Sophie gazed down the long oaken table, half-light of a dozen candle sticks melted to shining copper holder. She squinted to blur the face drooping at table’s end. Continue reading “Runner”
“Cindy!” The two stepsisters looked at each other. “You gotta give up something if you wanna marry a prince!” Continue reading “Not-so Modern Love”
(A moment of peace, the calm in the eye of the storm.)
Just a few short hours ago, there‘d been a clatter of metal against glass, the whine of motors rotating through a thick sludge, the wet thunk of an awkward body, a snip and rustle of evisceration, the rasp of metal on metal, and a clang of slamming doors.
“I think we’ve done all we can for now.” Karen wipes her brow and surveys the damage. “When are the troops supposed to arrive?”
This is my portion of the eulogies written for my dad, Kjeld Oddvar Husebye, born August 11, 1925 and died January 2, 2015, after a very long struggle with cancer.