My Creative Work

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Leaves crackled under her as Grace sought a more comfortable position on the warm, parched ground. Hope passed her the fifth of Black Velvet. Grace drank, scrunching her face up to get it down. “Why’d he like this stuff?” Grace asked, handing the bottle back. “Right?” Hope sipped, then grimaced. “I always told him he

“Ta-da!” Mark uncovered his eyes and stared across the room. “A painting?” he got off the couch to get a closer look. “A torn painting, no less.” Patricia frowned. “It’s not torn. And it fills the wall nicely, don’t you think?” “Then what’s that?” he pointed to a three-inch pale line on the right side

“Ok,” Iris said, plunking two glasses of red wine on the coffee table, “talk to me.” She sat next him, tucked one knee under her and handed him one of the glasses.   “What’s there to say?” Mike shrugged and drank half the wine in a single swallow. “My best friend killed himself and I’m

Noel stood in the middle of the bridge, alone. Like Jake had been hoping. The trail was empty and quiet, just the way he needed it.  Despite the cold, and the thick layer of white that covered it, it wouldn’t stay empty for long. Some Christmas reveling soul would come along kicking snow and singing

Content Warning: references to domestic violence and abuse. Martha set the broom down on the front porch and walked out to meet the sheriff. Her loose hair was sure to cause a scandal, but there were worse things people could talk about. “Mrs. Turner.” The sheriff hitched his pants and nodded at her. “Your husband

“Mom, where did you find this?” Gary rubbed his chest, but the pain was unreachable. The picture, three twelve-year-old boys, arms linked, goofy smiles as wide as the Colorado sky, was sepia toned. “I’m finally cleaning out the garage. It was in that leather trunk of your dad’s. Along with an old camera and a

Anya trailed a finger over the thick glass dome. It gleamed even in the dull, rainy-day light. Inside the tiny opalescent orb brightened as it did whenever she touched the snow globe – a weird word for it since there was no snow inside, just the orb and hazy purple mountains. She took it to

“Mrs. Black?” “Yes. Mr. Doe, I presume?” “That’s me.” “Thank you for meeting with me.” “I can’t say no to a beautiful woman.” “Well that’s kind of awkward.” “So . . . you have a problem that needs to be solved?” “Correct.” “Husband?” “What? No! No, no, no.” “Just a guess. Most often it’s the

“Oh baby, I’m happy I met you. It’s been years . . . years, since I’ve gotten any.” Bruce hustled away from the carnival looking over his shoulder every three seconds like a man trying to get away with something. Which he was. He loved his wife, Linda. He did! But the last twenty years