, you’re welcome to come with us if you want.  I’m sorry to have to do this, but…” Kate trailed off, and shrugged, but that didn’t hide the pain in her eyes.  The pain of having to leave what they knew quickly, and without warning.

“Does your grandmother know where you are?” Aaron asked gently.

“No, and I can’t tell her.  I don’t want to have them come to her house,” Kate said quietly.  “Someday we’ll go back, but until then…” Kate let out a sigh, and threw back her head.  “Are you coming with us, or not?”

Aaron thought slowly.  “What about my college degree?  What about my family?”

“Is that a no?  We don’t have all day,” Kate shook her head, impatience laced in her tone.

“Kate, I’ll find you in Kansas, just as soon as I’m done with school.  I’ll marry you, and protect you,” Aaron said.  “So for now, this is a good bye.”  He leaned down to kiss her, but Kate slapped him hard across the cheek instead.

“I don’t give ex-boyfriends kisses,” she said chillingly.  “C’mon, Naomi and Luke.  Goodbye, Aaron.”

Kate and her siblings started off, walking over the fields with all their personal belongings on their backs.  Aaron watched them, holding a hand over his stinging cheek. He would find them, Kate would just have to wait and see.

I hope you enjoyed that!  It was kinda fun to write…Though now I feel bad for Aaron and Kate…And what about Luke and Naomi?  Why does Kate drag them along with her?  There seems to be more to this story than meets the eye…

Do you enjoy flash fiction?


I Wasn’t Wanted

baby lying on brown surface
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Adopted children sometimes wonder,

What they did wrong,

They wonder why they weren’t wanted,

And I agree with their song.


My mother didn’t want me,

 I would have caused a mess.

So she thought that I was less

And left me with the waste that was deemed hazardous.


I never even cried,

I was not wanted,

My blood was spilt on the floor

Of an abortion clinic.


My father didn’t want me,

He might not have ever known

That he had a baby

That was sacrificed to Mammon’s throne.


I never had a voice,

I never could tell

Them how much they meant

Or if I was a boy or girl.


My family didn’t want me,

The time just wasn’t right.

I wouldn’t be happy,

And so they silenced my life.


I am not the only one,

There were many more

All silently crying out to God

Who saw us on the floor.


We might not be wanted

But God knew our distress

We might not have been considered,

The same as all the rest,


But God knew who we were,

He’s given us all names,

And someday He will take action

To restore our shattered brains.


We might not have been wanted,

But we would like to say

Keep speaking up for the babies

Who might be killed today.


Stand up, and cry!

For we never had our chance.

Stand up, and speak!

Our voice was stopped before we could even eat.


Someday God will hear

The cries of our blood.

Someday God will hear

The prayers of His saints.


And then, and then!  

Oh woe to them that did it!

And then, and then!

His wrath will be on them in a minute.


I was not wanted,

My father and my mother,

They now think back to the child

And wonder what it could have been like.


I was never wanted,

But now my mother cries.

Her precious angel child

Never had life.


I never was delivered,

And now my father wonders,

Would he have had a son,

Or was it a little daughter?


I was made by God,

And given to my parents

They neglected their charge,

And now I’m in Heaven’s places.


Mother, don’t weep,

Father, don’t cry.

Stand up and be firm

And stop others from dying.


That Christmas Eve


The cold rain seemed to never leave.

Why was it always there, reminding him of better years?

Days gone by to never come back,

Days that brought frightening fears.

And indescribable cheer.

The wind was cold, and howled loud and fierce,

and yet the fire seemed to bring with it happy tears.

 Life wasn’t quite as blue,

if you had a dog and eggnog, too.

The old man stood, and reached up high,

bringing a book to his side.

He dusted the cover full of care,

and sat down with a heavy sigh into his chair.

 The chair welcomed him back with a cheerful creak,

reminding the man of that one Christmas Eve.

Long back, in memory’s path,

a certain night was cold and drear.

Christmas was said to be full of cheer,

and yet that house had nothing near

a tree, or a leaf, or holly high.

Instead, it was full of pitiful cries.

No one knew of the Christ Child king,

or else they would have bowed the knee.

 No one knew of the happiness,

that does indeed come with obedience.

No one knew what it was like

to know that for you a child was born,

and that for them a king came.

He was nothing impressive,

no not at all.

