Pamela Johnson
Bio
I am an amateur writer who loves expressing myself creatively through words when something brings inspiration to me. I love to read and explore all the creative arts. I enjoy hearing the expressions of others.
Stories (21)
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The Magic Barn
The Owl flew into the old barn and perched on the rafter. He sat there majestically, the King of the Night, waiting for her to come. They would meet at this appointed place every night. This was their only time together, for they could never coexist in reality. In a previous time they had been in love, but an evil witch had cursed them. She had taken them from their human forms and transformed them into their animal shapes. The love of his life had taken on the figure of his prey. A small white mouse would sneak into the barn. She would hide among the scattered ruins. She was careful to remain unseen until the hour came each night that would free them momentarily from their spell. This was no ordinary barn for it had been blessed with magic. It was the magic of Love capable of bringing together the impossible.
By Pamela Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
Thank You L. Frank Baum!
Oh, you wonderful Wizard Mr. Baum! Would you have known that you created stories that have lasted for more than one hundred years? As a child growing up, I did not know that there was a whole series of Oz books. This did not come to my attention until much later in life. My focus however, is on one of the books in the series, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
By Pamela Johnson5 years ago in Families
The Heart of The World
The Kingdom Has Fallen! We are at the mercy of those aligned with the Kingdom. We are but a small band of outcasts who have chosen not to conform to the rules of the realm. The rulers seek us for our conspiracy. We are relegated to hiding amongst the debris of destroyed buildings in the midst of decaying corpses scattered among the fallen concrete. Rebels are we, alluding the leaders that have forced their ideals on unsuspecting citizens. We refused to be hypnotized by their summons of power, forced edicts, liberties, imagined created wars, and control of our bodies. The Supremacists have designed a universe based on their own notorious greed. We are driven into madness! Our band of outlaws must run! They must not capture a single one of us! This minute number of us are the caretakers of life. We are driven by the secret that we carry among us. We take turns concealing the little silver heart shaped locket on our bodies camouflaged by our hair and flesh. This gift we choose to steal from the Principality of the Kingdom. This is an unappreciated gift that is misunderstood by those who rule. Put into their hands to be misused is not an option. The precious heart shaped locket holding in its interior the truth, love, breath, and water of life. The locket is our last grasp of control over destruction by those immersed in their own self possession of power. The silver heart shaped locket is the heart of the universe, the last link to survival. Shaped into a heart because the locket is the heart of our world and contains our life essence. Too long has the heart of the world been unfastened from its podium, laid aside to tarnish. Now the rivers are no longer flowing and the "so called" superiors are discerning the possibility of their broken thinking. The are beginning to realize the little silver locket robbed blatantly from their possession was not just a beautiful piece of jewelry to be worn without understanding the impact of its worth. Are they deciphering that it had properties beyond their fragment of comprehension? We this small group of twenty know this and are willing to protect the infinite value of our necklace with our lives. We understand this silver shining object ties us to the Creator of all things. This is the purpose of our flight, why we run in earnest to prevent our silver medal from entering the hands of those that would darken it and use it to gain knowledge beyond their capacity to use it wisely. In the wrong hands it would not be a source of resusitation but one of further destruction.
By Pamela Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
He is Killing Me!
He Is Killing Me! (From Scotland to Hollywood) Our system has had a long-standing failure to deal with mental health issues. I worked in a psychiatric hospital where I witnessed insurance companies repeated refusal to authorize a continuance of treatment for patients that had reached their allotted number of days. Further constraints involve legal issues regarding detention of patients hospitalized on an involuntary basis. As a facility you work and are often hampered by these restraints. There are times though, that a patient's mental health issues can allude the professionals treating them, and the following is one such case.
By Pamela Johnson5 years ago in Criminal
Hot Lips and High Standards
My Mom entered the world in the 1920’s. This period was a time of economic depression on a high level. My Mom’s blood father was a womanizer, so he left my beautiful grandmother to go out into the “female playground” when my Mom was five years old. My grandmother, Lola rented out half of her house with her little daughter, my Mom. There were two gentlemen that rented the back half of the house and one of these gentlemen fell for Lola. Fortunately, for my Mom this wonderful gentleman whom I knew as Pappaw married my grandmother. Pappaw loved my Mom as if she were of his own blood. This pair developed a solid home and a relationship that my Mom had to look up to that lasted for over fifty years. My Mom did not let the abandonment of her father jade her feelings toward the male sex. She always retained more male friends than female and Never lacked male attention. Later in life when my Mom had married and had three girls of her own, she would sometimes take my sister Cheryl and her friend out in our red Ford convertible and drag main street where we lived in Sidney, Nebraska. My Mom used to get asked out on more dates than her young companions, but my Mom would give her great big smile and simply say,” no her one and only was at home.” She would flirt but it was all innocent and people loved to be around Mom! Mom became one Resilient human being and there were many times in our growing up years that she was forced to deal with emergencies on her own as my Dad was a Petroleum Engineer and often would be out on a well location. Inevitably, something would always go wrong with one of her three offspring while he would be sitting on a well. She was a capable person and dealt with these urgent issues without the use of cell phones or internet which were unavailable at the time. Mom was a Kick Butt kind of gal. Her motto being “Don’t let them know they got you down!” Just smile and laugh it off. Laugh my Mom did! Sometimes she would find humor in things you would consider an inappropriate time to laugh such as when we would do something dumb that would end up in us getting banged up somehow. One such incidence comes to mind when I was on the treadmill and it was going a little faster than I could keep up with and I landed face down on top of it missing my footing by miles. My ego was injured and a few other rather unmentionables as well. My Mom was busting up with laughter and my sister Gail was laughing as well while I lay there unattended broken and shaken.
By Pamela Johnson5 years ago in Families
