Finding Michael. #FFfaw #amwriting

Photo credit, (c) Enisa.

We were eighteen and his parents were tired of worrying.

The note on my step said, “I’m gone.  Hanging out somewhere guarded by two dragons.”  It sounded delusional to me.  His parents were used to his strange speech.  I hadn’t told them he may be reacting to my latest boyfriend.  Michael and I weren’t as close lately, so I felt slightly guilty.

Two weeks later he was still gone.  I enlisted my younger brother one weekend, scouring the town.

Great imagination, or maybe he didn’t want to be found right away.  Sure enough, two dragons were guarding the field where Michael was camping out.

A thinner, tanned Michael smiled and hugged me.  “I didn’t think you cared.”

“Ron may be a cool guy, but I can still care about you.”

“Yeah.  That’s good.” He put his arm down, but kept smiling.  “Thanks for being my friend.”

After all, I was still his friend, despite college and new friends manipulating my time.

I didn’t tell him about breaking up with Ron.

Story: 175 words

 

A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try and stay within this limit.

5. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).

6. This is a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less) and each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

You can join the flash fiction fun at flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com

 

 

 

Two Boys and a Boat. #amwriting #fridayfictioneers

Photo credit, Roger Bultot

(c) 2017 Pamela Schloesser Canepa

They had left while it was still dark, two sixteen-year-old boys taking off with Dad’s car AND his canoe.  It was their first boating excursion alone.

Reaching the water’s edge, Billy halted.  “The tide is too low.”

“You didn’t check the reports?”  Roma asked.

“No.”  Billy felt bad.

Roma, ever the adventurer,  said, “We’ll go through the brush to where the water’s deeper!”

Billy recalled being in there before, getting stung by bramble, and finding a dead bird.

“But….” He saw Roma’s hopeful face.  “Well, the road less traveled…”

“Yes!”  Roma smiled.

*100 words*

This was written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the provided photo prompt.

To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

Scream Reads! #instafreebie #group promotion #free

 

ScreamReadsPROMO PUMP IG

Choose from eleven short stories that are sure to rattle your bones or raise your goose bumps!  Click the link below to browse and choose the stories that appeal to you, then download and read for free. http://bit.ly/SCREAMREADS

Most of the stories are through Instafreebie, a site where authors share some of their works to spread the joy of their writing styles.  You, as a reader, agree to sign up to their author newsletter.  Your e-mail is not shared with anyone else.  Most indie author newsletters are unobtrusive to your time.  For example, my newsletter gets sent out once every 3-4 weeks.

Your choices range from horror, gore, to paranormal.  Choose from all sorts of things that go bump in the night, tales of ghosts, vampires, Death, etc.  Enjoy!

P.S. My story offers Death as a character, as a dramatically disturbed young woman seeks revenge for the loss of her family.  Sort of has a Godfather/ Book Thief feel to it.  Try it!

“Feather.” FFfaw Flash fiction. #amwriting

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Feather only bought the cheapest coffee, then loaded it with vanilla creamer.  We met exactly three times.

She was a college student of anthropology, which seemed to fit the long hair and equally long skirts.

That girl had big dreams for the world.  I was too busy deciding on Medical school or Sports Medicine.  I wanted to help people, but make money doing it.

We enjoyed ourselves that night we danced at the outdoor concert.  Her hair was silky and soft.  She said she was leaving for Brussels in the morning.  We danced a lot, and she let me hold onto her briefly, like the whole of our time together.

It was short-lived, but I still thank my friend Roma to this day for introducing us.  I don’t know where he found her, but if anyone could find a rare gem like that, it was Roma.

~The End~

*146 words*

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

  1. A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
  2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.
  3. Please credit photo to photographer.
  4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try and stay within this limit.
  5. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).

Find other guidelines and add the link for your story to the Inlinkz button at flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com and while there, visit and comment on some of the other stories!

 

“You Call this a Vacation?” #amwriting Friday Fictioneers

FridayFictioneerssmallpox-hospital-roger-bultot

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bulltot

 

“This used to be a hospital?”  Roma asked, pictures flashing through his head.

