Bored at school can make the mind wander.
Current mood: bored
Category: Writing and Poetry

Not Officially Dead
by Tami Taylor

I was thirteen years old when I watched my best friend get hit by a train. It was night, around eight o'clock when Mark and I were rollerblading down where the business market meets the residential back streets of P-town. We were on our way back from renting a movie for our weekly Saturday night movie-night, when we rolled to the hump in the road to cross the train tracks. I didn't see the flashing lights. I didn't hear a siren or a signal. I didn't see a headlight. All there was was a flash and a boom, like a wet thud sound of a pumpkin smashing into the concrete. Only it wasn't a pumpkin. It was all too quick. One second Mark was rollerblading ahead of me, and the next he was gone, replaced with the dark shadows of the flashing coal train. The sound of its metal wheels screeching to break was deafening. I forgot to breath and collapsed to the hard pavement. Nothing came out of my mouth but a scream that didn't sound like anything I've heard before, it was too scratchy, too sore to be me. That was the first time I had ever seen someone die.

It was hours after the ceremony and everyone that came had all gone home; except me. My mother thought it would be good for me to have a private moment to say goodbye. So she had told me that when I was ready, to call her cell and she would pick me up. That left me alone, standing and staring at the mound of freshly disturbed dirt that framed the base of a grave, his grave. The grave marker that Dennis and Sandy had picked for their only son made of white marble stone, it stood, stark and bright against the dark unearthed dirt, like a headboard to a bed for the dead. It looked too clean and too elegant for to the setting, like a set-up, some prop from a movie set or something. This stage, my therapist told me, was called denial. I did not cry, I couldn't—I just did not believe it. Maybe that's what made it worse.

Behind a large oak tree, about thirty feet away from his own resting place, stood Mark staring at me. He was just as I remembered him with his thick blond hair tussled every which way, sharp brown eyes with a little green around the center that held enough humor and mischief to bring out the inner child in anyone. The crooked smile he always wore held so many secrets that you were afraid to ask. (He was dressed in a plain black t-shirt that hugged his muscular upper arms. His jeans complete with a camo green belt and buckle with a skull on it that I'd made him for Christmas last year, and big black army boots that were faded and frayed with extensive use.) He looked at me and smiled. Mark took in my expression and frowned, but even in his frown it had a bit of laughter to it. That was when I lost it. I through myself on the heap of fresh earth and dug, dug with fingers and nails. I dug and tore at the ground, searching to dig up the coffin of my best friend to prove he was still alive. I saw him damn it, he's right there. He's alive! He's alive! Throwing dirt all over the place, I dug with a mission.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was soft and held the edge of laughter. I would have said he was being careful, but of what? I stopped and blinked up at him. Those big brown eyes gazed down with a sadness I could never understand.

"What?" I asked breathy and confused, coming out almost as a whisper. I still couldn't believe it. Was I in shock?

"What? You can hear me?"

Now I was really confused.

"Yes, I can hear you and I can see you. Why?"

He was smiling again, his same old wonderful smile. "This is so cool, nobody but you can see or hear me!"

"I thought you were…"

I couldn't do it, to say the words would make it sound real. He's here, here right in front of me. He's not… fake. I stood up too quickly and almost fell over again; the front of my black dress was covered in a thin layer of dry dirt.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Mark averted his eyes from me like he was embarrassed or afraid to see what expression I'd give him.

"I'm… you… your standing on my grave Kat, what do you think?"

I couldn't comprehend the situation; I started to feel a little light headed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think this is real."

I couldn't meet those eyes, the ones that made everything safe and happy again. I started walking away, dirt dusting off of my dress as I walked. Mark followed me like we were just taking a casual stroll in the park. He kept pace and was walking right next to me as if nothing was wrong. He looked normal, completely fine like every other time I'd seen him. For that slice of moment, everything seemed fine like nothing had changed; everything was as is and as it always was. And for a heartbeat, I felt happy to have Mark walk by my side just like any other day.

Then I was instantly in my room. I didn't remember the 20 minute walk in silence from the cemetery to my house in Hawthorn. I didn't remember if I said anything else to him the entire time we walked. I lay on my bed staring up into a bumpy black ceiling with glued on glow-in-the-dark stars that Mark and I decorated and painted two years ago. I lay on my bed in silence and in disbelief. My CD player turning on and the song "Officially Dead" by Veruca Salt played on the speakers, loud to my silent rant.

The all too familiar voice casually spoke right next to me, lying on the bed.

"If you could be any animal what would you be?"

Mark was trying to make conversation, to take my mind off stranger things, and to lighten my mood and the tension between us. I understood, he wanted to talk to me, but I still thought he was a figment of my imagination or a hallucination. (Yeah, that's ok I'll amuse myself with my insanity for a little while or just till my mother commits me.)

"I would like to be a bird." I answered automatically.

"Why?"

"So I can fly far, far away from here." It was quiet for a minute, so I added. "But I'm not much of a morning person, so maybe a bat would be better. Although I don't like the idea of being blind, hanging upside-down would be fun." I was rambling.

"I want to be a dog." He said.

"Why?"

"So I can sleep anywhere and eat anything without getting sick."

"Except chocolate."

"Just not a lot, besides I don't like chocolate."

That's true. He was the only one I knew that didn't have a sweet tooth, except for jolly-ranchers. Those were his favorite.

"You should be a cat, you have the name already."

He laughed like he always did. The two of us had been friends since I moved into the subdivision when I was eight, we grew up together. I nudged an elbow in his side and to my surprise he was as solid and tangible as he originally had been. I stared over at him then and he looked normal laying there looking back at me. And for the first time I really saw him.

"What?"

"I touched you, I can feel it, and you're real."

"Oh, I didn't feel anything."

I placed my hand on his chest and pushed down. I felt the pressure of my hand against the solidness of his body. I felt the bones under skin, the smoothness of the jersey shirt, soft and firm. But what I expected to feel, I didn't. There was no dim thud of a heart beating, no rise and fall of his chest. "You're not breathing."

"I'm not?"

"No, and you don't have a pulse or a heartbeat either."

"Really?"

After a moment his chest rose and then fell, but stopped. It was unsteady and I knew he did it on purpose. Nothing could be done about it.

"Did that help?"

"No." I said.

"You know what's weird?"

"What?"

"I can't feel that."

"My hand?"

"Well yeah, and everything, I can't feel your hand it's like your not even doing it. I can't feel the bed I'm laying on and I couldn't feel the wind that blew your hair outside."

