The girls at this school were full of new games that left Sonia clumsy and frustrated: skipping rhymes, hand-clapping, elastics, kick the can, hares and hounds.
“What’s kites,” she shouted into the wind, dreading the answer.
Paula grinned.
“It’s magic!” The words raced past Sonia on a gust of salty air and were gone.
They found him, dinner suit dripping, by the river.
He was not able to tell them his name — or perhaps it was there, amongst the screams and panic.
Back at the station they brought in linguists and translators who narrowed it down to some Russian dialect…
[audio:http://www.julieduffy.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/BrokenToys.mp3|titles=Broken Toys – A Story by Julie Duffy] This is today’s StoryADay story. I enjoyed it so much I recorded it too. You can play it above, or right-click here to save the mp3 file. See John. See John laugh. See John laugh and smile. See John laugh and smile and touch his wife Jane… Continue reading Broken Toys – A Story
See John.
See John laugh.
See John laugh and smile.
See John laugh and smile and touch his wife Jane on the elbow…
There she is: Mrs Wyndham. Bent over her roses, pruning shears in one hand,s pray bottle in the other. Somewhere under the voluminous straw hat is her little quizzical smile, her eyes lined from squinting against the harsh sun. As far as anyone can tell, Mrs Wyndham lives for her flower garden. I probably know her better than most, and I would have to agree….
It was a wild and stormy night. (No, really it was!) Gregor was in bed. He was curled up under the covers with his stuffed manatee (Matawee) and his toy dolphin. He wasn’t quite asleep but he was in that comfortable, warm and drowsy state where sleep is not far off. And so, when he… Continue reading Gregor and The Dragon And The Storm
He lit a cigar and leaned back, shrouded by the red leather of his wing chair by the fireplace, unlit on this seasonably warm spring day. Off duty, perhaps, but still holding court, Sir Alec received visitors as they passed by…
…“Father! You’re back at last!”
Miraim’s head appeared in the inner doorway, then disappeared before she returned carrying a large vase of water.
“Here,” she said. “Wash.”
Philip smiled at his busy daughter, so like her mother and a welcome reminder of home, of their real life.
“And how was your supper after we women left you to your gossiping?” She asked, hands on hips…
Bonnie was sitting now, wiping her face with her ever-present handkerchief. She sat, poker-straight, and stared at her shoes, not at her husband.
“It’s so stupid,” she said. “I’m Secretary of the 4H Club, for crying out loud. I been raising and slaughtering animals since I was Maggie’s age!”
Best of all, I’m loving reading everyone’s posts, which all have a kind of breathless quality to them. We’re all giddy and excited because we committed to this and can’t believe it, and yet we have written and had fun and are loving letting our creative kittens out of the river-bound sack.
