Excerpt
Rosalie Decides to Walk. Top Story - November 2023.
Canicatti, Sicily | July 6th, 1943 Outside of the church Rosalie ripped away the black veil that was attached to her ridiculous black hat, freeing her thickly curled hair that barely grazed her shoulders and stuffed it into the hungry mouth of a rusted trash bin. Breathing in through her nostrils and out through her mouth, she deeply inhaled the cool night air and used the sleeve of her black blouse to wipe away any lingering tears still dampening her cheeks.
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Friendly Fire
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Kayse returned to the house, feeling a little flustered. Going upstairs to the bathroom, she rinsed her face with cold water. She paused looking back at her reflection, her hazel eyes searching themselves for ideas or answers. For some reason, she suddenly remembered what Wilhelmina had said about laying items out on Uncle Kalvin’s bed. Determined, she dried her hands and headed down the hall to the far back bedroom.
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I take my time walking back to Alexandre’s inn. Skirting the main roads but staying close enough to keep my bearings. If nothing else, it gives me time to think. The last week has been all over the place for me. On the one hand, I’ve been able to reconnect with Alice, who I haven’t gotten to see since my family left Atlanta six years ago. But on the other hand, someone likely high up in the Atlanta government put a pretty hefty bounty on me and my family. We still don’t know why. We still don’t know who. Hell, I don’t even know if we’re doing the right things to find out.
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Under the velvet blanket of the midnight sky, where stars gleamed like diamonds, Emily found herself captivated by the allure of a quaint countryside village. The air carried the scent of dew-kissed roses, and a soft breeze rustled through the ancient oaks that stood sentinel along the winding path. With every step, the cobblestone streets whispered tales of centuries past.
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Once upon a time, in the quaint village of Merrytail, there lived a dog named Whimsy. Whimsy was not your ordinary canine; he was, in fact, the epitome of foolishness. His ears were too floppy, his tail too waggy, and his bark, well, it often resembled more of a comedic yodel than a traditional canine proclamation.
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