"Oh."

What could I say; I've never had a problem with not feeling things. I concentrated on my hand still on his chest and pressed down a little harder. Hard enough to make it hurt. No reaction. I didn't know what to do, so I took my hand back and lay back down. I ignored what had just happened and Mark started the conversation again. We talked as if nothing had happened like we were just a couple of kids listening to some music and talking like best friends do.

After a week, my therapist had talked me into accepting Mark's death and secretly accepting Mark's visiting existence. I read a couple of books on the supernatural and ghosts, but nothing explained what I was experiencing. The experts in these books talked of visions and energies, past haunting, moving objects, ghost sightings, and evil spirits, but what about Mark? He wasn't a sighting or energy. He was solid, a firm thing you could touch. He can move things, catch, throw, and open doors. I could lock him out of my room if I want or push him. Hit him even. Mark wasn't transparent, he looked normal and acted as such. The only difference was he didn't have to breathe, he had no heartbeat, and he didn't have to eat, drink, or sleep. And… only I could see, hear, and feel him. He ran into my mom once while walking by, but she didn't even notice. I'm sure Mark is lonely, maybe feels a little trapped, but he doesn't act like it. He seemed a lot happier now that he can do pretty much whatever he wants.

Mark asked me if he could visit his parents and see if they were ok. He said he didn't want to go alone, so I agreed. Dennis and Sandy are great, young enough to know who Britney Spears is and very cool. Mark seemed very upset and he didn't want to stay long. I could tell how much it hurt him to see his parents in pain. He was an only child, like me, and he was the center of their world. They were devastated with the loss. He wanted to see them and to see if they wanted to see him too, but all he saw was their pain. I understood their pain, but I didn't know what to do. Should I tell them he was right here with me or should I just pay my respects and wish them luck? I didn't tell them, but I fought not too. They planed to move in a month's time to Chicago, closer to Sandy's family and far from the memories. Mark never talked of his family after that. We just did everything like before, only now he lives with me. We walk to school, go to the movies, walk around town, listen to music, watch TV, hang out at the mall, and talk about everything. I've noticed that he doesn't change clothes but I think he could if he wanted to. He wears the same thing everyday. It's kinda strange, but Mark is like the perfect pet.

I visit my therapist twice a week and Mark likes to tag along. Mark tells me what Dr. Lynn is writing about me in her little notebook as I explain the happenings of my week since last I visited. It has certainly tempted my commitment to my school work. It's like having a spy in the enemy's hideout. I now have the option to cheat on tests and homework with Mark's help. He even suggested it once, but I told him no. I wanted to try not failing on my own. I don't like cheaters or liars, so why would I stoop to their level. Dr. Lynn and my mother were both surprised by my quick recovery from the traumatic experience and loss. I didn't have to go to her after five sessions, though I was told to come and see her if I ever wanted to talk. I told her I had someone to talk to, she took it as a religious thing and I didn't correct her. I have worn my grandmother's silver cross around my neck for three years now. She had given it to me before she passed, ovarian cancer is a bitch.

"If you want I can sleep on the floor, it doesn't make any difference to me. In fact I can just hang out in the closet until you wake up."

Mark had been staying with me and sleeping in my bed every night. He doesn't sleep, there's no need, but he can play dead. He can close his eyes and keep utterly quiet for hours while I slept. It hasn't been a problem until recently when I've been waking up in his arms. The first two times were ignorable, but now I'm questioning if it is ok to do. I don't know if it's me or him that starts it, Mark says he doesn't remember. I don't know if ghosts can forget, none of the experts in the books I've read had said otherwise. And there was nothing online about it, I googled it.

"No, that's fine you can sleep in the bed. I'd feel bad kicking you out."

I knew he can go anywhere he wanted to, he didn't have to waste his nights with me. Sometimes he runs off, but he'll always appear right beside me ready to walk me to school everyday. Or sometimes in class he sits in an available desk and when I look over my shoulder to see him, he's gone. But as soon as class is over, he's right back at my side to walk me to my next class. I've asked him a couple of times where he goes, he tells me to see other friends and torment the dogs. The dogs in the neighborhood can sense him there, I don't know if they can see him, but they bark when ever he comes close to them. I know I have been neglecting my other friends too. I don't hang around Trish or Sara as much as before and I rarely talk on the phone or go anywhere with anyone else. My mom has begun to notice too, but dares not question me in fear I may relapse in grief. My other friends have been very careful in that respect as well. Everyone seems to be treating me like a duck swimming in lava. My teachers have been keeping a safe distance and a sympathetic eye on me. I can't say that I haven't noticed, but I kinda like the non-attention. It gives me a time to spend with Mark, and I don't know if he'll always be around. I don't know if he'll come back the next time he disappears. A part of me fears that he'll never return or even say goodbye before he's gone for good.

By this time it had been three months since Mark's unfortunate… passing. I'm not sure what to call it anymore. He has been the same old wonderful Mark he has always been, but I feel like I have, in a mini way, changed somehow. My mother is now telling me I need to get out there and start hanging around my other friends, the one's I've distanced myself from all this time. They are now like little ornaments, I stop to say hi to as I pass by, file down to mere acquaintances now. My teachers no longer treat me special and to that I'm actually thankful. A person can only handle so many, "Are you all right?" questions in one day. Halloween is quickly approaching and not only is it Mark's and my favorite holiday, but the only one we have not dressed up together since we were eight.

"So honey, do you have any plans for this year's Halloween?"

My mother was at the dinning room table painting up a storm like she does every Saturday afternoon. "What do you mean?"

I knew what she wanted, she wanted me to talk to her, and she wanted me to tell her that her happy little social butterfly had found her wings again and was perfect. What should I have said? "There's nothing wrong mother, I've just been living with Mark the friendly ghost for months now." We caught her once, listening at my door. I had the music going while Mark and I played rummy on my bed, talking as usual. She was listening in on our conversation, but it wasn't until she forcefully let herself in that she realized there was nobody else in the room with me. Who could I possibly be talking to, and the game of cards on the bed had concerned her. I paid an unscheduled visit to Dr. Lynn that week, but the good Doctor told my mother I was just pretending because I felt lonely. Using your imagination is ok for people under fifteen, but apparently not normal for anyone older. That's sad really. After that Mark and I made sure there weren't any more incidences.

