by Michael Seese
To play on a popular phrase, my mind was weak, but the pen was willing. For some reason, as I scrolled to Janet Reid's blog yesterday, I thought, I hope there's not a contest. I don't feel like writing.
But there was. So I wrote. The words were:
Once I hit upon the idea, I knocked out paragraphs 1, 3, and 4 in about 5 minutes. Then I just had to come up with #2. The final result is something I call "Merry Christmas." When you get to the end, you'll see why.
“You'll be safe here.” The last words my husband spoke before he disappeared in a swirl of dirty murk.
No one expects a sleeping kitten, without warning, to bare its fangs and lash out, consuming trees and buildings and roads and lives with such unrelenting malice.
The skies are blue now. The sea has gone home. But it left me a souvenir. Salt. In my mouth. In my hair. Clinging to my skin as tenuously as I cling to the hope I'll see him again
Ten years ago we honeymooned on Phuket Island. I'll never forget our return visit either.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on "Merry Christmas."