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Weekly Contest #40
In the end, we were different people. Bea closed the door to her daughter’s room after hand-delivering a plate filled with pizza rolls. Through the door, she heard shrieks of merriment, the unadulterated glee of friendship. She’d worried constantly that Judith might retreat into a black cloud of gloom, but she had apparently overestimated her influence on her daughter’s life. Or maybe she’d just been projecting. Or maybe it was simply because Judith had a support system independent of Bea and her ex-husband. A support system that was current...
Weekly Contest #8
My childhood could be measured in Murder, She Wrote reruns. The whole family—minus my eldest sister who was replaced with our cousin—was gathered, as we often were, around the television in that twilight hour between supper and bedtime to be swept up in one mystery writer’s chase for truth. Was fresh from a bath and clean as a whistle, dressed in my favorite pajamas—an old ALF t-shirt and gold checkered shorts—and tucked in the comer of the couch underneath a ratty brown blanket M-Maggie had quilted when my aunt was born some thirty-odd year...
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