"Kat you're a smart girl, act like it. Now the reason I'm asking is because Cassie's mom is throwing a big costume party the weekend before, since Halloween falls on a weekday this year. I wanted to make sure you didn't have any other plans."

"Why would Cassie care if I came or not, she doesn't like me much."

Cassie was as sweet as a Venus fly trap with a mouth just as big. She saw me as too tainted with tragedy to sit at her table at lunch. And if she was going to snuff me over petty disclaimers, then damn it, I aint going to stand there and accept it.

"Kathleen has told me that Cassie feels sorry for putting you on the spot like that and she wants to make it up to you by inviting you to the party. There are a lot of kids from your school that will be going as well."

This was a desperate attempt to get me socializing again. Oh, mother not you too.

"Fine"

I didn't feel like arguing myself in circles so I gave her what she wanted to hear. I have two weeks before I'm forced to parade myself in a ridiculous costume around my friends and enemies. That will give me plenty of time to acquire an illness of some sort I'm sure.

Roomers flew around school that the person with the scariest costume at Cassie's Halloween party will win a new MP3 player. Mark had tons of ideas involving face putty and a can of pea soup, but I wanted no part of it. It was the day before Cassie's spoke-fest and everyone around me was excited, even Mark. My mother was set on me going. She had bought me four different wigs to choose from for my witch outfit, the one that took me hours of arguing with both sides to pick. Mark said he'd be my invisible black cat if I wanted, I just laughed at him.

"Come on it could be fun. I've always wanted to haunt someone." He smiled when he said it because he knew the pun in his words as soon as I heard them. He was still trying to convince me to stay at the party. I'd told my mother I would go, I said nothing about staying there.

"Shut up." I threw a pen at his head and it bounced off.

We were sitting under a tree on MVMS grounds. The little patch of green in front of the library held a metal bench and strategically placed concrete squares about two foot by two, so that people could hang out in the shade of the trees. It's a trendy place during lunch hour, though it's first-come-first-serve after school. But it was almost an hour after the last bell rang so Mark and I were practically alone under the tree in the cool dry grass. A group of familiar faces were huddled in a circle near the doors of the library. They were out of ear shot so I knew our conversation would be confidential. I have learned over the months how to be careful when speaking and/or interacting with Mark. Since I've learned my lesson, I have been labeled the loner who talks to herself. (That's fine with me, I'm happy to have something no other person will ever have, a guaranteed best friend forever… hopefully.)

"Incoming enemy target, bogie on the right, enable invisibility cloak." Mark said dramatically acting like a soldier with a riffle hiding behind the tree.

Mark was referring to Scott who was heading our way. Scott and Mark were friends too, but that was a long time ago.

"Hey Kat"

Scott stood in the sun, staring down at me sitting comfortably in the shade. It was a hot October day, nearly eighty degrees in the sun. I smiled short and soft to let him know I was friendly.

"Hi" I said. Mark was watching like it was a fascinating new TV show, his face was gearing up to laugh. I rolled my eyes at him and looked back at Scott who was looking nervous.

"Am hey Kat, what are you up to?"

I wanted to say, "Um nothing much, just hanging out with our old dead friend. Say hi Mark, oh wait you can't hear him." Now I laugh crazily and slap myself with a book. But instead I said, "What do you want Scott?"

He looked surprised. "Oh, well…" Scott was fidgeting and Mark loved it. He was so distracting kneeling next to me chuckling at Scott.

"Spit it out already man!" Mark shouted in my ear and that made me flinch. I didn't notice Scott walking closer; he took a seat in front of me on the grass. His sandy brown hair was a lot longer now, with shaggy sideburns that edged his face making him look more mature.

"Kat are you going to Cassie's party tonight?"

Mark busted a gut laughing hysterically. I didn't find any of it the least bit amusing. I frowned at both of them and said, "Yeah, why?"

Scott blew out a breath as if he'd been holding it. "Kat, if you're going to the party and I'm going to the party, do you think we could… go together?"

Mark choked out another loud laugh, while Scott awaited my answer. I licked my lips and looked around. No one was looking at us, so maybe it wasn't a prank. "What are you going as?" I asked.

He smiled slightly, "I'm going as a vampire. What about you?"

I shrugged. "A witch"

"So… do you want to go with me?" Scott asked staring at the piece of grass he played with in his hands. Mark was slowly calming down from his episode, sprawled out on the grass.

I shrugged, "Sure"

A smile grew on Scott's face instantly. I didn't realize until then, that he was sweating. Was it from the sun?

"Great, I'll um… call you and get your address."

I nodded.

"Great, ok… thanks. See you tonight. Bye. Thank you. See ya. Ok." Scott was the one babbling as he stood up instantly and shuffled back to the group, but before I had the chance to doubt, he pivoted around the group waving bye as he passed. Hmm, maybe he was serious?

"That was great!" Mark was still on the grass laughing to himself.

"What the hell is your problem?" I asked.

Mark rolled onto his stomach and looked up at me. "What, you can't tell me that wasn't the most hilarious thing you've ever seen?" His smile was mocking.

"No, now stop it."

I started picking up my stuff and shoving it into my backpack. Mark stood with me and we walked home, but he wouldn't stop laughing.

I sat patently on the toilet seat in my bathroom as my mother applied the powder face make up. I learned the hard way a few years ago that I was allergic to the paste cream they sold at the store. So my mother bought a large thing of multi-color eye shadow powders. She covered my whole face in a tint of dark green with brown around my bright blue eyes. She gave me black lips and had me wear black mascara and eye liner to match. I never wore make up before and now I know why, it took forever and it hurt the eyes.

"Mom are you done?" I asked impatiently.

"Not quiet."

She finished with a touch of pink on the cheeks then handed me a brush. I got up to look into the mirror; I looked like a pale version of the wicked witch of the west from the Wizard of Oz. Not bad. I brushed my long brown hair out while my mother waited patiently with the black wig.

"Come on honey, he'll be here soon."

"Now who's being impatient?" I said to her reflection.

Scott had called two hours ago, his mom and mine talked their ear off. She was so excited to learn I had a date, my first ever date with a boy. Luckily for her she had no idea I lived with one, slept every night in bed with one.

"Hold on mom."

