The Patchwork Imp.

A short story I wrote 11 years ago in response to a challenge using three different items, before my concussion and memory loss. I just ran across it. Thought I would share today, as it seems appropriate.
The Patchwork Imp

“This story takes place long, long ago in…”

         “It wasn’t that long ago.”

         “It was long enough ago that I can say it was long ago.”

         “But you said long, long, which would make it very long ago, and we both know it wasn’t that long ago.”

         “I am telling this story, and I can…”

         “I mean, really, if you say two longs together then it would make people think…TILLY!”


         “Stop that! Why are you banging your head on the table like that?”


         “Seriously, your nose will never be the same.”










         “Want some freshly cracked walnut?”

         “Tolly, you are the most insufferable so and so I know.” Tilly rubbed his forehead, brushing off walnut shell and gently touching his throbbing nose.

         “Are you going to get along with this story or what?” Tolly munched on a bit of walnut as he looked upon his brother with a bemused expression.

         “As I was saying, this story takes place a long, long time ago.” Tilly stared pointedly at Tolly, almost daring him to say something. Tolly held up both hands, palms facing Tilly, as if to say, “It’s all yours.”

         “And,” Tilly continued, “is called the ‘Imp in the Patchwork Quilt’.”

         “Oh, that was a long, long time ago. I thought you were going to tell a different story.”  Tolly smiled broadly at the exasperated look on his brother’s face.

         “If you are finished I shall now continue.”


The castle was placed some distance from the village, on a slight rise that could not really be called a hill, but those of the village of course always referred to it as such. With a storm cloud covered sky the castle was nearly invisible. Flashes of lightening revealed stark images of white stone walls and towers. The road leading from the majestic doors of the castle, down through the gate past the gatekeeper’s house, and on into the village was now a muddy mass. Any attempts to make passage this very late evening would be difficult.

The same lightening that lit up the walls of Dolain Castle also lit up the home of one not so much accustomed to the opulent surroundings of those residing in the castle. No, Bill Ogawaner, the local weaver, and his family had lived in their small cottage for many generations now. In fact, his family had lived in the village for so long the family of the castle had only asked that they provide one item per year to pay their taxes. The castle was filled with the best rugs and garments woven and sewn by the family. Their quality was known far and wide.

“Bill, it’s too dangerous. The walls, the tops are to sharp. They could pierce your flesh. Please, there must be another way.”  The woman was neither old nor young, but the strain of the moment was etched into her face as though a sculptor had formed a masterpiece of misery.

“This is the only way, Mary. If we don’t get it back, the Ogawaner family will lose its place and cease to exist here.  We must get it back.”

Mary knew there was no point in further discussion.  Once an Ogawaner made a decision there was no changing his mind. She moved to the window and stared out into the dark night, twisting the kerchief in her hands with worry.

For generations on end the Ogawaner family had been the weavers of the village, and that was now in danger if their mission failed this dark and dreary night. With each flash that blazed across the sky, she could see Dolain Castle in the distance.  If you had been standing next to her that night, at that window, you might have heard the words she whispered; “Please, Amanda, hurry back with good news.”


“Not much longer and all of the power that is rightfully mine will once again be within my grasp, and I owe it all to this colorful piece of cloth, and its decorative little figure.” The voice was youthful but filled with a maniacal menace.

         “Oooo…’maniacal menace’…good one.”

        “Thank you.”

        “Any time, Tilly, please continue.”

“Yes, sire.  It has been too long of an existence in this current state of… living.”  The tall, dignified man stood in the background, not imposing himself into his master’s cherished space.

“Horace, have you ever seen something so intriguing and so powerful all encompassed in one item?” The Duke barely touched the quilt hanging above the fireplace. His eyes focused on the broad-faced, pointy eared figure in the center. Its eyes were dark, matching the shaggy hair covering its head.

“Sire, I have witnessed many things in the employ of your father and grandfather. Intriguing and powerful tend to fall into the laps of your lineage.” Horace spoke with authority. After having worked for three generations of Dukes of Borog, he had earned the right to speak in a forthright manner.

“I know how you served them, Horace, but in all that time you could never have come across an Imp trapped inside of a patchwork quilt. With the next ray of sun to fall upon these delicate threads, my life will be become what it should be.” The glint in the young Duke Borog’s eyes was not contributed to the flames of the fire burning intensely within the room. No, this spark was one of greed.

“Yes sire, most assuredly so.” Horace had become bored with the repeated tirades of the young Duke in regards to the imp, the quilt, and his masters current state of affairs.

Detecting a hint of the exasperation in his servant’s voice, the Duke turned toward Horace. “Horace, it is best that you rememb—”

At that moment a loud blast from a bugle could be heard coming from outside. The Duke jumped, startled at the sound.  “Blasted! Insufferable poof, and at this time of the night.” The Duke stormed out of the door.

