That’s How It Started

Writer’s Write January Prompt

#1 Beginning

The idea  came  to her on a drive when her car hit a patch of ice and she nearly skidded off the road and into a line of trees- dark monstrous  trees, their limbs coated with snow and ice.

She imagined the trees reaching down with their twisted arms and tearing their way into the driver’s compartment through the roof, smashing their way through the windshield- gouging out her eyes  and smashing the delicate bones of her face to a paste of blood and flesh.

Maybe with a bit of doing they’d take her head and fling it up into the sky and it would fall back down and land with a soft thud and maybe it would roll a little before it stopped- face up she guessed.

It was just a lonely and lost idea hiding in the dark, hiding in the cold all alone in the world , that crawled into her head that night on the road, many years ago.

Now when it dreams of bone an ice and dark roads and the trips and dark deeds they’ve brought into the world since that split second when they first met -they laugh.








The Destroying Angel


In the Spring

in the woods

under a cool blanket of leaves

Amanita Verna waits for you

to find her, to pluck her

to raise her to your lips in blissful hunger

Go ahead.

Close your eyes

and then

taste her, bite her, open your mouth and swallow her

she won’t take you heart or break your heart

she’ll just shut it down

and then

we can bury you  in the Spring

in the woods

where you can be with

Amanita Verna




Inspired By: RDP Thursday – Fungus


Merriam – Webster Wept


Photo by Matheus Bertelli on

I pondered, in solitude- what the benefits of being a solitary creature are-

and it came to me:

They do their best work

in solitude:


create epic novels and  passionate poems and snappy short stories


create images of life with a stroke of their brush

Santa Claus

leaves all those presents under millions of trees

with only cookies and milk to fortify him on his journey


Serial Killers

they do their best work alone too.

Photo by Bess Hamiti on


The 15th Of February

RDP Monday: FLOW

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Back in February, the 15th human foot of the decade washed up on the Pacific Northwest shoreline.

Feet minus the rest of their body’s had been washing up between Georgia Straight and the Puget Sound over the years and each time one did we were left to ponder- were they plane crash victims? Victims of smuggling, human trafficking or foul play?

It turns out that some were suicides, others were victims of accidents and none, we were told, were the victims of foul play or human sacrifice or cannibalism ( I’ve heard loads of weird theories ).


A map of where feet were found in British Columbia, including the most recent foot. |British Columbia Coroners Service

The prevailing winds in this area are move west to east so anything floating in this part of the Pacific will be pushed to the shore here in the Sound and the Georgia Straight instead of to  the  San Francisco Bay Area.

It’s a haunting image, a foot in a shoe bobbing and rolling past boats and fish and Whales until it winds up on a beach or on the rocks and it sits there until a dog trots along or someone wonders, ‘what the heck is that?’

How many times have I walked along the beaches or sailed on the Sound? Lots. Have I ever thought it was possible that one day after a turn of horrible events my foot could float to shore and horrify a beachcomber or a dog walker or someone who wanted to contemplate the Universe and all that it could mean?

I didn’t.

I don’t think anyone can really imagine that.

Have nightmares about it, maybe.


If Thy Toes Offend Thee, Hack Them Off

RDP Wednesday – SHOE

In the Grimm’s Brothers telling of Cinderella,  Cinderella’s  Stepsisters actually cut off parts of their heels and toes in order to fit into Cinderella’s small and delicate glass slipper.

Call it foreshadowing or maybe some  spot on crystal ball reading went on,  but years later woman are hitting the plastic surgeons and getting things hacked off and sucked out  and popped in and it’s pretty much for the same reason.

If I am perfect, I will know love and true happiness and  the sun will always shine in my backyard.

Damn the pain, damn the risk, I want that shoe to fit.

Even if it kills me.

THAT is pretty Grimm

The Flower Room

RDP Friday: ROSE

At my last job, we had a ‘flower room’.

That’s the room where we kept flowers before we set them out for the Funerals.

I buried the lead, sorry.

I worked in a funeral home and we had room where we kept the flowers.

Because the room was windowless and fed non stop by a state of the art air conditioning unit, it was cool. It was also the room you went through to get to the embalming room.

The door  to the flower room was never open for very long.

I’m sure you understand why.

Artist: Henri Fantin-Latour

So this is what happened after being around the heavy scent of flowers.

Every time I am around flowers- like if I’m in a garden center , or in the flower section at the grocery store or someone is wearing perfume and the high notes are floral, I have about 5 seconds to enjoy the smell before it’s chased away by the  memory of the scent of a freshly embalmed body.

The memory passes as quickly as it happens, but after all of these years it still does happen,

But it’s also a reminder- roses and lilies and other flowers most certainly do  represent love and life and beauty and who does not want a bunch of those bad boys showing up on your doorstep on Valentines Day with a little gift on the side?

Sadly, in my case,  the scent of roses is tinged with a sad reminder about life and how frail it really is.

I still love flowers- I just wish their scent stayed with me a little longer before I am reminded that it is all very, tragically, temporary.