I said as I gathered and pulled my hair into a loose bun in the back of my head. Mom placed the wig overhead, securing it with bobby pins. She fiddled around in the back, making sure it was straight and pretty. I looked at my evil self in the mirror and fought the urge not to laugh like Margaret Hamilton. Where's Mark? He was here just a second ago, sitting on the sink using his fingers to smear white eye shadow all over his face. Mark said he wanted to haunt someone so he made himself look like a ghost with grey around the eyes on a white powdered face. Then the doorbell rang and I was out of ideas.

"Oh, he's here! Kat put your boots on, I'll answer the door."

My mother hurried out of the bathroom, but not before primping herself in the mirror. She smoothed out her little black witches dress with a pink sash tied around the waist, pink glittered stockings, and black high-heels. My costume was the same only instead of pink I had dark green. She too had a party to go to, so I was happy to hear she'd be too tired to question my night out.

I rolled my eyes and went back to the mirror one last time. I looked like the cute cousin of the west witch, though my blue eyes stood out against all that dark color. Then I noticed a white spot on my forehead. Had my mother missed a spot? The white dot grew larger until it popped out of my reflection at me.

"BOO!" A voice shouted.

I shrieked at the voice and fell back onto the tile floor. Mark's big head was sticking out where I had just been looking in the mirror. He laughed at me. I wanted to ask how, but fear swallowed my words.

"Neat trick huh? I just figured it out. I can walk through walls now. Isn't that assume!" He said in triumph still beheaded by the glass.

I got up off the floor and swung at him, but my hand didn't go right through like I thought it would. I slapped him hard enough to make my hand sting. Of course Mark didn't feel anything, but he was just as surprise as I was.

"Hay how'd you do that?" He asked curious.

"Why would you be asking me questions about the weird stuff that goes on?"

He nodded in agreement and walked himself out of my vanity.

"So your date is here, are you going to kiss him?" Mark said with malice, making kissy noises at me.

I eyed him and turned around. I was so not going to argue with him this close to other ears. My mother called from down the hall which indicated my two minute warning to hurry up. I was so embarrassed at my mother's reaction and now she was alone with the boy who would be my first date, I wanted to crawl under a rock and die. I sat back on the throne and laced up my boots.

"Honey, come on!" It was my mother in the doorway staring at me like I was crazy for taking my time. She whispered as I was tying, telling me how cute he was, and how polite and nervous he'd been. I ignored her and Mark who was laughing at everything.

Scott stood by the couch in the front room, his long silky black cape hung on him like a wet blanket. He wore a white button down shirt tucked in black dress slacks. If his face wasn't painted white with red lines running down from his mouth, I'd say he was dressed for the prom. Scott had spiked his long hair with some sort of product; it looked limp and thick on top of his head.

"Hey" I said to get his attention.

He looked up at me and stared, for a moment he didn't even blink. It wasn't until my mother walked into the room that he blinked and smiled.

"Oh, you guys are gonna have so much fun. Oh Scott, honey, can you stand over by Kat so I can get a picture." She said.

I knew this was going to happen, for some reason I shouldn't have even been surprise, but what surprised me was Mark. He and Scott walked up at the same time, one on each side of me. I felt like a horror sand-witch as my mom said cheese and flashed that thing in our faces.

I wondered if Mark would be on film as Scotts father drove. We were sitting in the back together; I hadn't noticed that Scott had the option to sit up front with his dad. The only thing I noticed was that Mark was missing again. I hated when he did that.

Cassie's house was a little further then most, out of town, her family had build their own home on two acres. The large brick house was set back from the little windy road we drove on. Purple lights framed the garage as we pulled into the driveway. I could see other people in costume running from the front door to the garage. The music was loud enough I could feel it vibrate through the parked vehicle.

Scott undid his seatbelt first, leaned forward to tell his dad something, then slid back and opened the door. I didn't hear what was said, but his dad gave me a big smile and said "have fun" before I exited the car. Scott led me to the pulsing garage door by the hand. I thought, "He wouldn't speak to me, but he would hold my hand?" I heard the rush of a thousand voices talking, it fluttered over my skin as soon as he opened the little side door.

The inside was decked out in purples, blacks, oranges, and reds. Streamers and lights hung from the ceiling chaotically while the walls looked draped in twilight. Everyone there was dressed up. Monsters, fairies, Barbie's, and even animals of all sorts were mingling around a three car garage. Some I could recognize, while others I couldn't. Scott led the way into the room toward the tables of refreshments.

"Do you want anything?" Scott had to lean into me to ask, his cheek brushed the side of mine and he came away with a spot of green on him. I smiled beside myself and nodded. He didn't notice and it was too funny to ruin the moment.

"A drink" I shouted. He confirmed with a nod.

I sat in a metal fold out chair with a plastic cup of orange punch in one hand and in the other, Scott's sweaty palm. He sat next to me watching the crowd begin to dance and leaning down to talk in my ear. The music that once was impressively loud had dulled down to white noise, loud white noise. He would greet or chat with friends who walked by, but never left my side. I smiled and was friendly to them as they were to me. But still I looked for Mark and still I did not see him. Where did he run off too?

"Are you cold, you have goose bumps?" Scott asked.

I hadn't noticed until he pointed it out. I shook my head no. I wasn't cold, anything but. It was around seventy outside, but inside with thirty or so people bustling about, it was hot. Scott was bouncing his far leg to the beat of the music and I heard someone shout to him, "Have you seen Cassie?" Scott said no. Come to think of it, neither have I. It was her party she should be here greeting her guests, right? But just as I thought it the music stopped. Everyone looked around startled like a herd of sheep. I smiled at that thought, but what came next drained my smile and my good mood away.

"Thank you everyone for coming tonight. I hope you all are enjoying yourselves. I know I am." Cassie's voice played over the speakers like needles on flesh.

I couldn't see her, but I knew that voice. Music started up again in a rush of sound, but not as loud as before. I fought not to cover my ears, apart of me didn’t want to let go of Scott's sweaty hand.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Cassie stood inches away from where we're sitting. She was dressed as a dead bride and her two lackeys were dead cheerleaders, go figure.

"Hey Cass, great party." Scott shouted over me and noticed it was easier to hear too.

Cassie smiled sweetly batting her eyes and used a flirty note in her voice. "Oh, thanks Scott, I'm glad you came. I was wondering if I'd get a chance to dance with you tonight."

Scott blushed and squeezed my hand like an apology or something, I don't know.

"Thanks, but I'm here with Kat."

Great he was dragging me into it; I don't want to be involved in her little hostile take over bit. But I looked up into her angry face and smiled to the best of my acting ability.

