Pam Saraga
Achievements (1)
Stories (10/0)
The Kidnapping
It smelt wrong. The air flowed over her body, ruffling the curly hair on her tail. She looked over at the bed. Maizie slept soundly, mumbling softly with her arm around Pippy the doll. The yard erupted as Bert began barking. She wished she could see out of the window but it was too high. Bert hit the chain link hard, growling. She could hear the approaching foot falls. They were headed toward the back of the house. Suzette planted herself between the window and Maizie’s bed. Sue was a medium sized dog, half poodle and half basset hound. She thought of this child as her own. This was her territory, and that smell didn’t belong.
By Pam Saraga4 months ago in Criminal
The Last Chapter of the Book of the Dead
It was sweltering in the small tomb. Every inch of her skin was coated with sand and sweat. She still felt herself lucky to have obtained a spot-on Dr. Becker’s team. He had assigned her to a small tomb on the outskirts of his larger dig.
By Pam Saraga4 months ago in Fiction
What Happened to Rose Gonzalez?
The scene was a chaotic mess with medical personnel, a search and rescue team and three officers searching the area. The lead detective, John Maxwell found Mrs. Brook Daniels still holding her cell and staring blankly into space. He decided that he would bring her to the police station to redirect her attention.
By Pam Saraga4 months ago in Criminal
The BEST Funeral Ever
The king is dead, long live the king. He lay in repose in an orange taffeta lined casket, draped in multiple American flags. Garish? Yes. Unexpected, no. The bloom on his cheek, drawn on as in life. He smelt vaguely of fried chicken as a slight grease stain spread on the taffeta.
By Pam Saraga4 months ago in Humor
Santa on Mars
He looked out from the habitat and saw the pink colored sand dusting the outcroppings outside the pressure dome’s panoramic window. It reminded him of the snow blowing in the canyons around his home in Utah. But here on Mars it was so much more desolate. The climate-controlled habitat sat in a lava tube, deep enough to shield them from radiation and small meteorites but too otherworldly to feel like home. It made him shiver at the realization that he was one of 42 people living 225 million km/ 139,808,518 miles on average from Earth. This fact was brought up by his youngest son, Max, this morning at breakfast. The commitment of bringing his whole family to another planet, really hit home. It was Dec 1st Earth time, and little Max asked him if Santa would be able to find them on Mars, not the kind of question a father usually has to answer.
By Pam Saraga4 months ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in the Under a Spell Challenge
The 13TH WitchRunner-Up in the Under a Spell Challenge
“She shines by day and into the night. Daughter to a mother both chaste and bright. A moon and star upon her cheek. Make this scrying stone find its site.” The 12 women stood in a closed circle holding hands. A large obsidian stone floated in the air over a map of the Camel Back mountains. It moved in a wavering pattern buzzing as it neared the map. It floated above a spot and slowly landed on the town of Chandler.
By Pam Saraga6 months ago in Earth
Silent Conversation
She looked at his sweet, old face as he lay in the bed, their bed. Her hands went over to tuck the covers around his shoulders so he wouldn't get cold. This bedroom had known them for fifty years. She was going to paint the room before the diagnosis. Dementia. Why not just say sorry you will melt away until you no longer exist? Every part of you that defines you, will be systematically stripped away until the end. Loosing you is hard, my love, but loosing you bit by bit is the worst type of horror imaginable.
By Pam Saraga6 months ago in Fiction
Tattoo
He was a real artist. The ink flowed on to her skin like oil on canvas. The black, reds and blues so vibrant that the dragon seemed to be perched above the skin not on it. She had never had a tattoo before and probably would never have one again. It was very painful, more so than she had imagined.
By Pam Saragaabout a year ago in Fiction
My Favorite Dog
Otto von Schultz started out to be my least favorite dog. At the time of our acquaintance, I owned three very large dogs, Draconis, Wilhelmina, and Stirfry. Draconis was a Rhodesian ridge back/golden retriever mix. Wilhelmina was a shepherd /pit-bull mix. Stirfry was so mixed that only God or a genetic testing facility would be able to sort him out.
By Pam Saraga2 years ago in Petlife