Cindy Calder
Bio
From Charleston SC - "I am still learning." Michelangelo
Stories (244/0)
The Magic Window
Sophie loved to explore unchartered territories whenever she had a day off from school, and today she was making her way through the sparse forest to find places she had yet to discover. Her best friend, Abby, had decided to ditch her in favor of going shopping with her Mom today, but Sophie much preferred trekking through the woods any day to picking out a new outfit in a crowded mall.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
Christmas Eve, 1910
The year was 1910, and it was a cold, bitter winter night. Arthur sat before the fire, rocking and smoking his pipe as he listened to the giggles of excitement that issued forth from the next room where eight of his ten children slept. The youngest two, twins, were already asleep in his and his wife’s bedroom. His wife, Anna, was with the other eight children, attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to calm them so that he could begin his annual Santa Claus masquerade. He shook his head at the thought and laughed. Well, she certainly had her work cut out for her. All children grew excited with the joy and anticipation of Christmas Eve, and his were certainly no different. His wife might have to threaten the children within an inch of their lives to achieve such an endeavor.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
What's In a Name?
Shelby stood and stretched. It had been a productive day of painting, and she was more than ready for a break. However, before leaving the quaint seaside studio, she took one last glance at her most recent piece of work. Overall, she was pleased with the progression of the painting of enormous, blue hydrangeas that sat upon the table, so she cleaned her brushes and put away the multi-colored paint palette and paints she had used.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
Lavender & Merlot
There was a distinct and frosty chill in the late fall evening as Abigail made her way to the small Italian restaurant called La Pasta. The rustic, multi-colored leaves whispered in the breeze, blowing and scattering everywhere as her black heels clicked methodically with each step she took on the narrow sidewalk. Reaching up, she attempted to push back the loose wisps of russet-colored hair that flew about her face, but it was a futile endeavor. This evening, despite her best attempts to tame the thick, lustrous curls, her hair had a mind of its own, and there was no luck at hand with escaping the force of a wind that lent it new life. She mused to herself that she would likely look like Medusa once she arrived at her destination, but alas, it was what it was. Whomever she was meeting on this blind date would need to like her for what she was, including her wild, rebellious, and yes, scary hair. As the wind whipped about her legs, she wished she had had the foresight to take the taxi that she had considered in lieu of making the short walk to the restaurant. Perhaps if she had, she would not have looked like a mythological creature, waiting in the wings for her blind date’s arrival. Well, she hoped this date was made of sterner stuff and could endure the sight of her hair in disarray.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
The Lockbox
“To err is human; to forgive, divine.” – Alexander Pope The desire for revenge is a built-in facet of human nature, and science leads us to the conclusion that the capacity for forgiveness, like the desire for revenge, may be yet another facet of human nature. Forgiveness and the lack of forgiveness can be akin to a double-edged sword, and each cuts thus. If one does not forgive, it only serves to eat away at the soul, like a stonecutter’s hammer and chisel, slowly chipping away at the large slab of marble. However, to forgive also deeply cuts into one’s armor or marbled soul, leaving a long lasting scar as it is not an easy thing to achieve, especially under the worst of circumstances. Herein lies the story of true forgiveness, attained when it was previously lost or unattainable – a double-edged sword disposed of by melding it in the hottest of fires or by bestowing it for safekeeping upon some mythical creature like the Lady of the Lake in Excalibur. Each is an action that will serve as a protective measure to safeguard one’s soul and everlasting dignity. To do so will surely set one free and create a feeling more divine than nearly any other fathomable thing.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
The Phoenix Rises
Death knows no obstacle, no boundary, as love rises from the ashes like a phoenix and soars to distant horizons. In the late day of each afternoon, Tessa walked the high cliffs of Cornwall, looking out upon the vast ocean as she anxiously awaited the return of her beloved sea captain, Seton. The nearby Trevose Head Lighthouse stood at the ready, able to provide guidance to any incoming ship out on the seas. It had been more than a year since she had seen The Sappho draw near the shoreline, but she held steadfast to hope as she waited. Daily, she walked amidst the flower-encrusted cliffs high above the lapping ocean’s waves, ever ready to see a blinking lantern from the ship that signaled her true love's long-awaited return.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
La Mort des Apparences
“We have plenty of time,” Zelda said, reaching across the space betwixt her and her husband of eighteen years. She lovingly caressed his forearm in an attempt to assure him that his despondent thoughts were due to nothing more than the gloomy weather that had filled this rainy day in Paris.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
Summoned Illusions
Her name was Heather, like the beautiful heather scattered endlessly across the mysterious and haunted moors. The moors of Dartmoor called to Heather, both in her waking hours and her nightly dreams. They beckoned her like a beacon, summoning her to their luscious hills as she slept each night in the comfort of a bed that had once belonged to her parents. Each morning when she awoke, the smell of heather permeated her bedroom, and she knew well enough it was the remnants of her dreams lingering in the air.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
Recitations
Zelda had revisited The Prose & Wine café many times – well, eleven times to be exact – over the last four months. The motivation each time she visited was solely the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She could not remember ever hearing lovelier recitations of any pieces of classical work. She was confident that his voice, laced with a lilting and beautiful English accent, was a gift from the Gods, derived from ancient times. She did not know his real name, because everyone who came to hear the recitations knew him only as The Eloquent Englishman.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction
A Book of Names
Micah sat on a bench facing the Battery and looked out on the ocean waves lapping against the seawall and fencing barricades that had stood for well over a century. The ocean was like glass this April day, with only the faintest of wind rippling across it. The peaceful moss swayed from the massive oak trees that lined the park in response to the whisper of the wind, their leaves lightly rustling. He mused how much he loved April in Charleston with its mild weather and abundance of blooming azaleas, magnolias, and dogwoods. All of these things, when combined, lent a calmness that betrayed the anxiousness Micah had felt ever since he had lost his little black notebook four days before. He had never been without the book in his possession for so long, and he could not quell the questions and fear that filled him as a result. It would not be long, however, before he would have the book back in his hands - or before she arrived with it. His hands itched as he waited at the thought of holding his little black book of names again, and he pondered the recent turn of events that that had led him to this precipitous moment in time.
By Cindy Calder3 years ago in Fiction