"Sorry," I said, "But all the dances are taken, you understand." I couldn't help myself.

She looked like she was straining not to scream at me, though I knew once she got me alone all hell would break loose.

"We'll see about that." Cassie said and stormed off with her girls following, they didn't look to happy about what I had said either.

The night seemed to drag on, one song after the next I didn't recognize seamed to blend in my ear. Scott finally got me out on the dance floor. He was patent for me and I appreciated it, though he was in his comfort zone, surrounded by all his friends, and my mind was still on that plaguing question. Where is Mark? But Scott made for a great distraction. He danced in front of me like a puppet to the music thudding around us. I moved to the beat of a headache it had given me, but couldn't keep up with Scott. He laughed and I laughed as we entertained each other on the dance floor. (We danced until the wig was too hot to wear, without even thinking I pulled it off and chucked it out of sight.) I pulled the band out of my hair and let it fall. The cool air was refreshing on my suffocated scalp and a part of me felt just as refreshed. For once I felt… normal again. Then the pace of the music changed and everyone stopped. But I knew what had happened. Someone played a slow song, a love song. I looked at Scott who was waiting patently, I blushed. All around us animals and monsters coupled to dance in each others arms. "If you can't beat them, join them." I thought as I held my hand out to Scott. But before he was able to reach me, Cassie stepped between us.

"May I cut in."

It wasn't a question, she just grabbed the hand Scott stretched out for me and pulled him into her arms. He was miffed as to what had happened, but he didn't protest. He looked at me and back at Cassie. Scott looked so confused, so I helped him make a choice. I nodded and walked away, I didn't want to cause a scene or start a fight so I walked away. The thought was in the back of my mind, waiting for me to pay attention to it again. I felt compelled to find Mark now more then ever. But where do you start to look for someone only you can see or hear? Where do the dead like to run off and play the cemetery?

No, how about the back yard. When I exited the garage and walked to the back, there, sitting in a swing was Mark. He was slowly swinging with his feet rooted to the ground, looking up into the big clear sky. Why hadn't he went in and danced, he loves to dance? The cool air from the chilly October night was sweetly soaking into my damp hair. My arms felt sticky with sweat as I hugged myself from the chill.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

Mark never looked to see who it was, he already knew. "I'm watching the stars."

I sat in the swing next to him and rotated on the chain. Mark leaned on one side of the swing and looked at me. His big brown eyes looked almost scared, I sat up and stared.

"What's wrong Mark?"

He looked away and shook his head. "I'm fine, I'm just…" He didn't finish, he just trailed off the sentence and I couldn't hear him.

"Mark do you want to go, we don't have to stay here? We can leave anytime just say when." I told him, trying to be supportive. But he didn't look at me or answer; he just looked back up to the stars. I waited for a moment, staring at him, wondering if he'd been here all this time.

"Mark" I said and he slowly looked over to me. "Are you ok?"

He shrugged and half smiled. His mouth opened, but he did not say anything. He looked tired, I never thought he could get tired yet alone look it.

"Mark" I said again. "What's wrong?"

His mouth moved, I saw lips forming words, but I did not hear his sweet voice. Now I was scared. I stood up and went to him, he stood up because I stood up and I think he knew there was something wrong too.

"Mark?" I said again and then I saw it, in his eyes… fear.

He grabbed for me and he was still solid. He held me in his arms like an anchor. I didn't know what to do. He pulled me in and… kissed me. Mark actually kissed me. I felt his soft hot lips on mine, real and alive. My eyes closed and for a moment I let go, let go of all of the emotion, all the pain. I let myself fall into his embrace and I surfaced breathless and confused because it wasn't Mark's unfocused brown eyes I stared up into. It was Scott's gray blues. I looked around, but I couldn't find him anywhere, he was gone, faded into the wind—the wind that blew the beginning of winter and the end of my friend. I could feel it, like a warm breeze comforting my heart. Mark was gone forever and I… was happy for him.

THE END

                                                Copyright @ 2008 by Tami Taylor

~ Tell me all about it at tami_girl05@hotmail.com ~

Currently listening : Eight Arms to Hold You By Veruca Salt Release date: 11 February, 1997

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Disapprearing places
Current mood: cranky
Category: Writing and Poetry

I have lived here in Missouri my entire life. Around the Pacific area there are small neighborhoods, schools (which I had a graduating class of about 300, that tells you how small it is), and the closest mall is an hour away.

Around the outer rim of town is free land w/o houses, those are called farms. I remember looking at farms left and right, everywhere. Those were the days, just being able to ride down a random path with your 4-wheeler and no one caring was wonderful. It gave us a lot to do and didn't cause trouble. People had respect for farmers back when I was younger.

Now, as you drive along, the farms are being sold and houses are being put up. Out of everything I hate in this world, that is number one. Everyone from the city moves out here and builds houses. No one knows about this area, but they just bring horses and thats it. I have family members who are farmers. I know how bad it hurts to have the government just come in and take what you have away so they can put up something unessicary.

I just wish the farm land would stay farm land. That is what this area is truely about. We farm and we love it! You can't tear a house down to start a farm. (hint hint)

Piece of advice: If you ever come behind a slow tractor and your in a hurry while eating, don't curse at them with your mouth full. (They probably grew and raised everything you are eating.)

Currently listening : Karma and Effect By Seether Release date: 24 May, 2005

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Wood & White
Current mood: content
Category: Writing and Poetry

Wood & White

The early worm of sunlight crawled its way into my house, peeking just beyond the windowsill. One panel of thin white cotton fabric hung from a sixty inch stained oak rod lining the top of the painted white rectangular window frame. The curtain flowed like milk in a river against the early chill of winter breezes blowing the sweet sent of snow yet to fall. The wind sighed wisps of retreat against the outside clay brick facing that held my home in defense. The breaking dawn cast shadows of unrecognizable shapes across the hard, cold wooden floor, like the color of burnt peanuts at Christmas.

A cool perspiration of natures sweet breathe coated a thin layer on the windowsill and just below. The four square walls stretched eight feet to a sandy white ceiling cast in shadows from a moonlit night, which slowly slithered away from the progressing daylight. In the empty room I coiled on my queen sized bed, wrapped like a present in the warmth of a heavy goose feathered comforter, and wished to be rid of the sickly sweet taste of tart pickled morning breathe.

