Story Corner

My Story Corner

In my first contribution to this page, I will excerpt from one of my short stories.  This one is entitled “A Flight of Fancy,” and describes one woman’s emotional flight from the depression that haunts her days and nights.

Through the side window of the 747 I watched our descent into Logan Airport on that beautiful October day, clutching the armrests for support while pretending nonchalance.

Glancing nervously over at the nine-year-old boy, I attempted to stifle my own fears while smiling reassuringly into the dark trusting eyes lifted to mine.

After all, hadn’t I, reeking of sheer bravado, marched into my program manager’s office just two short weeks ago with a prepared spiel about the necessity for me to accompany this traumatized child on this very trip?  By the end of my speech, I’d been waxing eloquent, throwing out all the favored buzzwords about “separation anxiety” and “easing the transition;” I even threw in some remarks about the efficacy of sticking around over the weekend following the reunion to assess the mother/child bond.

I’d been speaking the truth, but there was a lot more to it.  When we lifted off the runway on that beautiful fall day, I’d left behind a semblance of a life, pieced together like fabric remnants whose stitches are threatening to give way, revealing the shoddy work.

FIND THE REST OF THE STORY HERE:

LAUREL-RAIN SNOW ON AUTHOR’S DEN

AN EXCERPT FROM “INTERIOR DESIGNS” NOW FOLLOWS:

As the gentle slivers of sunshine tickled her face, offering a gift in the form of a new day, Martha Cummings slowly shifted her body to an upright position.  Frowning, she stared at the slatted blinds, considering alternatives.  If she immediately replaced these blinds with darkening shades, she could stave off the early morning encroachment of light, delaying each day’s onslaught.
But then she shook her head, deliberately forcing her feet onto the softly piled carpet, and pulled her silk robe around her slender body.  No!  As much as she dreaded each new day, she refused to capitulate to the forces of depression that hovered on the edge of her awareness.  Hadn’t she always been able to regain control in every situation?  And didn’t she still present a competent outward image to clients in her interior design business?  And to her friends, hadn’t she retained her role as domestic goddess and hostess extraordinaire?
Of course, maintaining her self-control had come with a price.

FIND THE REST OF THE STORY AT THIS LINK:

LAUREL-RAIN SNOW ON AUTHOR’S DEN

In “Shroud of Silence,” a mysterious event in childhood hovers over the life of a young girl for many years…

Overhead, the blue sky hung, thick as a quilt; like tufts of cotton, the puffy white clouds dotted the sky on that hot summer day.  In the air around me, the scent of fruit rotting in the nearby orchards assaulted my nostrils.  I scrunched my nose up as a swarming fly zoomed in for a landing and I pushed down harder on the pedals of my bicycle, eager to reach my destination.

It wasn’t every day that I got such an unexpected reprieve—an afternoon to hang out with my friend Casey Ayers—and I didn’t want to waste a minute of it.  Casey and her four siblings lived just down the road and around a corner from our house, probably less than a quarter of a mile.  Sometimes it seemed to take forever to get there, but today, for some unknown reason, the wheels of my bike didn’t sink into the hot asphalt.  Instead, they smoothly sailed along as if my bike tires had sprouted wings.

FOR THE REST OF THE STORY:

LAUREL-RAIN SNOW ON AUTHOR’S DEN

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