freedom

Dear John

/ Liz H-H / 30 Comments

fountain pen

“What instrument shall I use, and what medium to convey my deepest and most honest wishes?”  Annalisa, one hand holding her elbow, the other holding her chin, scanned the open drawer filled with seven different kinds of pens (one with eight different nibs for calligraphy), a half dozen different colored inks, brushes of many sizes and an uncounted number of acrylic paints (some rolled tight into tiny secret snails of color, others fat and shiny like a slug that didn’t give a shit), a box of 50-count soft pastels (none broken, but all tested and of different lengths…a lovely diversity), and no markers of any kind as she detested them. Continue reading →

Well, Why Not? (Part 1)

/ Liz H-H / 33 Comments

Damask pattern, black on whiteHow to get from one side of the room to the other without causing too much of a commotion in the main ballroom?

Yes, the Duchess was sure to notice that her twin wards, Tikk and Tokk, hadn’t stayed in their novice’s cells as they’d been directed, instead slipping the pins out of their door hinges and gently laying the wooden doors against the opposite wall without creating too much of a bang, but then, they planned to be long gone before that happened. Continue reading →

Shift into Gear

/ Liz H-H / 20 Comments

Tiny dandelion growing thru cracked sidewalk“What goes around, comes around, again and again and again,” Sharlie muttered, shuffling her feet – along with all her fellow shift workers at Widgetties Inc — over the cracks and buckles in the sidewalk that led up to the factory’s tall, iron double doors. Her steel-toed boots were worn, soles held to uppers with fraying duct tape. “Uh-huh, Baby needs a new pair of shoes, but first she needs a different, better job.”  Continue reading →

Don’t Stop Believin’

/ Liz H-H / 14 Comments

purple violets on a black background

Annalisa stared down at the menu, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple in the dim light of late night. The other pages were just as crowded with options, all of them equally unappetizing, but she knew she had to make a decision, and knew that Rory, sitting opposite her at the patio table, was beetling his brows and tugging at his walrus-like mustache.  As was his habit, he waited in judgment, ready to trumpet his corrections to whatever choice she might make. Continue reading →