Anna
Recent Posts
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Superman | A Short Story
The little boy with the black hair ran about the campsite in his Superman cape. “Mommy, watch!” The boy jumped from a rock, rolling in the dirt.
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The Light | A Short Story
We were driving through the dark central valley cornfields, late at night, on our way to visit family. We had been driving for over five hours, the light of the sun had faded hours ago, with only a few stops to stretch our legs.
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Honey – A Story of Love and Time | A Short Story
The little girl woke with a gasp, her heart pounding, sweat running into her eyes. She grabbed her favorite bear, Honey, and dragged him across the floor and into her parent’s room.
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52 weeks, a journey of discovery, fiction, Identity, motherhood, On Writing, short stories, who am I?, why am I here?
The Dilemma of Purpose | A Short Story
“Ahhh, the dilemma of purpose. Some walk through life never giving it a thought. Some live life as a cliffhanger. Some, like you, never quite know.”
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My Forever Love | A Short Story
Mysterious and beautiful. A place to escape. A place alive at night with numb, wandering souls. A place for us, my forever love.
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White Coats | A Short Story
It was Saturday when I set the explosives. The men in the white coats, they’ve been watching me.
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52 weeks, Andromeda, Conservation, constellation, Greek myth, Mother Earth, myth, original art, Poetry, Save the Earth, short stories
Andromeda’s Lament | A Poem
Andromeda, the chained woman, screams to the heavens.
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The Cufflinks | A Short Story
Slowly and with much bodily protest, Eleanore stooped to pick up the silver cufflinks, turning them in her palm.
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52 Weeks – Week 12 – A Murder of Crows
As her eyes opened, the crows landed around her in a circle. They laid for her nuts and seeds and then, hopping, the murder of crows led her back to her home, now barren.
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52 Weeks – Week 11 – The Imperfect Self
She squats and unzips it. That is when I tumble out. Unkempt. My imperfect self.
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The Tango | A Short Story
His arm cradled my back, the rough of his chin pressed against my temple. The tango was slow, my feet tracing the wood as this man barely moved me from this spot.
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52 weeks, cult of personality, cults, new age, On Writing, short stories, spirituality, women’s gatherings
The Cult of Cait | A Short Story
I was dozing when she knocked on my door. The sun had long set, and I should have been looking into my dreams, but I was waiting for her.
