The Passing

The following is my submission to Literary Lion.

5171605261_8fbbd343d1_bMaggie arose to begin her night’s work.  It had become routine and so she proceeded with little thought.

Looking at her surroundings, Maggie noticed the moss ridden tombstones, and grass, that had been trampled by deer, who frequented the garden, seeking solitude from redneck hunters and their barking dogs.  She looked at the flower that had died in its vase years ago.  Maggie sighed.  No one came around anymore, not even the grounds keeper.

This state of affair saddened Maggie, but what could she do?  No one heard her anymore because there was no one to listen.  She knew it was her fault, but she had grown tired of the kids and their silly candles.  It had been entertaining, for a while, but with the passage of time, their frightened eyes and shrill screams bored her. And so she kept her silence and turned a deaf ear to their begging.  After a while the kids stopped coming.  So now it was only her, and Maggie was lonely.

Each evening, upon the sun’s decent, Maggie walked among the headstones and whispered the names chiseled in gray.  This was the only thing that gave her a sense of peace.  She reasoned, within herself, it was her way of honoring the dead.

Night after night she made her rounds.  She no longer needed to look at the names.  She knew them all and so she drifted from one to next until each name, had been spoken in the dark.  When her mission was accomplished she went back to her place to take her rest.

Her place was just as ram-shackled as others, but on this particular night, Maggie studied her abode.  Once again her eyes fell to the dead flower within its vase.  It had been there for as long as she could remember.  The flower was wrapped within a cloak death, that was dry and crumbling.  She studied the brown decay and realized, for the first time, there was none other like it, within the garden.  Someone, God knows when, had left it there and had left it for her.  Slowly Maggie drifted to the flower and reached to touch it with her wispy hand.

The moment her essence touched the decay, the flower dropped its cloak of death and DoubleKnockOutRosebloomed into a beautiful rose.  Maggie felt herself bathed within a golden light.  She looked to its source and saw a man she knew to be her husband; and in that moment she remembered her earthly life. Her love stood with his hand outstretched and she heard his baritone voice say, “My darling…what took you so long…”

Maggie, filled with joy, flew into his arms and passed to the other side.

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Life Is Likened Unto A Flower

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The following is my submission to Literary Lion

Life is likened unto a flower 

It comes forth from the ground…just like a man.

It grows…just like a child.

Its petals hold tightly within the bud…just like the teen.

Slowly the petals begin to unfold…just like the graduate.

The flower blooms in all her glory…just like the adult.

The flower begins to bow her head…just like mid-life.

The petals thereof begin to loosen… just like the aging.

The flower withers and begins her fading…just like the old.

The flower lays herself down…just like the dying.

The flower is taken by the ground…just like the dead.

Her spirit lives on…just like the soul.

Patiently she awaits her  re-birth…just like souls in Heaven.

And then on “that day” she comes forth from the ground…just like the resurrected.

In a perfect tomorrow she lives forever…just like the one whose heart is God’s.

Selah

For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass.  The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away, but the word of the Lord endureth forever.  And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you.

(I Peter 1:24-25)

The grass withereth, the flower fadeth; but the word of our God shall stand forever.  (Isaiah 40:8)

Easier To Navigate!

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Redhead Reflections is now easier to navigate!

It has taken a while, but I have categorized all articles!  The listing can be found at the top right hand corner, adjacent to the title line of each page.  Simply click the arrow beside the words “select category” and a drop down menu will appear.

Below is a listing of the categories and a brief description of what you can expect to find in each:

Amy’s Freedom:  The continuing saga of Amy and a crazed serial killer.  (Not for the  faint of heart)

Dark Side Thursday:  Dark stories for the writing group, “Dark Side Thursday”(For now it is a collection of “Amy’s Freedom,” however once this story is complete there will be other dark adventures) (Not for the faint of heart)

Faith:  My faith is very important to me and so here you will find a collection of articles revealing my spiritual insight.

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers:  These articles are my submissions to the writing group “Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers”. Each week members are given a photo in which they are to weave a story around within 175 words or less.  (Not a lot of words to write a complete story so this is quite challenging) (Not genre specific)

Horror and Suspense:  Definitely one of my favorite genres.  Most stories within this category are not for the faint of heart.

Literary Lion:   A collection of my submissions to the writing group “Literary         Lion”.  Each week members are given one word and are expected to weave a tale around the word in 400 words or less.  (Not genre specific.)