The carriage was magnificent, even in the rainy, muddy night. From the doorway of the gatehouse the Duke of Borog stared out at the sight of his cousin safe and dry inside the carriage.

“Hello, cousin! Be so kind as to open the gate for us to make our way through. There is an engagement in the village we are to attend and we really cannot bother with soiling our clothing in all of this mud, and neither can our driver.” The Earl of Dolain called out to his cousin.

“I am not your gate boy… cousin.”  The Duke stood firm in his resolve to not do the bidding of his lesser titled cousin, no matter the precariousness of his situation.

“Oh, come now, cousin. Do this one favor for your favorite, and most hospitable relation.” The Earl knew the Duke was in no position to make much of a resistance. Without the Earl, the younger noble would be without a home. Oh how far and hard the arrogant do fall.

The Duke felt a slight nudge as Horace moved past him in the doorway. Without rushing his steps or bending his head, the dignified servant made his way to the gate and opened it wide for the carriage to pass through.

When Horace turned back, after securing the gate, the door to the gatehouse was closed and the Duke was back inside, most likely before his newly acquired prize. A strange something came to the eye of Horace, a spark perhaps? If the young Duke had been there, he would not have noticed. He only observed what he wanted to see. Even if he had glimpsed the form he would not have known what to make of it. The Duke’s father and grandfather would have. They had seen Horace when he had felt his worth had been questioned. But it was not lost on everyone. The almost imperceptible black form eased away from the gatehouse and toward the village.


The Earl’s carriage rolled through the village, mud splattering in plumes from behind. “The carriage just passed, Bill.”

“She should not be long.” The weaver was preparing a bag with items he thought he would need. “Mary, have you seen my rope?”

“It’s holding up your pants, dear.”

“Hmm, okay then, explain where the digging spoon is.” Bill had a smirk on his face as he looked at his wife.

The hint of twinkle in his eyes did not escape her detection. “And why will you be needing the spoon?  It’s doubtful he has buried it, or do you plan to dig under the wall?”

“You never know what you need until you need it. I aim to be prepared.”

Suddenly they heard a flapping noise and looked down at the floor. There stood a black cat shaking its head, ridding itself of the rain covering its body. The flapping noise was its ears batting about from the shaking.

“Amanda! Dear me, you gave us a fright. Such a night and you all sneaky like.” Mary held her hand to her chest.

“Never mind her, what did you find out?” Bill was of a single minded nature this evening.

“Only the Duke and Horace are there. The quilt is hanging over the fire in the gatehouse.” The cat moved its small head back and forth as it spoke.

“Horace is really the only threat at all. The Duke is all puff,” Bill said.

“The Duke is more than that, father. He is unbalanced in the mind. I worry about your safety,” Amanda said to Bill.

         “Father? Now how could a cat be the daughter of a weaver? I mean the thought boggles the mind.”

        “Tolly, you have heard the story before. You know how it happened.”

        “How what happened?” Tolly was busy cracking walnuts and focusing on removing the bits of shell from the edible goody part. “Ever noticed how they look like brains? And they call it meat?”

        “Focus! You know how the cat could be Bill’s daughter.”

        “Come now Tilly, you know it’s all because of the Duke having—”

        “Tolly, hush or you will spoil it for them.”

        “Them who?”

        “The ones reading this.”

        “Oohhh… okay.”

        “All through?”

        “Of course. Waiting on you to get on with it.”

        Tilly looked at his brother, exasperated.


“We have no other choice,” began Bill, “if we want things back to normal… if you want to be a little girl again… we must get in there before dawn.”

Amanda gazed at her father, looking him up and down. “Father, I am concerned about you and the wall. I have no problem, in my present form, but you will face difficulties.”

“I may no longer be a young boy, leaping and bounding across the countryside, but I can still get around, young lady.” Amanda and Mary looked at each other. Bill was a large man. The rope was much needed in the assistance of keeping his pants up.

Amanda knew how stubborn the Ogawaner bloodline could be. She was one of them. “In that case, there is no use wasting time. Let us go now.” Amanda was ready to be a little girl again.


“Oh, yes—yes—yes—this is going to be the best, don’t you think so Horace?” Duke Borog rubbed his hands gleefully. The storm had passed, and stars could be seen in the night sky.

Horace had changed into dry clothes, and was preparing a hot drink to warm himself with. He looked upon the young Duke with a changed eye. He had respected the young man’s father and grandfather. They had been men of character and compassion. This one. He had dishonored the title and was close to ruining the family name beyond repair. “Sire, I believe this is the best thing to happen to you.” But it was his family’s duty to serve and guide the house of Borog.

“Look at that sky. It is destiny, I tell you. As soon as the sun breaks the horizon, I will be powerful once again.” Duke Borog’s attire would not have given anyone the image of power. He had changed for bed and he wore footed pajamas.