“Yes, in fact…” the guide continued.

“Big deal,”  Billy grunted.  He should’ve known better than to come all the way here with Roma and his hippy mother and foreign dad, from, where was it again?  To stay in a room with no cable t.v., no pool, no cell service…

“I love History!”  Roma jogged over to a tour guide in costume.

“Let me tell you the horrors of this inner chamber!” The man said, ghoulishly.

An hour later, Billy emerged from the building a converted History buff.

~100 words~

 

**Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle at https://rochellewisoff.com/ and restarts every Friday with a new photo prompt.  Flash fiction stories are to be 100 words or less, with a beginning, middle, and an end.  Proper credit must be given to the owner of the photo.  Add your own by clicking the Inlinks button at the Sept. 1 post at rochellewisoff.com.  Thanks for visiting my blog!

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. “My Friend.”

Photo credit, (c) Louise at The Story Teller’s Abode

We’d been friends for many years.  That year, our families took a vacation together.  The sights were beautiful.

Michael was not sleeping.  He was constantly on the go.  His dad wouldn’t let him go alone for fear he’d not return, so I tried to keep up with him.  Once, his dad accompanied him, and they’d both come back angry.

I was tired.

It was sunrise.  He grasped my hand and raced us toward the water.  “A boat!  We’ll sail in a boat!”

He looked crestfallen as we saw that the tide was low.  Michael sat in the wet sand.  “I’m sorry.  I think I’m out of control.  I never asked what you want to do.”

I smiled.  “I want to sit still with you, and watch the tide come in.”

“Still my friend?”

“Yes, still friends, Michael.”

He put his arm around me and said, “Thank you for looking out for me.”

I sat pondering, knowing that someday I’d need my space, hoping he’d understand.

~The End~

 

165 words

A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try and stay within this limit.

5. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).

6. This is a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less) and each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

You can join the flash fiction fun at flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com

A Date to Remember, Ch. 2. A Tale of Love in 2063. #amwriting #shortstories

wildflowers-1559029_1280 2-14-2063

A Date to Remember, Ch. 1   Find the first installment, a Flash Fiction piece, here on my Niume profile. (If you haven’t discovered it yet on WordPress).  http://niume.com/post/251559

A Date to Remember, Ch. 2 © 2017.  By Pamela Schloesser Canepa. All rights reserved.

He’s going to love his Valentine’s gift, I thought, almost running back home under gray skies that could not cloud my mood. I had just been to see Roy, who was helping me with this effort.

Tom and I had discussed this, the possibility of a child. We saw Roy and Mavis with their child, Randy, who could not hear but communicated quite well with his hands at four. It was just a pity there was no official education for a child like him.  Since the “system” had decided not to fund or make available any health insurance for those who procreate without a permit, the government believed it could rightly do away with any such education. Those operating outside of the laws of society would do so without any help from society or the government.

Roy and Mavis were actually doing quite well. Mavis was researching and hoarding all the books and video uploads she could find to educate her child on her own. Health insurance? Roy was already a holistic healer (a profession that implied living on the fringes), and his self-studies made him an awfully good unofficial nurse/ sometimes doctor for children who were born to families on the fringes. His own child included. In fact, if I ever gave birth, he’d have to be the one to deliver it. Not to mention, no doctor would help me now…..

Read the rest here at Niume:  Source: A Date to Remember, Ch. 2. A Tale of Love in 2063.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay (Creative Commons)

Want to know how you can use Niume to promote your writing and earn revenue?  Please see my post at https://pamelascanepa.wordpress.com/2017/02/10/use-niume-to-promote-your-writing/

Thank you for reading!

