Karen Sullivan
Bio
Georgia transplant from Baltimore MD. One husband, two kids, a dog, and five fish later, I'm finally living the dream--
Reading, Writing, Retirement!
Stories (6/0)
First Christmas in Dustwater
Sabrina stood on the sagging back porch of the old bar and grill, surveying the scene with sullen eyes. She didn’t care how pretty her mother thought the snow-tipped mountains were, dotted with their evergreens. She didn’t care that her father loved the bare branches that scratched at the late afternoon sky and whose leaves had fallen and crisped on the cold December ground. She only cared that she was stuck in dustbowl Virginia for Christmas and wanted to go home—back to the city, back to her friends, back to real Christmas.
By Karen Sullivan 3 years ago in Fiction
The Marriage Thing
Alex pulled out his phone and made the call. Twenty-four hours later he and Priest were seated in a lavish restaurant overlooking the bay, 2000 miles from home. The idyllic view of sails against an azure sky and lush greens in the distance was wasted as they both stared anxiously at the restaurant’s entrance. Priest sipped a scotch and soda hoping the simple cocktail would calm the worst case of nerves he’d had in years.
By Karen Sullivan 3 years ago in Fiction
BREATHE
Minha opened the blue door of Breathe Yoga, taped the CLOSED for COVID sign on the front and closed it again. She sidestepped the boxes stuffed with four years of files and personal effects and sank to the yoga mat on the floor, welcoming the cool on her skin as she leaned against the wall. It had been a long day and she was spent, physically and emotionally. She’d cleaned and packed the last of everything there was to clean and pack, but then came the saying goodbye—not just to her studio but to her fellow merchants, people she’d come to call friends. Defined in the governor’s mandate as a gym, Breathe Yoga was the only shop on the tiny Baltimore block marked to shut down by 5pm, and one by one her neighbors had dropped by to see her off, wish her well. She couldn’t even hug them—everybody 6 feet apart, their smiles and words lost behind masks. It was hard. She would miss this part of her life. But it was Julian, the one person she hadn’t seen all day, who she’d miss the most.
By Karen Sullivan 3 years ago in Humans
BREATHE
Minha opened the blue door of Breathe Yoga, taped the CLOSED for COVID sign on the front and closed it again. She sidestepped the boxes stuffed with four years of files and personal effects and sank to the yoga mat on the floor, welcoming the cool on her skin as she leaned against the wall. It had been a long day and she was spent, physically and emotionally. She’d cleaned and packed the last of everything there was to clean and pack, but then came the saying goodbye—not just to her studio but to her fellow merchants, people she’d come to call friends. Defined in the governor’s mandate as a gym, Breathe Yoga was the only shop on the tiny Baltimore block marked to shut down by 5pm, and one by one her neighbors had dropped by to see her off, wish her well. She couldn’t even hug them—everybody 6 feet apart, their smiles and words lost behind masks. It was hard. She would miss this part of her life. But it was Julian, the one person she hadn’t seen all day, who she’d miss the most.
By Karen Sullivan 3 years ago in Humans