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Submitted to Contest #54
Bridget lit a candle in the church alcove, her 90-year-old knees aching in protest at kneeling before the Madonna. She ignored the unpleasantness, her lifelong response to things she couldn't control—no sense dwelling on spilled milk. She couldn't ignore the wrinkled hand with little liver spots dotted across the wrist that reached in front of her vision to light a candle of its own. The body landed on the hassock next to her and expelled a grunt and woof of air. The person came within inches of bumping into Bridget. She held up her right...
Submitted to Contest #53
August hated her birthday. Born on the first of August in New Jersey, her natal anniversary always took place in the middle of a scorcher. Because of the sweltering 90 degrees plus weather each year, she wished and hoped for a pool party or a day at the Jersey shore, some sort of celebration involving water. So far, her wish had never come true. She thought that maybe, for her sweet sixteen, she could talk her parents into something less hot and sweaty, and including some of her friends. On the first day of the heatwave, four days ago, she ...
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