He was put in some hall near a cattle stall.

 His mother was young, tired, and weak,

his earthly father was poor with roughened hands and feet.

But to them that are meek,

the Lord gives the earth, heavens, and creeks.

The young child Jesus lay in peacful sleep

While the world stood in turmoil steep,

As it wondered what kind of king the Messiah would be.

The old man smiled as the answer he knew,

He knew the disappointment and shame

He knew what it took for him the savior became.

Son of God, Emmanuel,

come to show God’s plan to us.

Prince of peace, King of Kings,

welcomed by men among the sheep

What time of year is fit enough

To celebrate his trip to earth?

What gift to give a baby boy

Who’s birth angels proclaimed with joy?

The old man slowly mused

How sorry a gift we would chose!

The Christmas Child would never want

Anything besides a willing heart.

Full fledged love, and dutifullness

In a man that pledged full obedience.

The old man wondered with thoughtfullness,

Of all the Christmas festives, the cheer, the feasts!

What all did they really have to do

With the One that came to hang on a tree?

The old man sighed, wishing he could tell

Like the shepherds of old the beautiful tale

Of one that lay ever so sweet

In the manger, fast asleep

To men lost in a sinful world

Where peace is only found in the news the angels had to tell.




Guest Post by Snowball Rabbit

The sounds of a scampering step sounded in the empty Crazy A studio.  The chair marked with a teal A was empty, and the table had scattered papers on it.  A little white creature pushed the chair back, and climbed into it.

“Oh, bother her!” It said, as it had to make the chair higher to look over the table.  A red light flickered at intervals, and Snowball looked at it.  “Wonder what that thing is.  Hullo?  Hmm, no one’s here.  What was Amie thinking when she told me to come in here alone?  Doesn’t she know I’m a rabbit?

Well, we’ll have to make the best of it.  What are these papers?  Hmm, White Christmas?  What’s that for?  Iraq soldier song?  What is going on in Amie’s brain?  Here’s a notebook.  That might help and tell me what to do.”  Snowball squinted at the paper.

Looking in the mirror and what do I see?

Eyes too big and a noise that doesn’t suit nicely.

Looking in the mirror, I’m not sure I’m happy

With what’s looking back at me.

“Bah!  Nonsense.  I always knew Amie was full of nonsense.  I mean, just read her blog.  Apparently she’s expecting me to make a post that will fill her blog with amazing readers.  This must be her poetry journal.  Let’s find the next paper.

Cara Elisabeth,

Salve! Ego scribere humus scholae.  Latin purūs lingua…

What is this?  Another language?  I’ve only been taught to read English.  Let’s see…Hmm, notes about essays, written essays, a blog post she’s already posted, questions for friends…WHY DOESN’T AMIE WRITE JUICY TIDBITS?  Now I know why she bribed me with bananas to write this post.

MORE POETRY?  I need to tell her to stop.  Listen to this nonsense.

A simple prayer

Isn’t enough

A small little whisper

wasn’t tough

Sounds like more stuff to find in greeting cards.  Hey hey!  Here are some good short stories…I know exactly what I’ll do.  Now, how do you turn on the mic?  HELLO?  Sound man?  What, you’re not a man?  And I’ve been rolling this whole time?  Uh-oh, Amie’s going to be mad…Well, I’ll do what she asked anyway.

An Unseen Frank

by Snowball Rabbit

Twice upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a boy named Augustine Terrance Lumpus.  All together he was a nice boy, though, of course he did steal from the cookie jar, but that was slender.  And perhaps he did forget to clean behind his ears, but that didn’t make him a bad boy, did it?  Augustine was known by all as an altogether pleasant chap, fun fellow, a chummy comrade.

Augustine was an only child, and as close to an orphan as a child with two parents can get.  His parents were constantly globe-trotting, and having a good time at social events while poor Augustine Terrence was left all alone in their large, dark house.  That is why Augustine firmly believed in the unseen.  So firmly, that Augustine constantly had conversations with the unseen.  Why, he had five unseen brother named Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and Frank.  Of course, when he had named them, he hadn’t known there was only four gospels.  He was pretty sure he had heard about the gospel of Frank in his Sunday school class, but he wasn’t quite sure.

On this particular day, his unseen brothers were playing with him in the garden.  It was Frank’s turn to hide, and they all had to seek him.