The light was brilliant now, illuminating off the white bed spread and glossy white walls. Again I questioned my choice in paint color. The large stained cherry wood headboard lorded over the bed as it claimed half the wall it rested upon. The gentle song of a little Winter Wren with its cinnamon brown feathers, short tail and rusty belly, flanked farcical at the glistening quarts that hung centered in the window. The crystal showered the room in its marvelous rainbows and shimmering amusement.

"It's six o'clock when light strikes rock."

Copyright @ 2007 by Tammie Taylor
~ Tell me all about it at tami_girl05@hotmail.com ~

Currently listening : Continuum By John Mayer Release date: 12 September, 2006

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The Subway
Current mood: sleepy
Category: Writing and Poetry

THE SUBWAY

By Tammie Taylor

The concrete was still wet from the showers earlier this afternoon. Everything was damp and musky, even the newspapers at the news-stand. Footsteps echoed throughout the station as people hustled and bustle to catch the four o'clock train. Jessie stood in the crowd near the wall, waiting like everyone else.

'I hate this time of year. No matter were you live it's dreary. The air is getting colder and few leaves were beginning to fall. The doctor's offices are swamped and here I am standing in a damp place with contagious people all around.'

Waiting in the station were impatient children, tired parents, busy business people, and sniffling old people. Along with a few Readers, texters, and newspaper buyers, but the only one that caught her attention was an attractive young man leaning next to the news stand. He looked like he was reading a magazine, and for a moment she was caught in his glance without realizing she was staring. Her reaction to his action was to quickly look away.

The train came whooshing in, screeching to a halt. The crowd backed up a little when the doors hissed open letting a crowd pour out. It reminded her of thousands of rodents, racing out of basements to avoid a flood. As the train emptied, the crowd shifted towards its opened doors, pushing and rushing before the doors closed. Jessie turned to check once more on the young man at the news-stand before entering the train, but found that he wasn't there.

Once inside, the race to find a seat was on. The only available one she could find was a two seater with an elderly lady blowing her nose. The train jerked forward as she took the aisle seat. Jessie had four lines before her stop, so she had enough time to squeeze in a chapter or two in her book. She pulled out a fiction novel from her bag and began to read were she left off. It was just one of a series of twelve that told the story of a young woman and her vampire boyfriend. In the story the couple deals with relationship problems, plus the problems of the other vampire's. In their world the supernatural is not so mysterious, but actually just a part of life.

'What would it be like to live in a world like that?'

In the corner of her eye she noticed a tall figure wearing a grey hoodie, a black leather jacket, and denim pants. She glanced slightly more at the image that intrigued her, and noticed long brown hair with a little curl to the tip.

'Was that the guy from the news-stand?'

She took one last look to make sure and saw that he was staring right at her. It was the man from the newspaper stand. Those big brown eyes staring down upon her; making her feel a little embarrassed. She was uncertain of his sudden attention and decided to ignore him. But with the new distraction staring at her, she was unable to concentrate on her reading.

Movement coming from his location forced her eyes to stare blankly at the pages. He was walking towards her. She was nervous, not having anything like this happen before. This was only the second time a man has stared at her like that. She hasn't been in New York for long; only about a month or two. And this was only her third time on the subway. The second time she began a conversation with a bum that lived on the B line.

'It was a different situation. But a conversation with a cute man won't hurt.'

Holding onto the handle bar, he looked down at Jessie pretending to concentrate. "I like her, she's a great novelist." A deep quiet voice interrupted the continuous noises of the moving train. Jessie slowly looked up with a curious face she could not hide. A pair of dark brown eyes swam into her mind as she forced herself to comprehend his words. "I know she is what inspired me." He smiled at the sweet little voice he heard just above the sounds of sniffles and coughs. "May I ask what she inspired?" She was a little embarrassed to be telling a stranger her hopes and dreams, but instead just left him with a simple answer. "To write..." He smile was angelic with perfect teeth, and just a hint of mystery. "So do you believe in any of that stuff; you known vampires?" He asked with interest. She sarcastically replied, "Anything is possible!" "Why, do you?" Jessie asked the man standing in front of her. He just repeated, "Anything is possible." She noticed the magazine rolled up in his jacket pocket, but couldn't read what it was. "So what are you reading?"

"Oh this," pulling it out of his pocket, "just a car-mag." He held it up in his hands, rolled. He looked around again and she looked at her book, but before another word was spoken the train went through a tunnel and the lights went out. The train jiggled, the lights flickered and then finally emerged from the tunnel. And then he was gone. Just like that he was nowhere to be found. She was puzzled, mystified as to how it all went wrong. She looked around, still nothing. Only the magazine was left behind; lying on the floor where he was standing. The car-mag with rolled edges, sitting there waiting. Jessie was confused, but picked up the magazine anyway. The brakes screeched, warning her of its fourth stop.

She shoved her book back in her bag and re-rolled the magazine in her hands, to waiting for the train to come to its complete stop. People started to rise before the doors opened. Jessie took one last look around before the crowd rushed her out. Once out onto the platform she looked again, but nothing. He was gone and she was disappointed. Jessie shoved the abused magazine in her bag, and started up the stars for her short walk home. With only two blocks to go, the walk was long enough to question recent events. She couldn't stop thinking about the man from the train.

'What happened? Did the conversation suck that bad that he just had to disappear? Was I not his type? Or was he just not good with casual goodbyes?'

She was beating herself up about it. Because he was the first person from the opposite sex that had talked to her since she moved to New York over a month ago. She had no friends, just acquaintances with the girl's three doors down from her. And the nice gentleman who offers to do everyone's laundry in the apartment building. But nothing like her friends she left behind in Minnesota. She felt all alone; isolated in the big city. And when he started talking to her, for the fist time in a long time she felt like she belonged. The comforting feeling escaped her when she realized he was gone. She turned the key and let herself in her hollow apartment building that was as dreary as the streets outside.

'No mail again,' she thought after checking the rectangular metal box attached to the wall. On the fifth floor in room fifty three, Jessie unlocked and entered her apartment. The lights went on and the room was as cold and damp as the subway from which she'd come. The small vacant place was sterile and unwelcoming. Jessie walked the three feet to her kitchen and set her bag on the counter. The answering machine flashed a big red zero, mocking her loneliness. Grabbing a drink from the fridge, she pondered just for a bit.

'What if the magazine was left behind on purpose? What if he meant it for me? What significance would a car-mag hold?'