Half Marathon
Half Marathon

Personal Stories:  A collection of articles about myself and my life.

Photo:  A collection of photos I have taken.

Recipes:  A collection of recipes.

(Future Category:  Flavor Of The Month)

Jessica’s Dream

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Below is my submission to Literary Lion’s weekly challenge.  Hope you enjoy!

The dream had been hers since a little girl.  She had always believed it would come true, but as Jessica surveyed the new model she was overcome with doubt.

Would it work?   The last four had been failures, and she worried this one would prove  the same.   Balling her hands into tight fists, Jessica bitterly whispered, “What choice do I have…”

Just for a moment, Jessica, let her mind wander backward to the first day she had awakened to the truth.  She allowed herself to relive, once again, all of the shock, anger and depression.

She did this without guilt.  After all, she had made a pact with herself, during those first days, to permit herself  a good fifteen minutes of feeling the emotions full force.  The deal had been to embrace all of its ugliness.  She allowed herself to scream, curse, hit and throw anything within reach, during that allotted time.  After the rage  she would, number one:  Accept the truth that had become her life; and number two:  Get her ass up and do something about it.

Keeping this oath is how Jessica had coped for the last six months.

At first it had been hard to let go of the rage in only fifteen minutes.  In the early days, every vase of flowers, within reach, was thrown against the wall.  Her language had been quite colorful.  Jessica smiled as she remembered how creative she had been with the string of profanities.  She totally lived up to the stereotype. The woman could cuss!

Slowly, as time progressed, the allotted fifteen dwindled.  Today, it had only been five minutes of rage with no flower causalities and few curse words.

Jessica felt a surge confidence, and said in a firm, even tone,  “I can do this”.

Without another thought, Jessica reached for the new model and fitted it to what remained of her left leg.  The fit was snug and minus the pain of the previous models; however, the true test was yet to come.

Jessica used her crutches to help her stand.  Once up and steady, she let the crutches fall to the floor.  Jessica grimaced, and carefully leaned her weight to the right.  Slowly the left leg extended with its new prosthesis.  Once again she shifted her weight but this time to lean on the prosthesis.  Jessica extended her right leg and successfully completed the first step, free of pain.

Jessica smiled.  She knew nothing, absolutely nothing would keep her from her dream.

Chief Petty Officer, Jessica Ann, decorated war hero would, indeed, dance at her wedding.

In Time…Who’s going to remember?

The Literary Lion Challenge:  The word is ‘time’.   As always you have seven days to create a flash fiction story in 400 words or less.  Check out this link to learn more.

4fb1e7f88dc81ced93278667ace606e3Had he done the right thing?

He could not rid himself of the question. It gnawed him like a hungry rat.

This agony was foreign, for in all his years of service, he never questioned himself…   He had always been confident with his decisions.  He prided himself of the ability to see through the deception.  Normally, he could detect a lie before it even left the deceiver’s lips.  It was his knack and one that he was well known for.  Everyone knew his judgement to be quick and his punishment swifter.

But this time it was different.

He scratched his head once again and visited the list of accusations against the convicted criminal.  The list was long to say the least.  Of course there was the main question of treason but also there were the charges of disturbing the peace, misrepresentation, fraud and even perversion.

The man’s accusers had been so persistent. He had never seen a crowd so fierce with their demands.   Indeed, their fervency bordered upon obsession, and he knew, without a doubt, if he had not acted as he had, there would have been a public lynching, that no man could have prevented.  And how would that have looked on his spotless record?  Not good…not good at all.

No, he had done the right thing.

Hadn’t he…?

That damn question again!  Why couldn’t he shake it?

Stiffly, he shifted in his chair, glanced at the clock, and realized he had wasted the day, wrestling with a decision that had already been made.  Shaking his head, he chided himself and said, “What’s done is done.”  And with that he got up from his chair, hung up his robe and washed his hands.  Somehow, the cleansing of the water made him feel better.

Before leaving his chambers he glanced out the window to see the criminal surrounded by the same angry crowd.  The man had fallen beneath the load of his cross, but some good soul lifted it for him and carried it up the hill.

Witnessing the scene, outside his window, uneasiness nibbled his conscious.

Quietly, he whispered, “What’s done is done.  Besides…in time…who’s going to remember?”