Long honey-brown hair and just one dimple.
Loves: pasta, rivers, other people.
Writer by night, or rather by the hours I do not spend at my day job, or hunting for thrifted treasures...
Read on, folks!
Bubble Baths and Bullets
Hosea Tribe leaned back in the steaming copper tub filled to the brim with clean bubbly water and exhaled a long ragged breath. It had been eighteen days since his last bath, and that had really only been a dip in the river with a bar of borrowed soap. Stolen soap really… but he had put it back by the washer women’s pans and boards before dawn, so it didn’t seem to him to be much of a crime. Not a crime worth counting anyway. He had plenty of those tallied up already. Breathing in and out deeply Hosea’s aching muscles began to relax into the sudsy water. He let his mind wander over the events of the last few days. By god but it had been insanity. Unbidden, her face floated before Hosea’s mind's eye. Round hazel eyes, hair the color of dark honey, heart shaped face and a full figure, curvy and soft looking. Not that Hosea had gotten the chance to test the theory of her softness… She had barely begun to warm to his smile, before the movements of a greater story had pulled them apart. The men to whom Hosea and most of this piece of the West answered to had changed things in with a swift finality that left the residents of the little township Kingston and the surrounding county reeling. The fact that Hosea was able to relax in a bath at the Kingston’s one and only Hotel had more to do with his exhaustion then any real security he might have. Perhaps the very knowledge that the door could be kicked in and he shot to death there in the tub at any moment made the relaxation and thoughts of her more delightful. Rose Lillian Carson. Rosie, as her friends called her.
It's Not Even About Food
The year after I was born, a book was published. It rose to fame and acclaim in the late nineties and early 2000s, years before my own food demons reared their pretty blond heads. First I had to learn how to use my perfect new body, before I could begin to pick it apart with criticism.
Little Girl Wild
Closing my eyes, I sit cross-legged on the purple suede cushion, and I wonder, what would she think of me? The room is dimmed, I've lit several candles, the bungalow is clean and I have fed myself. I begin to walk back, and I begin to call her name...
To My Love, On Other Women
Darling, We are so busy. We both work six days a week to pay for this bungalow, and our cozy little life in it. There are things I often wish to tell you about, but I forget, for there is only time for “I love you” and “would you like me to make you coffee too?” As well as, “I am proud of you." All good things to be saying to one another, of course. Though, the extras sometimes get forgotten. So, I have written them here for you to read, perhaps on a smoke break, or on your day off, when and I am at work.