But then again, the whole situation was strange and out of one of her books, for it not to be. Jessie scurried to check, grabbing the magazine and flipping helplessly through the pages, as if something should jump out. A long sigh escaped her when the last page turned. She found nothing. Nothing was written in it; nothing was folded. There was no clue as to whom her mystery man was. She wished there was something, anything—a peace of paper folded up, a name, hell a number—anything at all. But sadly there were only cars and advertisements.

Later that night after her meal and a long hot shower; Jessie sat on her hide-a-way bed, organizing her paperwork for school, when the magazine, off to one side, demanded her attention. She didn't know why, but the damn thing wouldn't get out of her mind. So to kill the itch, she grabbed it yet again and started pawing through it. Slower this time, page after page, reading the headlines and articles that caught her interest. When she noticed an advertisement circled in black pen. A small circle over a larger add that read,

Wilson will make your dreams come true

And will find the right car for you

Call 818-0429 and he will be your true divine

A name, a number and a strange little poem made Jessie's heart skip several beats.

Copyright @ 2007 by Tammie Taylor
~ Tell me all about it at tami_girl05@hotmail.com ~

Currently listening : I Want You to Want Me By Letters to Cleo Release date: 16 August, 1999

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Fashion Riot sneek peek
Current mood: content
Category: Writing and Poetry

Chapter 1

~ * ~

The night's energy grew deep with possibilities, pressing against the window of my living quarters. I had the thick chocolate drapes half parted in the windowsill. The windows themselves were large, and looked like you could almost walk through them. I always loved a little moonlight with my work. Although it was partly cloudy, the moon was as blurred as the lights from the rooms' reflection. I was preparing the fabric for one of many articles in my design. I took the black mesh and nylon square weave fabric that waited just to my left. "A little black jewel, maybe some sparkle to catch the eye, and it will be very ornate." This can make a lovely shawl for an evening outing in the fall… now where is Cathleen, she's suppose to be helping me?

"Cathleen, can you come here please?"

Why can I never have the help when I need it? She's probably ogling over Angel again, damn human. Angel was always distracting. I think it's the lonely-hearted thing that girls go crazy for, isn't it? No wonder Emo-bands are so popular now, with their why me and poor you. Stop your whining and get over it. Grow up.

"Cathleen"

I looked through the open door straight ahead, it lead out to the empty hallway just beyond. This was a dorm like any other, small apartments clustering down both ends of the hall and a common bath on each floor. Each apartment included a living area, kitchenette and two bedrooms on either side. There were dorms with three and four bedrooms to an apartment, but those are located in the West wing. This was the North. I was standing in the doorway, looking back and forth like the fool that I felt. Where in the hell did she run off too? It hasn't been very long and the common latrines are only around the corner.

"Cathle—en…"

I stopped abruptly in mid name when a cold chill sent razor blades prickling up my back. Why do the chills always start from the tail bone and travel up, why can't it just go down or horizontal? I have been feeling a sense of someone watching me for three weeks now, a feeling of a presence near by. It's an uncomfortable and scary feeling to have someone or something you can not see nor hear, but know is watching you for whatever reason. I tried to call it out once, even cast a spell to reveal it, but nothing worked. I was stuck with that old feeling of a presence lurking, and only when I was alone. I walked halfway down the hall; to turn the corner would have taken me towards the showers. A voice rang like a song behind me, full of melody.

"Hey!"

I jumped nearly out of my three inch black Mary-Kay heels, when the word came out of the still silence of the hall. I quickly twisted around to see Angel leaning in my doorway with a look of confusion on his dark face. His skin was like complete blackness of a midnight sky, with the glitter of stars that would sparkle when it moved. The skin allowed no reflection and no light ever reached him. It was black as death even in the sunlight, which never touched him. He was wearing his silver polyester trench coat with something dark underneath. I couldn't tell what, but it was always hard to tell with Angel. If he was wearing the silver trench tonight, then that meant he must have flown in. He only wears it when he plans to fly. Damn bird, thinks he can just pop in and scare me like that.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I said with a tight breath between eradicated heartbeats. His face was solemn when he smiled at me. The bastard smiled at me.

"I was… in the neighborhood and wanted to see what my girls were up too tonight."

Angel with his marvelous British accent, acquired from his father, spoke smooth as oil. I envy that, I have no accent. I moved around too much growing up. But because I have none, spotting someone with a slightest slur or a drawl, was easy for me. Funny that is.

"Your girls? I am anything but one of your girls Angel."

"Ah yes, little Ms. Independent belongs to no one but herself. How long, I wonder, will that last." I set my shoulders, giving him a hard stare.

"I seem to remember you weren't such a loner last semester when I comfort you in my room." He added.

"Stop it. You need to get over that and move on."

"Oh, but I have moved on Adie and your still here…"

"I'm sorry Angel, but I was at an emotional state at the time, and it didn't help my poor judgment."

His smile turned bitter, silver eyes sparkled under straight long black hair that shinned in a white light that was nowhere to be found. All the lights in the hall had that yellow tint to them. His eyes seamed to be sucking all the sheen away from his trench like a vacuum. How did he do that?

"Do you remember the rain Adie? It was raining that night, the electricity was out, and you were… scared."

His voice was soft, sultry gliding the distance between us on a current of warm air. His words slapped painful memories in my face. There was a glitter in the air and I knew he was using his force against me.

"I said stop it!" He was raising my choler out of spite and loving it.

"I was there to comfort you when you were all alone and cold, crying for your mum."

My checks flushed, not with embarrassment, but with fury. A spark of thunder swirled violet eyes, enraging hot embers rushed from my ruby red lips.

"S—T—O—P"

The words came deep in my throat, my eyes burning back tears I dare not shed in front of him again. The voice was not mine, but of persuasion. My magic. The one skill I did not receive from my mother; the charm of persuasion. Angel immediately stopped and blinked rapidly, confusion washed onto his face. I took a deep breathe; I did not like using magic on my friends even when they were tempestuous.

I let the anger subside and closed that metaphysical door. There was no spark or any evidence that I had used speech on him, only the strange voice that still rang in his ears. I walked the short distance to him. Angel just stood there watching me like a raccoon tied to the train tracks. I wish I had tied him to some tracks. I could hear his heart speed up the closer I came. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say he was afraid of me. But I knew he hated me more. He hated the feeling I gave him, he was the prince of darkness and loved the cliché. His father was after all Death. He knew in the back of his mind, that he will never again have me. Only that time last fall did I let my guard down, and only then did I truly want his comfort.