“Now Frank,” Gus, as his brothers called him, said.  “Don’t hide too hard or I’ll never find you.”  Frank simply nodded his unseen head, and bounded unseen away.  Now, Augustine knew the rules of hide and seek, but he didn’t know exactly the right way to count to fifty, so he counted until he felt fifty had passed.

“One another number, two another number, three another number, four another number, five another number.  Do you think that’s enough, John?” When John nodded his unseen head, Augustine marched to find unseen Frank, with the help of unseen Matthew, Mark, Luke, and, of course, John.

“Where, oh where can he be?” Augustine sang, skipping down the garden path, knowing that his unseen friends were having just as much unseen fun as he was.  They looked high and low, in the bushes and in the trees, but Frank wasn’t in the garden.

“Dear oh dear!  Where could Frank have wondered off to?” Augustine worried, pulling at his little golden curls.  “I know!  He has gone to the park to play.  Come on, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”

Together they crossed the busy streets, almost being run over, and made it five blocks away to the park.  Augustine bravely walked in, and set to looking for lost, unseen Frank. The bushes seemed the best hiding place for Frank, and there were so many, so Augustine fell to work.

Finally, he came to the very last bush.  It was a very large bush, so Augustine would have to walk all the way around it.  As he did so, he called Frank’s name.

“Hullo!  How do you know my name, chap?” A boy asked, looking up from his book with big, questioning eyes.  Augustine stopped in his tracks.

“Are you my Frank?” Augustine asked.

“I dunno.  Are you my Gus?” Frank asked, though he seemed to be teasing.

“That’s what my Frank calls me.  Oh, Frank, you’ve become seen!” Augustine threw his arms around the older boy’s neck, and the boy looked startled.

“I do declare, this chap’s off his rocker, but he can’t harm me.  There, Gus, what is your real name?”

“Augustine Terrance Lumpus, sir.  And I’m not the second, nor the third.  I’m simply the only Augustine Terrance Lumpus.”

“Well, aren’t you something?  Where is your mum?” Frank asked, standing up and offering his hand to the young fellow.

“I don’t know.  Probably at some luncheon.  She’s very busy,” Augustine explained.  Frank wisely said nothing, simply started off in the well-known direction of the Lumpus establishment.

“I’m really very surprised you became seen, Frank,” Augustine started the conversation again.

“And what do you mean be seen?” Frank asked.  “I’ve always been seen.”

“By me, yes, but no one else had eyes to see you seen, you know,” Augustine said confidently.  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings by telling you so.”

Frank didn’t know what to think, so he did the only thing sensible boys would do…He asked a question.  “What does unseen mean, chap?”

“Unseen things are like God.  Only certain people can see God.  And even then they don’t really see God, they just know He’s there because He shows himself to them.  God can’t make Himself seen like you did, Frank, because He’s so bright He’d hurt our eyes.”

“Is that so?” Frank asked, thinking that the reason we couldn’t see God was because of our own sinfulness, not God’s brightness.

“Oh, yes.  You see, God is very bright, and we are used to the very dark.  So when the brightness of God comes to close to our very dark, our very dark isn’t very dark anymore.  It’s as black as pitch.  You know, so black that it’s purple?”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yes, it makes it easier to see now that you’re seen, doesn’t it?  But seeing the unseen is only for people who have eyes to see, and choose to use those eyes.  You’re my own unseen Frank made seen.”

Frank smiled down at the little boy.  He didn’t know how to answer to this absurdness, but he liked it anyway. “Now, where are unseen Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John?” Augstine asked, and Frank looked stumped.

The End

Cut! CUT!  Whew, that’s over.  Now, I hope no one notices that’s an unfinished story.  Amie really should work harder on finishing her short stories.  Well, sound woman, our job is done.  Wait?  We’re still rolling?  BUT I SAID!  Oh, I have to say goodbye?

Good bye, all you humans.  Watch out, or the bunny kind will come to make you stay in order.  I had best be gone.


Snowball Rabbit.