#weekendcoffeeshare Full Speed Ahead and Ready for a Breather!

coffeechristmas-1895053_1280 Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

Why do the holidays come and go so fast when we get older?  Seriously, they’re almost here, and I’m nowhere near ready!  Okay, we’ll make this a brief stop.  Welcome to the Weekend Coffee Share, hosted by parttimemonsterblog.com!  Do you need a huge Mad Hatter’s cup or a regular size?  (I could take either one).  If we were having coffee today, I’d tell you:

I’ve kept myself a little too busy lately.  Was I just putting things on hold in November?   I feel sometimes that I am not very sociable when I have a writing project, and since those are dying down, I’ve caught up with a few people this week.  One of them is my sweet little aunt who left me a message last week, and I feel bad that it took me so long to reply.  She didn’t guilt me, though!  I was still writing this week, though; I entered a flash fiction contest here on WordPress for the first time.  I’ve looked at them before, but this time, the image struck me and a thought grew into a brief 150-word story.  I’m the kind who “writes what I want to write,” but I love the idea of this community of bloggers and the fact that no two people think the exact same way.  The variety of responses is fun to see!  Check mine out here:   http://pamelascanepa.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/a-turning-point-flashfiction-amwriting-fffaw-challenge/  It seems a little dark, but it is called “A Turning Point.”  I also prepared a presentation for an assembly of high-schoolers that I will chat with about writing, my own books, and my journey during Literacy week in January.  Yikes!  Jitters.  I’m sort of excited, though, and I should focus on that.  I’ll get there!  This is all in addition to my usual work schedule.

Holidays are upon us!  Christmas is here in a week, and I’m nowhere near done with Christmas shopping.  Amazon will save the day, but I suppose one trip to the mall will also be necessary.  Working there for 15 years of my earlier life kind of killed the joy I used to feel as a mallrat.  I guess I save much more money now, right?  Somehow I have turned anti-mall.  To be honest, you won’t find the TRUE spirit of Christmas there anyway.  A church dinner Wednesday helped get me into the spirit, and a fellow member has been needing rides to church so it’s getting me out of my temporary anti-social bubble.  After church dinner, there was a children’s play that was cute, funny, and inspiring all at once!  Well, the lady that rode with me had her granddaughter with her too, and they told me about a home with a beautiful Christmas light display, so we stopped there on the way home.  It was a beautiful departure from my usual rush-to-get-somewhere and rush-to-get-home habit.  I think that may be what will help me get into the spirit of Christmas, more things like that.  I’m going to try it!  I’ll let you know how it goes!

In going through the holidays this year, I am realizing the many people who suffer through this season with addiction/alcoholism, loneliness,  depression, etc.  We experienced a dark cloud in my family last year, but this year is so much better.  I am thankful for that, and I plan to be grateful for the love that is shared this season, rather than looking back at the sadness of last year.  I encourage you to reach out to someone who may not have that light of Christmas in their eyes. You never know what kind of difference you might make.  On that note, why don’t you take some more coffee for the road?

How was your week?  What fuels you and warms your coffee mug?  I’d love to hear from you!  Please also visit the Weekend Coffee Share host at parttimemonsterblog.com to enjoy some of the other Weekend Coffee Shares by our fellow bloggers and add the link for your own coffee share!

 

“The Lady and the Champ,” a Short Story told strictly in dialogue. 1,000 word limit.

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Warning:  Pure dialogue leaves a lot up for interpretation. Don’t miss anything.  🙂

The Lady and the Champ by Pamela Schloesser Canepa    Copyright, 2016.

 

“Bill, how about tonight?”

“Trish, you know it’s not been enough time since the accident, and I can’t take another pill today.  I’m sorry.  Please be patient.”

“I’m trying, hon’.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look.  You know what the doctor said.  I’m just, really hurting. One more pill and my blood pressure may skyrocket.”

“I didn’t know you’d already taken so many pills.  I didn’t know it was still this bad.  I’m sorry.   I try to understand how you’re feeling, and I’ve been patient.  Just, never mind, Bill.  No arm wrestling; it’s okay.  Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?”

“No, Trish.  There’s really not.  Well, maybe, fix me some of your excellent Texas cheese toast?”

“Of course.  Let me go do that.”

“You’re really so understanding.  How did I get so lucky to have a wife like you?”

“You were the most gentlemanly guy that came off the boat that night.  Of course, those muscles of yours probably caught my eye.”

“That’s the spirit.  Remember me that way.  We’ll get through this.”

*****

“Here you go, honey, just as you like it.”

“You’re not having any?”

