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Another Sip

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  6a.m. The children will be up shortly. Breakfast is nearly finished. Chase prefers pancakes.  Katie  likes waffles. My husband, Maxwell, prefers his coffee to go. Black like his heart; no sugar, no cream. Me, I prefer my eggs and bacon accompanied by a tall glass of orange juice. I’ve come up with my own recipe: ¾ of nice, brut champagne and ¼ orange juice. Thus, we have a mimosa.  Shh , we wouldn’t want the kids finding out that my orange juice is any different than theirs. I hear feet running down the staircase. Here they come. Mama needs a sip.  Ahh , refreshing . Chase and  Katie  dive right into their breakfast while bickering about whatever it is that children bicker about. I don’t listen. I pick over my eggs while devouring my mimosa as if it were my meal. Oops, all gone. I long for another but I must wait until the children’s bus arrives. Maxwell strolls into the kitchen. Per morning tradition, he gives each of us a kiss on the cheek, pours his coffee into his insulated tumbl
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Hush Little Baby

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“It’s 82 degrees in here, John,” Marissa yells into her phone, “I have a four-year-old and a seven-month-old baby…we can’t live like this!”   Marissa paces back and forth in her living room with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder while simultaneously rocking her baby.    “If the air doesn’t get fixed today, I’m calling Channel 5,” Marissa snaps back before abruptly ending the call.    She tosses her phone aimlessly. Emmy, her infant, fusses endlessly despite being rocked by her mother. Jake, the four-year-old, bangs on his toy drum set with all his might.  Clash. Clash. Clash.  The wooden sticks collide with the symbols.  Waaaah .  Waaaaah .  The baby wails at her highest decibel. Sweat beads lift from Marissa’s pores and glaze her skin. She places the baby on her hip, bouncing Emmy with one hand while fanning herself with the other.    “Emmy, please,” Marissa pleads for the baby to stop crying. Jake jumps up and lands with his two sticks on the symbols.    “Boom!” He yells
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Morning Tea

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  I like to make a cup of tea every morning.   The kettle is heating up on the stove. We’ll just wait until we hear it whistle.  I stand staring out of the picture sque window in my living room. My husband, James, is rolling the trash bin to the curb. Immediately across the street is Misty Potters’ house. She’s standing in her window staring back at me. Or is it James that her eyes rest on? She usually makes a point to meet James for some sort of friendly banter when he’s out front, but not today. She avoids me, however. It’s the most peculiar thing. James lingers a little longer at the curb. Misty was typically on time for their curbside meetings. Not today. He walks back up the long driveway slowly, trying his best to find subtle ways to look back at the house across the street. I refocus my attention to Misty standing in her window. I am certain that she is staring back at me now. James takes a pause at the steps leading to the front door. He looks back one last time. The kettle whi
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Anatidaephobia

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“The rubber duck has got to go, Michael,” Amy stated while conversing on the phone with her husband. “You didn’t get the article I sent? Those things hold bacteria forever, a kid almost lost an eye,” she offered in response to Michael’s cool tone. “Okay, Mikey, let’s get you out of there,” she said while removing her four year old from his bath. Mikey had become attached to the duck. “Duckie! Duckie!” He screamed. Amy was over Mikey’s petulance tonight. She went to retrieve the duck for him but he completely ignored it. Amy had enough. Mikey had grown bored with playing alone so he began to wander. He ran into Duckie right outside of his room. “Hi, Duckie,” Mikey laughed. “Hi, Mikey,” Duckie responded. Mikey was stunned. “Duckie talks?” Mikey ran over to Duckie and picked him up. “Shhh, mommy doesn’t like Duckie,” Duckie whispered, “Mommy said ‘duckies are for bad boys.’” Mikey frowned, “But I’m not a bad boy.” “Then hide me. We don’t want to upset mommy,” Duckie instructed. Th
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Location: London, UK
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Protect Me

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“Just ask her, I bet she’ll say yes this time,” read the message that flashed on Jamie’s cellphone screen. He let out a deep sigh before replying, “My mom never lets me go anywhere…not even gonna waste my time.” The response came almost instantly. “If you wanna see me in this dress, you’d ask.” The message was followed by a picture that made every hair on Jamie’s body stand. Jamie, himself, had stood. He was walking now, to be more precise. He wasn’t sure what he’d say yet but he straddled every ounce of confidence he could muster and used that to guide his steps to the living room. His mother would usually be nestled into her favorite love seat half sleep with a mug of tea watching the 9 o’clock news. Tonight, she’s standing directly in front of the tv, eyes glued to a breaking news broadcast. Jamie assumed there wouldn’t be a better opportunity, “Mom, is it cool if I go to this party tonight?” He swiftly bowed his head and shut his eyes. Surely, Janice Mae’s boy would never fix h
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Location: New York, NY, USA
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Consumed, Chapter 4.

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  I might have completely lost my mind. Under normal circumstances it would never be okay to interact with a patient on this level but there I was ready to risk it all. Keyword: was. I had to get out of there. There’s no way I could encourage a patient to “get rid” of someone. I mean, I really contemplated it. All for you Jason. You’re a problem Jason. A big problem. My phone rings, but its not you Jason. Actually, I don’t recognize this number at all. “Hello?” “Dr. Lauren Grace?” “Yes…” “Hello, I’m Dr. Karen Fitzpatrick with Sienna Lake Rehabilitations.” My heart dropped. “You’re the contact we have on file for Robert Grace, he’s gone missing…” Dr. Fitzpatrick was still talking but I didn’t here much after that. Robert Grace. My baby brother Robert. Missing? I’m not even concerned about his safety, I’m sure he’s safe. I’m worried about mine. My brother is a complete psychopath, an entire lunatic, and has been plotting to kill me since we were young. We
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