Polyglot. Sapiophile. Live in Slave for 2 rescue dogs. You can't make this up; Fictionalized Reality, names changed to protect the truth & the guilty. Everyone will think they are the heroine. What fools these mortals be...
The Light means Life
Emily wrapped the charging belt around her waist. She snapped the battery into place and plugged the wire into the wall . The charger beeped , signaling it was synched with the medical implant in Emily’s spine. The green light indicator was lit, showing a full connection. She was ready to recharge.
No one had been to the Livingston Farm since Old Lady Bell shot and killed her husband and his mistress as they engaged in their usual Tuesday afternoon delight in the farmhouse master bedroom. The affair had been ongoing every week for over a year when Old Lady Bell drove the 43 miles to town to sell her fresh eggs and cheese, and then perform her household errands, including shopping, banking, and visits to the library. She was usually gone for a few hours, giving the lovers ample time to talk, tryst, and kiss goodbye as the mistress tightened her fist around the three-hundred-dollar bills, the husband lovingly gifted her after each session.
Cachapas in Caracas
The first bite of the “cachapa” was a time machine that instantly transported me back to Venezuela. Back to the warm, balmy air. Back to the palm trees and open roads. Back to the beaches, the sun, the white sand. Back to fresh squeezed pineapple juice, full of sweetness and yellow pulp. Back to the salty, creamy, piping hot mixture that had conquered my taste buds then, and were planning a re-enactment in my mouth today.