“Not hungry.  I think I’ll just watch the boxing match.”

“You need to get out there and make some friends.  Don’t spend all your time with a sick, broken man like me.”

“That accident was not your fault, Bill.  I don’t need to be out gallavantin’ around and leaving you here to wallow in misery.  I don’t intend to, either.  We’ve only been married a year, and I don’t plan to neglect our marriage.  I want to be here for you.  We’ll just sit here and watch the match.”

“Why don’t you call up that gal, Becky?  Go out for a night on the town.”

“Nope.”

“Just go to a movie, girl, you need to get out.  I can’t stand seeing you housebound here with me, a twenty-three-year-old girl, full of energy, pretty as anything.  Go out and have some fun.  I trust you, really.”

“No, Bill.  I told you, I’m staying here and that’s all there is to it.”

“Go see Jared down the hall.  He’ll be good for practice.”

“What are you saying???!!What do you mean?”

“Well, look at the muscles on him.”

“I don’t want him!  I only want you!  Stop this!  Stop!  Stop!”

“Trish, I’m just saying, he’d be good for keeping you in shape, warmed up, ready for the next round.”

“You mean..”

“I mean the next arm wrestling match.  No, I’m not suggesting you run to his arms for comfort and love.  Gosh!  What do you think I am?   I know that’s not like you, and honestly, the thought sickens me.”

“Oh, what a relief.”

“But, please know, if I found out you did such a thing, I’d probably forgive you.  It can’t be easy hanging out here with a broken body like mine.  Heck, it’s probably like being married to an old man.   Sometimes I feel sorry for you.”

“Baby, I would never, ever look on someone else that way.  I don’t want anyone else.  I will wait for you.”

“Ouch.  Move your arm, please.  I’m still sore in that shoulder.  That’s not even the worst one.  See.  I can’t even stand you touching me right now.  Can’t even hug your old man.”

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry.  Really.  Our money-making plans can wait.  Don’t worry.  I’ll keep in shape.  You’ll get better, and get back in shape.  We can do this.  Sorry, I know, I won’t touch you on the arm either.  Oh, I’m just, sorry.”

“Baby, don’t cry.  Just, can you please, just, let me sleep a while?”

“That feels good, you running your fingers through my hair, even if I have to sit on the floor.  Just keep on doing that, okay?  Well, ‘til you fall asleep.”

“Look at us.  You have to lean against my wheelchair, and the only way I can show you love is to play with your hair.  But not for too long, even that will make my arm tired soon.  You just don’t know how blessed I feel.  I truly know how lucky I am that you are my wife, that you’re still around…”

“Bill?  You stopped….Oh.  Asleep. Oh, well.  It was nice for a moment.  It’ll happen, Bill.  You’ll be fighting again soon; I’ll be a pro arm-wrestler.  Such a unique show we are together.”

****

 

“Honey?  Where are you?”

“I’m right here, Bill.  Had to clean up the kitchen.  Besides, you were sleeping.  You don’t have to worry about me sneaking out or running off.  I promise.”

“Trish, babe, I told you, I trust you.  No, it’s not that.  Look, out the window.  Jared is here.  Go catch him in the hall; see if he’s game.  If I can’t win any fights, maybe you can keep your game ready and win some matches.”

“Really?  Is this what you were dreaming about?”

“Hon’, you’ve got the beauty, the bod, and the strength to be a total knock-out, in more ways than one.  Don’t let it rest just because I have to.  Go on.  I know you’ll be back.  Believe me, I don’t expect anything bad to come out of this.  Jared’s a good guy, anyhow.  Knows my situation.  Really.  Just go, catch him in the hall like you just happened to be there, too.  Then, you make small talk, on the topic of arm-wrestling.  I’ll bet he didn’t know that about you.”

“Well, okay, I guess.”

“There he is, hear the outer door opening?  Go to him.  He’ll be willing, I’m sure.  He may be a good match, even.  Don’t look so glum!  I’ll be up and at it in no time.  In the meantime, have fun, and let me know how the arm-wrestling match goes.”

“Okay, Bill.  But keep remembering, I wish it was you.”

