On Tuesday, Felicia waited for her husband to leave for work and the kids to school. She hurried upstairs to grab the suitcase she had packed little by little over the course of the last week. She signed into her other email account created just for this adventure to make sure that her reservations were set. She decided that she’d use cash just to make sure there was no trail. Once she had what she needed, she printed off her documents and then logged out – making sure to clear any trace from the internet history. Grabbing her purse and keys, she walked towards the side door to the garage – stopping to look back at the life she was trying to escape. One last thought rushed into her mind. Should she leave a note or just vanish without a trace? She opted for the former thinking it selfish if anyone worried about her. Taking pen to paper, Felicia wrote: Continue reading “One Fine Day”
Tag: living
Comfortable in My Own Skin
I was born on a Tuesday…no, wait….a Thursday. Well I guess at my age now, it really doesn’t matter. Hi, my name is Anne, and I’m 74 years young. I used to not say things like that because my mind wasn’t right. Well, not in a mentally disordered sense, but just my way of thinking. My only regret, is that I didn’t learn about thinking better, sooner. Would have made a lot of different decisions if I had. I know you didn’t come here to hear about my problems. But I’ll share a piece of my life with you. Maybe it’ll help some youngins get it together before their bones turn brittle.
When I was a little girl, we lived in a small clapboard house. Nothing special. Two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, and an even tinier kitchen. I know this was the best Mama and Daddy could do, but I used to be ashamed. You see, the kids I went to school with lived in pretty brick homes near town. They never made fun of me or nothing, but I just didn’t feel like we were the same. There were many other things we didn’t have in common like clothes, race, or things that happened inside the home. So I withdrew. Well, not totally. Had one friend in grade school, but her family moved away by the time we were in high school.
Continue reading “Comfortable in My Own Skin”
Melanie V. Logan 