Snowball Rabbit is the pet of Amie.  He is known for his friendly licks, love of hopping, and devouring apples at frightening rate.  He is a very handsome and patriotic rabbit.  An Uncle Sam in the rabbit world.  (And he wants you!  Just kidding 😂)

Amie of Weird Weldon

On a street known as Weldon, there was a house.  If you passed that house before eight thirty each morning, you were bound to see a tall girl walking towards the mailbox.  The sight was so regular, and so weird, that the street was soon known as Weird Weldon.  If you addressed a letter to Weird Weldon, the post office would know which Weldon you meant, for there was only one Weird Weldon, and that was the one with the girl and her mailbox.

That girl didn’t always go to the mailbox.  In fact, once Weldon was a very normal street, but that was before Amie came along.  Amie was the only weird one on Weldon, but she was so well-known by the inhabitants of Weldon, that she renamed the whole street.  Not on purpose, of course, for she knew she wasn’t weird, but that was besides the point, wasn’t it?

Who was Amie, anyway?  Why was she weird?

If you passed 83 Weldon Road at eleven o’clock almost every day, you would have heard music.  The fortepiano was making strains, first loud, and then soft, coaxed alive by a brunette, whose head bobbed up and down with the music.  Her head wasn’t supposed to bob up and down, at least, her piano teacher told her it ruined her performance, but that head still resolutely bobbed as she hit first the G chord, and moved on to the D7.

Was it weird for Amie to enjoy the music she herself made?  Perhaps not, but the instrument that she played on was weird. Made in the 1880s, Amie prided herself in her upright piano.  The beautiful carving on the front of the instrument was often stroked by admiring hands, and Amie didn’t mind when the pedal refused to work, or the top of a key come off.  It would be fixed, because that piano was a piece of art, and it was beautiful.

If you came by the house at one in the afternoon, you would have seen a freckled face constantly peeping through the window, looking towards the mailbox.  Each time it saw the little red flag still up, it sighed and disappeared.  When the white truck finally rumbled down Weird Weldon, Amie would be sticking her feet into her used cowboy boots, and darting outside to find the treasures in the mailbox.

Perhaps that is what made her weird, or perhaps it was the boots.  They were men’s shoes, and bigger than her daddy’s shoes, but she wore them.  She wore them so much, she had to bring them to a shoe repair store, where they were sewn up again.  The boots were often dirty, but they were worn every day, even on Sundays.  They were Amie’s trade mark.  That and her two dutch braids.

If you came by Weird Weldon at four, you would often find Amie in her room, the strains of a violin or the twang of a banjo filling your thoughts.  Amie was a strange one, and to her, nothing was better than the feel of strings under her fingers.  Of course, the strings had once burned the fingers, but now calluses had stopped the pain.  Amie was a musician at heart.

But she didn’t often share her music.  How could one, without making a video?  Or playing in a concert?  Both she wanted to do, but didn’t.  And then she found another outlet for her music.  Black and white, the words flowed across the paper, making a melody.  Perhaps it wasn’t a song, but it was a story, and the best of songs tell a story.  And the best of stories sing a song.

Amie was weird because she found beauty in ‘most everything.  In the Southern accents around her, in the dried up leaf, in the envelope.  She found beauty in words, words strung together to make a story, a story that sang.  She found beauty in children, for a child’s laughter reminded her of a classical song.  She found beauty in her elders, their old faces showing that time had indeed passed over their heads, prayerfully making them wise.  But finding beauty wasn’t the only thing that made Amie weird.

Amie was weird because she was punctual, at least, she tried to be.  Every minute had sixty seconds in it, and she knew she wasted many of those precious seconds.  She grieved over the lost ones as she strived to use the ones left to the best of her ability, because you can never buy time.  Time is only there once, and before you know it, it is gone.  Time is as fleeting as the wind, and Amie knew, feared, and used Time.

Amie was also weird because she thought long and deeply.  She questioned what people told her, and worked to find the truth.  Once she believed something, she held on to that belief tightly.  She believed that there was only one Way to heaven, and that was by believing in the Lord Jesus Christ, and believing that He had been crucified on a cross for the sins of His children.  And she believed that He rose again from the dead, and is even now preparing a home for those that will join Him.

Amie stood out from the crowd, and sometimes, it hurt, because she wasn’t courageous or strong.  She longed for the approval of people.  Slowly, ever so slowly, she learned that the praise of people don’t even compare with the smile of her Heavenly Father.  And so?

Amie was happy to be weird.  She was happy to be Amie of Weird Weldon, if that was what her Heavenly Father wanted her to be.