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Weekly Contest #370
No Time Left By: Nancy LaMar-Rodgers 6:15am. Pounding alarm. Not warm and fuzzy like that damn Hatch thing that everybody in the group raves about. No, she has the loud bullhorn type of blast—the kind that says don’t even think about laying your lazy good for nothing head back down. Be quiet, she hears in her head and wonders why daddy is mad. It’s ok, she hears her mother whisper and then the voice is gone. She hits snooze. This is not how any day should begin. Well, he’s got a job now, her mother’s squeaky-clean high-pitched voice, is pin...
Weekly Contest #369
Good Grief By: Nancy LaMar-Rodgers Husbands don’t have heart attacks and die behind the wheel just driving home from the airport. Grandmothers don’t step out of a cab in NY, step in a pothole, slam their head on the sidewalk and die on the spot. Nor do babies at three weeks of age suddenly stop breathing. And yet they do. My friend Jen had a heap of grief. “Enough to fill the Grand Canyon,” she would tell anyone who wanted to listen. Her whole life was one tragedy after enough. Being around her was tough sometimes—for me at least—because acc...
Weekly Contest #363
Nancy LaMar Rodgers Word Count: 2560 A Crossing June’s mother left a note behind. “Going over to the river now,” was all it said. “She used to go down there in the afternoons, once we were all in school. She told me that it brought her a sense of peace,” June said. I didn’t know what to say. “We went together a couple times, and we’d just sit on the shore and stare out at the Hudson. She’d talk about the bridge and how it made her feel—connected in a way to the other side. Never knew what she m...
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