         “Wait a minute, Tilly. You are telling me that this grown up Duke wore footed pajamas to bed?”

         “Yes. Yes he did. As you already knew.”

         “Ooookay then.”

“Your cookies and milk sire.”

“Yay. I love the dinosaur shaped ones. There are dinosaur shaped ones, aren’t’ there?”


“Double yay!”


“Watch your step, woman.” Bill’s grouchy voice could be heard through the dripping branches as he, Mary, and Amanda made their way through the small woods that lay between the main road to the village and the gatehouse wall.

“Oh you are one to talk, you big footed clod.” Even though Mary knew her husband was only worried and a bit fearful, Mary was not in the mood to tolerate any of his complaining. She was soaked to the skin and mud was all in her shoes. “Dear me,” she thought, “What will the ladies say when they see these at tomorrow’s tea?”

Amanda didn’t like the rain either, but she was having an easier go of it than her parents. As a cat, she was a smaller and lighter, so didn’t sink into the mud. In fact, she was able to avoid the mud all together. There were some good things about being a cat; climbing through trees, seeing in the dark, and having no chores to do. Being a cat wasn’t all bad.

“Amanda, what do you see?” Her father had slowed, and become quiet as they had moved deeper into the woods.

“Footed pajamas.”


“The Duke wears footed pajamas.”

“Did you say footed pajamas?” Bill’s eyes widened.


“I am wondering if I should be surprised or not.”

“He isn’t exactly normal.”

“Yes, he is nothing like his father. The Duke was an honorable man. No one could ride a horse like him.”

“I doubt this one has ever even been on a horse.” Amanda stared into the side window from her tree branch. “He doesn’t like animals. Of any kind.”

“Hush you two.” Mary was nervous enough as it was without the thought of her noisy family alerting those in the gatehouse of their presence.

“Why worry about the Duke? He will likely be in bed soon and never listens to anything other than himself.” Amanda turned to look at her parents.

“It’s Horace I am concerned about. He is the smart one. He served the previous Dukes well.”

“We can wait until he turns in, Mary. Hopefully that will be soon.”

“First we must tackle the wall.” Mary focused on one task at a time.

Amanda looked at the gleaming white structure before her.  It was no problem for a cat, but for her immense father it would pose a problem.

“Those spikes will be the largest obstacle.” Bill stared at the pointy topped wall.

“You can do it, Dad.” Amanda was always one for encouragement.

“Can we dig under the wall?” Mary knew her husband’s limitations.

“We do have the digging spoon.” Bill pulled out the black spoon.

“I don’t think we have the time it would take to dig with that.” Amanda looked at the tiny spoon with a lack of enthusiasm.

“Oh really?” Bill smiled and placed the spoon at the bottom of the wall. “Dig.”

“Whoa.” Amanda could not believe it. The spoon came to life and earth flew as if a whirlwind had blown in. It was not long before a large hole formed below the wall and Bill crawled through.

         “Digging spoon?  Tilly is this the same digging spoon fr—”

         “Tolly, hush. You spoil everything.”

“Well?” Bill rose to his feet on the other side of the wall and looked at Amanda. “They seem to only whitewash that side of the wall. The boards on this side are dried and almost brittle looking. Our pickets at home look far better.”

“This is no time to critique the Dukes whitewashing abilities. We need to hurry.” Mary called through the hole from the other side of the wall.

“Be careful, you could get a nasty splinter. Imagine the pain and agony that would be.”

Mary made her way under the wall. Her husband helped her to stand. “Now that the hard part is done, let’s get what we came for so we can once again look forward to a promising future. Together. As a family.”

“This way.” Amanda moved slowly toward a window with a faint light drifting from it. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Now to get inside.”

Amanda looked at her father and then the window, and then back at her father. The digging spoon couldn’t wedge her Bill through that entrance. “The front door is probably best, as the Duke and Horace sleep in the rooms at the rear of the gatehouse.”

Amanda leaped through the window and made her way quietly to the front door. It took some doing, what with having paws instead of hands, but she opened the door for her parents.

“I sure wish the Earl had left earlier. It will be sunrise soon.” Bill’s voice was a laughable attempt at a whisper. Anyone awake would have heard him. Even from outside.

“Dad, be quiet, you will wake them up.”

“OOOO, look, some nice pastry, and Horace even has the pot on for some coffee. Most considerate, it was a long journey.” Bill picked up one of the fruit filled pastries and took a bite. “mmmmm”

“Bill.” Mary punched her husband on the shoulder. “You are too loud.”

“I believe the rather robust fellow was just loud enough.” Amanda and Mary jumped and Bill froze with a bite of pastry at his lips. Horace had walked in.

