I’m Ann Linquist, freelance writer and online writing instructor. Whether you’re interested in writing fiction, creative nonfiction, or effective business documents, I invite you to explore this site and find out how to reach your writing goals.
Samantha had a disk problem that could not be fixed, so she had to learn to survive while in constant, unremitting, excruciating pain. Her department of twenty customer service phone reps lived in fear of her temper, since Samantha so no reason to tolerate excuses, whining, or lack of effort. Performance in her department suffered because of this rigidity, and she was fired.
She decided to become a pet groomer, imagining how soothing it might be to work with lovable pets all day. On Tuesday, Mrs. Rhinehorn brought her border collie, Sheba, in for grooming at Samantha’s new shop. And….
I stand in front of the window. It has been painted so many times that I can’t get it open. But tonight I try. I wrestle it, pound on the edges, yank at the bottom, push at the top. This window has never been opened to my knowledge.
I am a time traveler. My home time is 2014, where I am a 47-year-old single male named Harold. I am about to go back to when I was seven to find out why we suddenly lost the Cadillac, the home on Miami Beach, and Mom’s mink and then moved to a shack in mountains of western North Carolina.
Today is the anniversary of my little sister’s death. She was fifty-eight when she died, with two young adult children and a loving husband. She died of cancer, after a long fight. I write today to fight back time. It keeps passing. The years when she was here grow ever more distant. Memories become reduced to repeated sentences that we use to conjure her up. Thin, so thin. Photos are also finite, though we have many; but there are no new ones now, showing her aging, attending graduations, creating new art, celebrating holidays as only she could. I weep but do not bleed. I would bleed if that would bring her back, but I know it will not. I line up these words on the page and conjure her one more time. Sarah.
Please share your words about a loved one that you have lost.
Jack in the box
Top of the Empire State Building
Blocks? Nope. Never have those.
Stewart sat at the head of his long gravel drive way with the car idling. He didn’t need to go home; he was a human being with free will, wasn’t he? He could take a right turn and leave the consequences behind. Or, he could turn all the way around and go back the way he’d come. If he went forward, he would have to face the music. He chewed his thumb nail.
Clothespin, tweezers, tape, and a rubber band.