Bernice E Cabral
Bio
Stories (8/0)
The Angel's Gift
Smack dab near the center of a small town in middle America was a blue house. Not too big, or too small. The sort of house in which middle class couples raise their families. Well-kept, unpretentious. It's pretty front door usually decorated with a pretty wreath, it's color and foliage based upon the season. Helen Carter opened her particular front door, on this particular day, to exchange her particular wreath from autumn's crimson, gold and rust leaves, pumpkins and gourds; to one of white, silver, and blue in recognition of the impending Christmas Season.
By Bernice E Cabral2 years ago in Fiction
All The King's Men
Mary Ellen caught her breath sharply while making her way down the stairwell from the tenth story of the shabby apartment building. Her left shoulder rubbed against the hard plaster wall, as her left hand grasped the wooden banister. With each descending step, her short halting breaths became deeper and more relaxed. By the time she reached street level, her breath was normal and the butterflies that caused waves of discomfort in her solar plexus had flown off to wherever stomach butterflies disperse themselves. She felt conscious self control return.
By Bernice E Cabral2 years ago in Motivation
Hangers
Of course it's not the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to anyone. It hardly seems worth taking the time to talk about. So insignificant. So mundane. Practically boring. Silly actually. I mention it only because it is the kind of thing that can occur when one is rushed. A result of other's demands and impatience with us. Had it been up to me. If I were in control and less prone to give precedence to the whims and wishes of others, my memory would be unstained. I would not still fall victim to the cry of "tell about the time..." that never fails to find me at social gatherings.
By Bernice E Cabral3 years ago in Confessions
Confessions of a Ragmop
https://youtu.be/qRrw2hDjnl4 I certainly qualify for membership in the Red Hat Society. Those ladies over fifty who meet for fun and friendship in purple outfits and red hats. But, I prefer to be a member of the Red Flag Bunch. We celebrate the fact that we are still alive and long ago concluded we don't have to go along to get along.
By Bernice E Cabral3 years ago in Humans
