2 am and Where is Your Daughter. Clarissa stood before the 6-foot-tall mountain of glass bottles overflowing their cinderblock compartment at the recycling center. It was past two am Charles had brought her here.

Life Is Like A Painting. We are all given an empty canvas when we are born. Yellow and orange for every moment of joy and happiness, for that race in high school that we won, for the nights we spent with incredible friends dancing or gossiping about nothing in particular;. Blue for the days when we were down and low, for all those Mondays we hated going to work;. We keep adding all these colors to our emp.

Asymp; Leave a comment. I will have to apologise to you all, I have not been keeping up with my blogging over the last few months. Been way to busy enjoying the spring and summer. I do have some great stories to tell and hope to start blogging here soon. In Monday finish the story. That has been causing damage to the town.

Friday Fictioneers has provided access to a wonderful group of writers who inspire and encourage each other. It feels like becoming part of a big, happy group of penpals. So thank you to my fellow fictioneers, and Happy Birthday to my blog. Thanks especially to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who works tirelessly to host this flash fiction writing challenge, and provides encouraging feedback so conscientiously.

Poovar Of Mangrove Trees and Hidden Surprises.

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