Brenda Klug
Bio
Writing provides a sacred space where I can tap into my imagination and my true self. Deep down I am a quirky dreamer. I love French Bulldogs. I love being a mom to 3 crazy toddlers. I love Mexican food. I love this life God has given me.
Stories (3)
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China and a Bull
Following the smooth curves of the white marble with her eyes, Josie felt soothed from head to toe. It’s like when you have a sip of tea infused with peppermint. Or perhaps when you hit a lovely patch of cream in your coffee. You are swept away on a blissful cloud of “Ahhh...that’s nice.” That’s how it was for Josie looking at the marble facade that made up the exterior of the charmingly bespoke store.
By Brenda Klug4 years ago in Fiction
Flower of 1348
The ombre shades of death hung heavy along the skyline. With her head slightly turned, she could just make out the black outline of the becchini (coffin bearers). Moving in wearied cadence, six of them were etched against the early morning sky. Carting away the newly dead and even some who were still clinging to a bit of life. At this distance, she could not distinguish between the two. All she could see were mounds of human flesh being jolted and jiggled in a horrid movement toward the exit of the Citta’ di Firenze (City of Florence).
By Brenda Klug4 years ago in Fiction
The Package that Never Came
It was all muscle memory by now. Slip the key into the keyhole, wait for the click, a firm tug on the stout metal door handle and I’m in. I had it down to a science. On a good morning I could slip inside in less than five seconds. I swear the doors were vacuum sealed. Once opened, the first set of glass doors always sent a mighty rush of stale air ripping apart my loosely arranged hair and blasting my teenage cheeks. Once inside this first set of doors, I simply had to pass through the second set. When these had listlessly fallen into a closed position, that’s when I knew I was completely safe. Completely hidden away. Out of sight. Out of mind.
By Brenda Klug4 years ago in Fiction
