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The nightmare I still wish I could forget

  I went to University for two years and ran around with a pretty small group of five or six friends, one of which was a girl I knew in High School. We hadn’t been best friends in High School but better than mere acquaintances, so we became closer friends in college and spent every weekend palling around with our group. The Summer between those two years of University we spent a lot of time together as most of our friend group was away until classes resumed. One of the many things we did for entertainment that Summer was go to a store in town that was a combination of costume shop and party supply store where the owner had just gotten a camera set up to make old fashioned sepia tone photos like are popular in tourist traps and amusement parks. Em and I went in and after trying on all the outfits possible decided to get our photo taken in saloon girl outfits. For some reason I had a disposable camera with me that day and after getting our old-timey photo done the owner used my camer...
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funny/nice thing today at the grocery.

I was going down an aisle and had to excuse me past a guy and he was nice. I found what I was looking for and stopped and a bit later from behind I hear "now it's my turn" so I looked and it was him, we smiled and laughed. I was done and at the end of the aisle was this same gentleman and I said as I went by, "we have to stop meeting like this, people will talk" and we both laughed again and he said "let them" and I went and got in line for the checkout. In a minute a voice behind me said "Let's keep the trend going shall we?" and I turned and laughed and said "only if we give them a really good story." When I had my groceries I turned back and told him to have a great weekend even if it was without me. He said it would be a struggle but he'd try and we both laughed out loud. Not sure if the checkout girl thought we were crazy or not. It was just a really fun moment and I am happy that random happy and kindness is still out ...
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The Climb

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  The Climb A short story by Stephanie S. Sommers   “You’ll love it, I promise.” “Lisa, I’m afraid of heights and terrified of falling, how on earth do you think this is a good idea?” “If you give me half an hour then I promise after we can go for a nice safe hike, right?” Kyla grinned even as she rolled her eyes, knowing she would give in and let her best friend talk her into this crazy scheme as she always did.   “Okay, half an hour of death defying and then we keep our feet on the ground.” Kyla laughed when Lisa did and settled back in the seat to watch the scenery as Lisa drove them North across the prairie. Twenty minutes later Lisa slowed the car as they approached the entrance to a canyon, both sides of the road had turnouts and two cars were already parked on one side. Lisa pulled onto the opposite side of the road and parked. When she got out of the little station wagon a voice called out and she waved and jogged across the pavement to talk to the g...
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Fire on the Mountain

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    Fire on the Mountain A short story by Stephanie S. Sommers   It was dark when I woke, still the middle of the night. I could hear the murmur of voices and clinking utensils in the kitchen. There were more voices than I would have expected for so late in the night. I got out of my bed and made my way in the opposite direction of the kitchen, for some reason drawn into the dark front room, the only light spilling from the archway into the kitchen but not fully illuminating the furniture, keeping them dark forms in a dark room. I climbed onto the couch and put my face close to the window and could see a bright glow on the horizon. We lived far from town, which was in the opposite direction. I was looking out the window that would, in daylight, show meadows and distant mountains. The glow was not electric light nor was it the setting sun in the deepness of midnight. It was a red, angry light, flickering, consuming. There was a scream then, high and full of a...
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Road Trip

 Road Trip a short story by  Stephanie S. Sommers Childhood memories are dim things when one has gone a handful of decades past them. Details become faded and are not made clearer with concentration. There are times when it seems that those very memories are actively evading discovery, like they might be wild animals scurrying through the underbrush, not belonging inside anyone’s head. These are the reasons that I doubt my own experience, that I wonder if what I will swear is a real memory of events is in fact fanciful stories a child told herself long ago. I’ll let you decide.   I was seven or eight years old when this happened. What I know for certain is that I was with my parents and we were transporting our car on a flatbed. I have no idea why our car wasn’t running and I probably didn’t know even then, nor would I have cared. I do know it was a Cadillac bought second or third or fifth hand because we were not a family that routinely owned luxury items. It was dar...
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Parade Day

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  Parade Day A short story by Stephanie S. Sommers It was cold that morning, it always was in November, though some were milder than others. This particular morning was just brisk enough that a jacket was a welcome addition to the wardrobe but not so cold that it induced pain or distraction. There was plenty enough distraction with all the holiday revelers anticipating the day full of celebration and shopping and joy. The sidewalks were crowded as they always were, but even more because of the parade that would start soon. He checked his watch and realized he would have to hustle to thread his way through the growing crowd to get to his desired watching location. It wasn’t far now, maybe a few blocks, but with street vendors and extra bodies filling in the concrete and spilling onto the asphalt, it might be a struggle. If he was honest there were unseen struggles as well. He did his best to ignore those memories and twinges of guilt. It should get easier as time passed, but he ...
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Bookmarks: Dangling Ribbony Fancy Bits or No

  I recently made a set of bookmarks for a friend (and sent some to other friends) and I just realized (as I was in the shower where I contemplate creative endeavors where there is no paper, pen, typewriter, or other means of remembering clearly what I was thinking as I rinsed shampoo from my hair) that I didn’t put pretty ribbons or cord or other dangling bits on ANY of those bookmarks. I did not realize until now that I don’t much like the dangling bits on bookmarks I actually use. This led to a whole rabbithole of memory(ish). As a kid I had tons of pretty bookmarks with satin ribbons and cord and stuff hanging off them. I tacked some to the wall or on a bulletin board or taped them in scrapbooks. I didn’t use them in books because I was afraid I’d lose the pretty dangling stuff AND because I was (and still am) a complete klutz. I catch the ribbony bits on stuff and then the bookmark gets yanked out of my book and BAM the polar opposite of KEEPING MY PLACE. So I didn’t put bit...
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dreaming weirdness

 Dood Srsly, I dreamed I was living in an apartment made of the top floor of an old Victorian mansion (Do they call them Painted Ladies anywhere but here?) and it was leaking, like, so much leaking that the rain INSIDE was falling as fast as the rain outside. The house was white with green trim (much like the ranch house I spent most of my teen years in which BTW didn't leak) and it had a huge yard and garden. The guy who came to fix it was kinda flirty which was strange, and he may or may not have actually owned the house. Nobody lived downstairs. There were Evangeline Oaks all around the outside of the yard and garden. I am dreaming of living in a leaky house in NOLA, I guess. WTF.
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Writing Again is Good, yeah? yeah.

 I was challenged (?) to write something spooky and creepy so that is what that last thing is and I hope I will have more stories soon as there are three more picture prompts coming, woot! I am also trying to keep it to 2000 words or less and we all know how NOT EASY that is for me, I am a wordy bitch. Ha. Also maybe I can get some art posted, will have a think about that.
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Doors and Corners

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  My Dear, I am not at all sure when I will be able to send this letter. The postman has not come for the last three days but the grocer assures me that these delays are entirely normal. He is a delightful man, the grocer I mean, and he is always smiling and speaks slowly so I can understand and smiles so big whenever I learn new things. He has two small children who run around the shop, always followed by the wife who has a perpetual expression of patience on her face despite the scolding tone she uses on her young. I am not always sure what she scolds them about, perhaps the pilfering of a ripe pear from their father’s stock or some other infraction out of my sight. He is always indulgent to them allowing the small treats they take with a smile. I found the loveliest paper pinwheels the other week in a small market stall some blocks away. I bought a few and stopped in the grocery and asked if I might give them to the children. The boy took the red one and the girl took the gree...
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