“I know, honey, don’t I know it.  I’ll be wishing it, too.”

 

*This story was in reaction to a short story contest, which I ultimately did not enter as I had too much going on.  I will say this, it was a challenge! There were so many spaces between the words leaving room for interpretation and innuendo.  Or maybe I intended that?  Your constructive comments are welcome. I don’t plan to re-write this; it is a snapshot.   What did you get out of it, without the benefit of setting and character background?  As always, thanks for reading!*

 

Return to The Post Office Box, a short story reimagined with alternate endings #paranormal #realisticfiction

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by Pamela Schloesser Canepa, copyright 2016. Part 1 originally posted on kurtbrindley.com

Originally a Flash Fiction response in 250 words, now followed by two alternate endings; choose your preferred genre, or read both.  Thank you for reading!

Tussling with the dog. That was Jasmine’s story, this time. The scar would dissipate in a week, she knew. It did hurt. This was so unfair, yet, all too familiar.
Driving to work, Jasmine noticed she’d inadvertently put on one navy blue shoe and one black. An understandable mistake; they were almost identical, and those colors were close. I wonder if anyone will notice?  She realized the light had turned. I sure don’t need a ticket.
To her left was the post office. Darn, I forgot that electric bill. Rick will lose it. Do I go back? She worried it might make her late, yet she didn’t need one more fight about the mail.
Her thoughts drifted to the invitation that had arrived the week before for her ten year high school reunion. Of course, with a four-month-old baby and a full-time job, she hadn’t seriously considered. Still, she had thought of going.
“You just want to see all your old boyfriends! You wench!” Rick had screamed, holding the baby in his arms.
“No, Rick, don’t worry, I don’t need to go.” That’s how it always went. Keeping the peace. When she never received any in return.
Abruptly, she pulled into the post office. “I need a post office box,” she announced to the clerk. JUST for me.  With receipt of the key, she found the assigned box. It was cool inside. She imagined fitting inside of it, this doorway to distant places.

Alternate ending A, paranormal/speculative fiction:

She slipped her hand in a little further.  It seemed to pull her.  Where would she go?  No doubt, someplace cooler than South Carolina.  The pull was quite strong, but she pulled back against it.  The baby!  I can’t leave the baby.

Realizing that this might be even more real than she had imagined, Jasmine slammed the door to her post office box shut.

“Everything okay, Miss?”  A young girl with hair the color of pink cotton candy and earbuds in her ears asked.

Jasmine turned around.  “It’s been a strange day.”

“Your mailbox isn’t all the way closed, by the way.  I’m Wilma, but my friends call me Freddie.”  She held out her braceleted hand.

Jasmine shook it and turned to make sure the post office box was closed all the way.

“That was a nice pinkie ring, your wedding band, too.”  Freddie called.

The wedding band was replaced after Rick had tossed it down the disposal in a drunken rage.  He spent three times as much on it, in hopes that would make his night of terror less memorable.  Of course, Jasmine didn’t say that to Freddie.

“Thanks.”  Jasmine looked around, feeling cornered.  This girl noticed too much.

“If you have that door open too long, it really works.  It takes you away.”  Freddie whispered.  “You only come back if you want to.  I swear.”

It was as if this girl knew her secrets, Jasmine thought.  She also seemed to know her exact thoughts on what was at the other side of that P.O. box.  Jasmine shivered.

“I have to go home.”

“Yes, of course.  But just so you know, it’s here.  It’ll still be here the next time you come back, no matter how long it’s been.  Once you feel the pull, you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.  I sense you need it even more than I did.”  The young girl put the earbuds back in her ears.    “Ciao,”  she called, as she turned and pulled her hoodie over her head and left the post office.

Jasmine rushed home, but Rick was, indeed, in rare form, ticked off over her being fifteen minutes late.

“I got stuck in traffic.”  She lied.  Telling the truth about what was going on in her mind was not safe at all.

“Yeah, right.  You were probably hanging out, talking to those guys you work with.”

“Rick, I’ll do better.  I’ll find a new way home.  Just let me get the dishes done.  Ross is fine over there in the playpen.  Please, just no more.  Don’t wake him.”

