Pamela Walsh-Holte
Bio
Retired social worker seaking to find my name among the "Chreators we are Loving", but alas it has not been so. Be still my heart, do not despair, your day may come...Until then I wait, anticipating some, be it ever so slight, recognition.
Achievements (1)
Stories (52/0)
A Friend Called Ruth
She woke to the smells of the Island entwined with the smoldering wood in the pot belly stove that sits in the kitchen of the old farm house. The farm house and the 40 acres it sits on has been in her best friends family for generations. She is sure they have done no modernizations since the day it was built. It's a solid old home filled with many memories. She and her small circle of friends have spent most every summer here and she loves it.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte6 months ago in Art
THE LONGEST HEIST
Over the years, many had left with more than they came. Leaving her void of her identity. With a wounded soul were her memories should be. No one understood the depth of her empty. Her dads teddy bear, when he passed "Struggles" was there. Where was he now? Did anyone care? To them just another stuffed teddy bear. So tired of hearing let go of the past, they don't understand this was her life and memories are meant to last.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte6 months ago in Fiction
"The Reflection"
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Well not as I see myself any ways. This reflection was hagard and pale with eyes that had a permanent haze glossing over them. Around the eyes the skin, swollen like little pillows the eyes might rest upon. Those pillows held a dark tint setting them aside from the paleness of the face. The face as a whole appeared to be swollen as if someone had blown a balloon up tightly then let out just enough air to allow some slack. The lips dipped down at the corners presenting a permanent frown, they appeaared as if they were burdened with a deep sadness that comes from being lonely for too many years. And the hair that framed this face hung thin and limp, dull, and withered as if it should be on a well loved but set aside doll in a child's toy box.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte8 months ago in Motivation
"The Exchange"
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own, causing my heart to jump and flutter widely in my chest, so fast that it caused small beads of sweat to appear on my brow. Turning my back to the mirror I quickly walked away. Unable to make sense of the image I had seen left me feeling it all may have been my imagination.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte8 months ago in Horror
- Runner-Up in Tautogram Challenge
