I awoke to a white room—white light, white ceiling, white walls, white sheets, white nurse

He stood mid-stage, shirt opened to the navel, revealing a chestful of dark curly hair

After my husband died, Mr

"The Lynchings," my unpublished ms, top 5 in Freddie Award for Writing Excellence in thriller category

Freedom from him is what I want

You hope he misses? You hope? That's a sniper rifle he's shooting

A handful of hope and no action will get you nothing, Argus

Editing my head off

"It ain't that I don't care for you; it's just that I don't understand you when you use big words like cannikin

I looked at his ugly mug and surrendered to that hate brewing in my gut

He wasn't going to surrender; that's for sure

The great shadow of death stood over him

Chuckle: just had a pop-up ad for an app that blocks pop-up ads

"I am sick and tired of the silence in this damn house

Mary Werner Howard, Stephanie Taylor, & Jude Roy on Thursday August 17, 2017 5:30 P.M

An icy rain still fell with a whispered chatter on the ice-coated tree branches

I climbed into my cold van and promptly slid into the first ditch I came to

A mix of rain and ice coated everything in its path causing trees to rattle like skeletons

“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass

I took a deep breath and held my lantern before me