“I’m out of here.  You had your fun, I’ll have mine.”  And he walked out, slamming the door.

Rick came back four hours later, noisily.  Jasmine feigned a deep sleep.

Three days later, Jasmine walked into the post office with her baby, Ross.  The box was empty, of course, but she stuck her arm in as far as it would go.  Then, she had Ross stick his hand in.  “Doesn’t it feel cool, Ross?”

He giggled, taking his hand out and then putting it back in.

An elderly woman looked at them strangely.

“He likes playing, feeling the temperature change in there,” Jasmine explained.  The woman gave a fake smile.  Jasmine asked, “Have you seen that young girl, with the bright pink hair, and….”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, sorry.”  The woman spoke with a thick accent.  Should I ask where she’s from?  Jasmine pondered.  Maybe that’s where I should go.

Then it hit her.  I’m really considering doing this.  I am thinking of leaving.  How?  How can I leave?  Where will I go?  I guess it starts with daring to think of it, daring to believe I could do it.  How could she turn back now?

The woman walked off and left the post office.  Jasmine was left alone with Ross, and the open mailbox door.  Lights were beginning to dim.  It was late this time.  She’d taken off while Rick was out on one of his drinking binges, to return God-knows-when.  The only light she saw now was inside of the box, on the other side.

Letters, packages, notices all get sent from out here, to in there, ending up with loved ones or important people across the sea, in other states, far-away places.

She closed her eyes and held Ross tightly.  I will never leave you, Ross.  If I go anywhere, I go with you.  But how will I fit this diaper bag full of formula and diapers in there?  Opening her eyes, she saw the light still glowing within.  “Here we go, Ross.”  She put her thin arm into the box, and he followed suit with his chubby little baby arm, a big smile on his face.  She held him close and closed her eyes.

“Mam?  We’re clos-“ Manny, the late shift postal worker announced, to no one.  He had just seen her there, and now there was no one.  Perhaps the dim lighting was playing tricks on his eyes.

He didn’t see the woman on the other side of the box, holding a baby, carefully opening an envelope addressed to Canada.  If he had, he would not have seen it for too long.  She and the baby had disappeared inside of it, arms first, seeming to be sucked in by a powerful light that was nothing more than the power of sheer determination, free will, and a strong ability to believe.

Whatever happened to Jasmine and Ross?  One thing is for sure, Rick never saw or heard from them again.  He seemed distraught at first, and then, just seemed to forget to be distraught.  Meanwhile, Jasmine found herself with very little money in a coastal surfing town called Tofino, Canada.  She made up a believable story since there was still a shiner under her eye that only showed when she went without makeup, something she did a lot more often now.  One call to work, informing them she wouldn’t be back, and a request that her boss call her parents and inform them she was alright.  That was the last time anyone from her old life heard from her.

She took up odd jobs in tourist shops, then found a room above a coffee shop and eventually started working there, pouring coffee in the morning and babysitting children in the afternoons.  It was a very simple life, but this town felt like freedom to her.  She recalled nothing of how she got there.  Nor did it matter.  The memories of who she used to be were fading as well.  Little Ross was happy playing with other children in the cozy little tourist town.  She planned to teach him how to surf one day, as she was taking a lesson on it every week.  She also took up knitting, as the locals informed her it would get quite cold in the next month.   People around town would take to more indoor activities, and that was okay; she loved the people here.  Yes, this sure felt like freedom.  And it was there for her, only because she dared to chase it.

Rumor has it, that every few months, the postal workers at Postal Office B in Charleston, South Carolina, would see a strange glow in the mailroom at night behind the P.O. boxes, just around closing time, accompanied by the sound of a woman and her baby laughing without a care in the world.  Perhaps they were simply between destinations?  Or, perhaps it was a reminder of the power of imagination and belief.  Manny, tired, overworked, and always the stooge of his peer group, was starting to feel the pull himself.

 

Click here for Alternate ending B, realistic fiction following the intro.: http://pamelascanepa.wordpress.com/2016/08/09/the-post-office-box-flash-fiction-limit250-words/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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