This is my latest Kindle Ebook published. I am offering it for free for two days, October 17-19.  I would be thrilled if you would grab, read and review for me.

Photo by Shirley Dilley
Photo by Shirley Dilley

I am so excited these days to finally be motivated to publish all my writing.  Just posted another book, my fifth, on Amazon this morning.  This one is full of short writings, some humorous , some more opinionated than just opinion pieces.  However, it’s my book and it’s what I think and feel.  Two more books almost ready to publish–another book of short stories and a book of acrostic poems.  Still working on formatting them, but enjoying that process, also.  Hope you’ll read and review some of them.  They are all light reading and easy to pick up and put down in a hurry.

Reviews on Amazon are always appreciated.

The Bum

 

Photo by Shirley Dilley
Photo by Shirley Dilley

Okay, okay. I hear ya. The bum IS a body part. Also named butt, rear end, fanny, fat a**, etc. Oh, right. Fat is not part of the name, even though that’s the way mine is described much too frequently.

First of all, thank you, Lord, for placing mine on the back of my body so I don’t have to suffer with looking at it every time I’m in front of a mirror. It’s bad enough to have the belly blob front and center.

Why do we have this cushion built into the rear and tail (another intended pun) end of our skeleton? Oh, come on, you sports fans. Can you imagine sitting on those hard bleachers and plopping down on them after standing to cheer without a derrierre? Oh, yes, that’s the fancy- schmancy word for our backside. Sporting events tickets would go unsold and teams would fold. If you’ve wondered why more big butt people are the fans, that’s why. They’re built for the bleachers. The athletes are trim and have almost zero bums, so they have to play the sports. They could never survive a couple hours sitting on the hard bleachers. These same broad sports butts delight in being Harley riders. They can easily withstand the hard pounding from the pavement. Low–riding jeans provide a constant showing of this body part on the bikes. So much for soothing eye therapy for drivers following these dudes and dudettes.

A physiological puzzlement on the bum is why is the skin temp there so much colder than elsewhere on your body? Couldn’t find one article on that on the internet. Can you believe it? My educated (stop laughing) guess is that there is just too much skin and blubber there to provide enough 98.6 degree warmed blood to the surface.

Why do little one’s butts get smacked when they are naughty or about to run in the street or touch something hot? Who was the first one to choose that spot? And yet, that very same spot gets a small pinch to show affection or sexual harassment? What gives here, anyway?

This very same area contains the exhaust pipe for the solid waste and odorous emissions coming from the gas-producing factory located within the body.

Another question for the students. Why is there such a long crack on these bottoms? Why is that necessary? What good is it? Is it broken? Is it a new way for those droopy-drawers fellas to salute, say hi, or insult you? Or just a way to check if they’re wearing underwear? Or if it’s clean underwear?

Probably just so we can identify a plumber when we need one. What do you think?

Escape-Prologue

This must be the wrong address. I need to get out of here.

Misty turned to hurry away out of the dark, deserted corridor. But, before she reached the alley entrance, she heard a familiar voice call out.

“Misty, here, right here.” The greeting was joined by her friend’s smile and raised hand, waving to signal her presence in the doorway. Emma invited her inside as if they were accustomed to meeting here frequently. Centuries of silence passed before they embraced as in the past. The childhood friend she remembered would be too proud to live in this shabby neighborhood. And with an outfit that matched the environment, no less. Misty camouflaged her face to cover the puzzlement over her friend’s new basement level lifestyle. She felt miles away from her comfort zone. Her familiar daily garb, a tailored, dark-colored business suit embracing a colorful silk shell, made her feel out-of-touch. Gucci shoes and handbag, along with perfectly accessorized jewelry felt like binding chains encircling her wrists and ankles. Her flawless coiffure, manicured nails, and make-up resembling an airbrushed celebrity photo, belonged on a billboard in this rundown neighborhood instead of a visitor coming to call.

“Uh, I can’t believe it’s been over five years since we’ve seen each other. How’ve you been?” Misty wanted to roll the last sentence back with her tongue like a charmed snake, realizing the answer was all too obvious.

Saving her college pal from an unimaginable amount of embarrassment, Emma skipped right on to her cheery answer. “Great, Misty. I’m so happy to see you. Glad you could break away from the studio to visit.”

“How long have you lived here in the city, Emma? Last I heard you were ‘Miss Hoity-Toity Society’ in Baltimore.” Her forced giggle would fool no one, but her friend laughed along with her as though they had been exchanging girlie jabs for a lifetime.

“Not long. A few weeks, I think. I was tired of the phony life, phony friends and paparazzi. I needed to get back to my passion for writing.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Misty did a half-turn sweeping her arm around to suggest the bleak apartment’s furnishings. “Gathering research or living your research, I should say.”

“Heavens no. I’m a realist, remember? Not a fantasy writer.” Emma chuckled slightly with the words but her smile faded quickly along with the sentence’s volume. Her face now revealed the pain she tried desperately to mask from her friend.

“What is it? What’s wrong”?

“I didn’t bring you here to feel sorry for me, Misty. I just wanted someone to know where I am. And why, in case I disappear.”

“My God, Emma. What or who is so terrible to bring you to this?

Colors of Death-Chapter One

Where are they? Why isn’t anyone coming to help?

Annette looked at her watch, willing the hands to move backward so the blood pooling at her feet wouldn’t be draining the life from her love. His color was changing rapidly from pink, to blue, to pale white.

Oh Lord, please don’t change to death’s gray. I need you.

“Stay with me, Jeff. Wake up, honey. Help will be here in a minute. We’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll get you fixed right up. Nothing to worry about. Look at me. Look at me, Jeff.”

Her voice amplified as she felt him slipping away from her. Annette cradled him fiercely in her arms, attempting to transfer life to his failing body. Jeff’s hand slipped from her grip as his body fell limp.

Unwilling to believe what was happening, she screamed in an agonized voice.

“Help, please. Somebody help us.”

EMTs rushed through the open door and ran to the scene playing out before them. They took Jeff from Annette’s arms and quickly assessed the situation. After checking for vital signs, they performed the functions needed to return a heartbeat and respiration. Failing, they looked back at the grief-stricken woman with their sad eyes expressing the message Annette was unprepared to accept.

With only a moment’s hesitation, her voice expelled a “nooooooooo” with the small amount of air she was able to inhale since finding Jeff.

At that moment, police officers arrived and began to visually check out the scene. When the victim was pronounced ‘dead,’ the officers began their investigation.

“What’s your name, Miss? What’s your relationship to this man? Was there anyone else here when you found him? Was he able to tell you what happened? Did you see a weapon?

The questions seemed endless. Annette could only concentrate on what her life would be like without Jeff.

Who shot him? Why? If I had been here with him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened? I was so stupid. Why’d I get so mad when I saw him with Renee? She told me her mother just died when I was at Jeff’s office. It was probably just a comforting gesture when I saw her head on his chest and his hands patting her gently on the back. But oh, no. I had to go off with an ‘I’ll fix you’ attitude and call my worthless ex. Slug that he is, he had to stop in Jeff’s office on his way to pick me up and brag that he was there to take me to lunch. What was I thinking? I couldn’t wait to get here and tell Jeff what a fool I’d been. Now, it’s too late.