Tuesday Tales and We Thank!

November 21, 2017

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "thank". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.

Enjoy!~

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "prepare". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.

Enjoy!~

Owen sat beside the waning fire, staring into the glowing embers. Memories invaded his thoughts, turning this otherwise peaceful evening disturbing. He hadn’t talked to his former girlfriend, Morgan, for about six weeks. He had known Morgan as long as he’d known Caleb, since they were just out of the toddler stage. She became his best friend—he never thought of her as a girl until her beauty blossomed from behind the dirt on her cheeks and under her fingernails. The three of them were like peas in a pod, knowing each other’s secrets, even the devastating ones.

Owen’s stomach churned while his chest burned. Tears threatened and he squeezed his eyes shut, yet they fell anyway. He tossed another log on the fire, not ready to go inside, might not be for several more hours. On nights like this, he needed to think. He allowed the pain and loneliness to surface. Reminiscing alone helped him manage through the days without giving away his true feelings to Caleb.

Shoot, he knows me so well he probably knows about it anyway.

A vision of his mother’s face appeared in his consciousness. He responded by wrapping his arms around himself in a makeshift hug for protection. Owen tried to make himself as small as possible, to squash out the unwanted image of her face. With Morgan’s exit, he had more reminders of his past than he ever imagined.

His mother was known as the town crazy, some even said in shaming whispers she might have been possessed. She must’ve done too many drugs, how normal could the boy be? She’d be better off dead to the poor kid. Can you imagine having a momma like her? Those adults didn’t care what they said or if they said derogatory remarks in Owen’s presence, he understood everything they tossed about in careless conversations. Owen gritted his teeth, preparing for a long night ahead. The daylight couldn’t come soon enough so the torrent of memories would stop.