My mother won't die twice and no matter how drunk he gets me, he knew the truth and hates it. I was a little shocked at what rumbled out of my mouth as well, I regret. In a way I wanted to show him how sorry I was for breaking his heart, but I didn't want him to get the wrong impression. So I opted for the friendly apology and stuck my hand out for a "truce". Angel looked at the offer and into my worried violet eyes. He licked his lips, a human gustier he probably absorbed from Cathleen, and shook the cotton soft hand. My alabaster skin to his charcoal black made our hands look like a ying-yang of oil and cream.

"What did I miss?"

The very question from the very person I was trying to find. Damn you for leaving me alone with him. I took my hand back and turned around to look at 5'7, 100lbs. of typical human stupidity. Never mind the fact that she could blatantly see the hand shake or know for fact that I can't stand to be around Angel by myself. She of all people would know what the hell she had missed… the abrupt end to a sour encounter, that's what.

Angel was such a shit disturber, but that didn't matter because she was obsessed with him or at least the thought of him. Ooh, prince of darkness, the son of death, ooh ooh… yuck. Gag me and stab me, I have much more important things to worry about then whether or not one of my models is jealous of me. All because her dark prince won't fondle her. No offence, but he's bias against humans. I think that comes from his fathers' influence too.

"What?"

Cathleen looked dumfounded as per the usual. I rolled my eyes and walked back to the room. It was way too late to be explaining anything to a human, even if she was a friend. It would take twenty minutes just to find the right words that wouldn't offend her. Sensitive mortals. Not that I'm immortal or anything. Far from it, but we do heal faster, age slower, and live quite longer. Witches are a privilege not a right. Angel and Cathleen spoke quietly by the door while I pieced two more articles together. Writing it down in my little pink book that was slowly getting thicker and harder to close with each new fabric sample stapled inside. I was writing in the book when Cathleen strolled back in, with a grin from ear to ear as she closed the door behind her.

"I don't even want to know." I said.

Cathleen just giggled and skipped over to the large table that was covered in fabric and design magazines. She stood across from me, starring off in her own little world, where she and Angel lived happily ever after. Love to burst your bubble human, but Angels' don't get romantically involved with mortals, or at least not in this century. Um, although one night stands are exceptions, unfortunately.

"Can it love, we need to finish if we want any sleep, and I would like a couple hours if you don't mind." She just giggled and nodded. Oh, man it's going to be a very, very long night.

Copyright @ 2007 by Tammie Taylor

~ Tell me all about it at tami_girl05@hotmail.com ~

Currently listening : How Far Shallow Takes You By Gob Release date: 07 February, 2000

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This one doesn't even have a name yet, any sugestions?
Current mood: amused
Category: Writing and Poetry

My hands sliding down the long smooth curve of her back settling up the hill of her tight butt. Firm. Her skin so sleek and dark like chocolate on water. I searched and kissed every birthmark or freckle on her back. Caressing my soft lips over the sweet sent of her skin. Milk and honey moisturizing body lotion, leaving the skin soft and radiant. I wanted to touch every inch, every part with my lips kissing and lick every freckle. The candle light seemed to make her skin glow a beautiful burnt gold color, dancing with every breath she took. She giggled and twitched under my embrace. I anticipated the moment she would turn to reveal the beauty that was her. Those perfect breasts, a little over a handful of sweet soft, plush skin. She turned tired yet excited. I ran my fingertips up from knee to thigh, she was wet and eager, she shuddered. I circled around her waist and that made her laugh more. Smiling I leaned into kiss those big beautiful pouty lips of hers. Her lipstick rubbed off onto mine. She giggled with a thumb she rubbed her lipstick off my chin. Before she took that thumb away I licked the tip and sucked the polished nail into my mouth exciting her more. Leaning down to those big brown eyes, so full of lust and need, caressing her check with my right hand and supporting my body above hers with my left, I noticed her perfect brown nipples at full salute. She reached and grabbed a handful of my breast and rubbed over the nipple with her thumb and forefinger. I kissed her forehead, her checks, her nose for a laugh, then her chin. I lowered my hands to her neck and shoulders as I continued to kiss my way down her voluptuous body. My long brown hair tickling down her body as I reached my favorite part of her and I let her know it by how much detail I put into every touch, every kiss, every nibble, every suckle of her nipples to the stroking of both my hands around her firm breasts. I played and pawed until she withered and screamed. I loved it. Satisfied, I continued my journey south where a long smooth torso waited. Lowering my body I straddled her legs to get a good position. Sweat perpetrated at the navel and waist. I licked the salty flavor of her skin, reveling in the perfume of the chemical musk the body releases when aroused. I slipped my body in between her legs and she opened up for me as I positioned myself. She was oh so wet and swollen with urge. I wanted to relish in the feel of her, the smell of her. I slowly licked the crease where her thigh meets groin. It made her twitch and giggle then she groaned in frustration of my teasing. I loved it. I parted her smoothed and shaven lips to indulge of all the pleasers of her warmth and wetness. But she wasn't warm she was hot, hot to the touch like a splash of boiling water. The continuous motion of my tongue and the suckling of her made her start to buckle and scream cupping her ass in my hands to hold her steady as she lifted her hips for more of my vibrant craving. Her back bowed and her body strained and stretched until the muscles ached and the screaming died. We lay their together panting, trying to steady our heartbeats. I rested my head on her waist as she stroked my hair, her body limp under mine. We both began to giggle.

Copyright @ 2007 by Tammie Taylor

~Tell me all about it at tami_girl05@hotmail.com~

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Fourth of July
Category: Writing and Poetry

"Sunday night glory"

The city of Pacific holds its annual firework display at the city park. It's free and fun for all ages. It starts at nine, but to get a decent parking spot you need to go two hours early. Every year we go and every year we end up spending money on a free event. Ice cream, glow sticks, cotton candy… They bribe you with the thought of a FREE show, but when you get there early for great parking they sucker you by offering things your children will bug you about until you give in; mommy this, daddy that, until daddy says yes. I stay neutral, waiting for the vein to pop, and then I know it's all down hill after that. But in the end the children have a blast, and run off all that extra energy. "The fireworks were spectacularly amazing and the children fell asleep in the car. All in all our night was glory."

by Tammie Taylor

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A little something for thee
Category: Writing and Poetry

"There is a hula-hoop in my tree

I was washing breakfast dishes when I saw how gloomy the sky was out my window