Normally, noise of any kind was unwelcome in the Texas University's private library, but somehow that same mellow voice was allowed to croon on by the hour.
It was also normal for Byron Fitch to be annoyed by even the slightest rustle of a page while he was studying, but today was different. The odd medley of sacred hymns and pop songs came across as ridiculously soothing when hummed by Kris Kemper's low voice.
LoriAnn invited me here back in 2009 after we 'met' on a fantasy website, and I was fairly active through 2011 or so, when my college classes started to take up more of my time.
I graduated college with a BA in writing and literature in December 2013 and promptly moved back home. I eventually found a job working for our local newspaper (circulation under 1,000); covering high school sports and local meetings means I'm working 2-3 evenings a week on average, sometimes more. Writing up sports and meetings leaves me with little inclination to write for fun.
CHAPTER EIGHT: A Beacon
I chewed on the corner of the pen in my hands and squinted at the print on the pink sheet of paper in front of me. My neat handwriting, filling the blanks on the page, showed signs of my trembling hand.
I sighed and got up.
Ding. Hesitatingly, I tapped the bell on the counter. The secretary’s smiling face appeared.
“All finished there?” At my nod, she went on. “Nicole will be with you shortly.” She smiled again.
“Ah, okay,” I stuttered, faintly.
***watch video in comments to better understand this poem.
Florence (Firenze), region of Tuscany, Italy
December, 1490
Removed for contest entry
Jennifer sat down across from Teren.
“You sounded serious when you asked me to tea. Serious really isn’t your thing.”
Teren shook his head.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t like serious stuff, but this is kind of important.”
He cleared his throat.
“We both agree that we don’t feel romantically about each other, and don’t want to get married, right?”
“So far I’m with you, yes.”
“I think we should tell my father how we feel about it. And if he doesn’t know about Stuart and Jolie-”
“I’m not sure if Stuart and Jolie even know about Stuart and Jolie.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: Two Lines
Nervously, I rung up the single item I had chosen from the shelves at Walmart and hurriedly made my payment at the self-checks. The plastic bag rustled gratingly as I made a quick exit to my car.
The last few days had been torture. If only I knew for sure. If only I was brave enough to know for sure.
I didn’t talk to anyone. No one had to know about this, absolutely no one.
It took an eternity to get to Houston Community College that day. But there was no way I was going to risk doing what I needed to do at work.
Borne on wings of victory
Sealed for courts above
Soaring high above the heavens
Freed from sin and care
Let me sing salvation's story
Shout His praise forevermore
Lift your voice and with me praise Him
Borne on vict’rys wing.
Once I was a lonely stranger
Never finding rest
But He drew me to a fountain
Where love divine was giv'n.
Bowing at my Savior's cross
Where Jesus bore my shame
My weary life--renewed, restored
And borne on vict'rys wing.
There’s two ways to look at the cup in your hand
Two ways to look at a day
Two ways to live
Two ways to walk
And two ways to see your life.
The cup could be, of course, half-empty
You could focus on the pain
And gripe and moan in emptiness
Ignore the gift just giv’n.
You are pitied most, dear friend—
Your gaze, misplaced, is greed.
OR—