Pamela Walsh-Holte
Bio
Retired social worker seaking to find my name among the "Chreators we are Loving", but alas it has not been so. Be still my heart, do not despair, your day may come...Until then I wait, anticipating some, be it ever so slight, recognition.
Achievements (1)
Stories (70/0)
"The Reflection"
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Well not as I see myself any ways. This reflection was hagard and pale with eyes that had a permanent haze glossing over them. Around the eyes the skin, swollen like little pillows the eyes might rest upon. Those pillows held a dark tint setting them aside from the paleness of the face. The face as a whole appeared to be swollen as if someone had blown a balloon up tightly then let out just enough air to allow some slack. The lips dipped down at the corners presenting a permanent frown, they appeaared as if they were burdened with a deep sadness that comes from being lonely for too many years. And the hair that framed this face hung thin and limp, dull, and withered as if it should be on a well loved but set aside doll in a child's toy box.
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a year ago in Motivation
"The Exchange"
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own, causing my heart to jump and flutter widely in my chest, so fast that it caused small beads of sweat to appear on my brow. Turning my back to the mirror I quickly walked away. Unable to make sense of the image I had seen left me feeling it all may have been my imagination.
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a year ago in Horror
- Runner-Up in Tautogram Challenge
The Conductor
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky... She lay as still as she possibly could, eyes closed, trying ever so hard not to blink. Her Papa, he is at the door and like every other night he is peaking in on her, making sure she wants for nothing and she is safely tucked in bed. This night he walks softly over and gently brushes her hair from her face, he lingers beside her watching her sleep, moving slowly so not to wake her he places a soft kiss on her forehead and quietly exits her room. She is never quite sure if he has gone or not because his footsteps are so soft they don't make a sound.
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a year ago in Fiction
"A little More than a Dance"
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky... Now that is a heavy schedule to keep. If I had feet they would be killing me! Oh! Hello, let me introduce myself, you see, I am a Purple Cloud and I dance, it's just what I do, dance, dance, dance. I have danced for as long as I can remember. That's right, I have never failed to show up, or been late in all these years. How can I? When so many are counting on me and my partner Blushing Sky to perform nightly. Yes, its true, many count the minutes until midnight, in some strange way they find a sense of belonging and stability. You see for many, my partner and I are the only stable thing they can count on in their miserable life's. Now I don't say that to be cynical, I say that because it's true.
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a year ago in Confessions