“I suppose you are here for that?” Horace pointed to the Imp quilt above the fireplace.

Amanda jumped on a table and stared at Horace. “Yes we are. It belongs to us.”

“I imagine that depends on how you look at it. The Duke had it made, although I dare say the subject matter belongs to you.”  Amanda being able to speak didn’t seem to faze Horace at all.

“You know what awful things the Duke will do with it.”


“Oh, wonderful, it awakens.” Horace mumbled and rolled his eyes at the sound of the Duke’s voice.

“You know I want to be fresh for the sunrise. What is the meaning of this noise?”

“We have visitors, sire.”


That is when things really began to pick up. Everyone’s ears perked up, so to speak, well actually Amanda’s did perk up, as they heard the sound of morning, a rooster crowed.

“Horace, pull open the curtains.” The Duke grabbed the quilt from above the fireplace.

Somehow Horace bumped into Bill’s roped bound figure and fell. However, he still grabbed the curtain on the way down, and it fell with him.

“No!” Bill took the coffee and threw the hot liquid at the window.  As the sunlight hit the panes of glass, the brown liquid distorted the light so it was blocked from entering the room and falling on the quilt.

The Duke grabbed the quilt and started to run toward the door, but Amanda ran through his legs and tripped him. Mary jumped on him in the only offensive action she knew, utilizing her abundantly padded backside. The Duke let go of the quilt as Mary landed her weapon squarely in the middle of the Duke’s back. A great oomph of air was expelled from his body.

Bill was still trying to keep the sunlight from entering the room, while Mary attempted to climb to her feet. Amanda grabbed the quilt in her teeth and ran for the front door that still stood open. The Duke made to grab for her, but a boot slammed down on his hand.


“Pardon me, sire. I was trying to capture the little beast.” Amanda looked over her shoulder as she ran out the door. She would swear for years to come that Horace winked at her that day.

“Noooo!” The Duke’s voice was filled with agony. He could see the sunlight hit the quilt through the doorway.

The quilt glowed, and began to float in the air as Amanda released it. It began to spin, faster and faster. There was a flash of light so bright it hurt to look at it.

The quilt was gone and in its place floated a small Imp boy.

The Imp boy looked at Amanda. He turned his head one way, then the other. He floated down until he was nose to nose with the cat. “Amanda?”




“You do look funny like that.”

“Have you seen yourself?”

“Nope,” Adam, the Imp, began, “but I have been stuck on that wall the whole time. So how do we get out of this?”

“You have the power. You simply have to grant my wish. That was the spell on the quilt. Whoever was holding the quilt when the light of the sun hit it the first time on the The Day of the Saints would have their wish granted.”

“I still can’t understand why the Duke chose our family for that witch curse to make his plans work.”

“Adam!” Mary came running from the gatehouse, followed closely by Bill.

“Mother, Dad, nice to see you here as well.”

“Son we did our best to get you back.” Bill was almost teary eyed but fought it.

“Well, let’s be done with the wishing.” Adam was a practical young fellow. He had seen what had happened inside and was in no mood to be overly dramatic. He wanted things set right and was ready to be done with it.

“First, let the two of us talk a moment.” Amanda walked toward the fence away from their parents.

Bill and Mary could not hear what Amanda and her brother talked about, but they could see the smile spread across Adam’s broad face.

As Amanda and Adam walked back to their parents, both changed back into what they really were, Amanda, with her long raven hair and dark eyes, and Adam, her twin but with shorter hair and obviously a boy. Bill grabbed Amanda and hugged her, while Mary grabbed Adam and did the same. Over their parent’s shoulders Amanda and Adam smiled at one another. A cat eye winked at the broad Imp eye.

You may wonder what happened to the Duke and Horace. Well, Amanda had not forgotten what Horace had done. Horace found himself living comfortably in a large hunting lodge amidst a beautiful forest, overlooking a lovely lake. His servant didn’t seem to remember much before waking up one morning and preparing his master’s breakfast, but he did know he was not fond of cats or quilts for some reason.

         “Very nice.”

         “Thank you, Tolly.”

         “You’re welcome, so how does it end?”

         “It ended.”


         “That was the ending.”

         “No prince?”


         “No wicked stepmother?”

         “Bill and Mary were happily married.”

         “Wait a minute, you mean to tell me that nothing else happens to them.”

         “Of course more happens as we all have stuff happen…”

         “Then tell it.”

         “It’s not part of the story.”

         “Come now, it must be.”

Tilly and Tolly went on and on as they always do; you may be able to hear the thuds on the table if you listen closely. As all of these stories seem to end with a common phrase, I will now end this one with… And they lived happily ever after.

© 2011- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.


#WQWWC – Writers Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge – Mystery!


NOW it’s your chance to highlight your favorite author’s quotes that give inspiration to you as a writer. Do you feel like your writing is getting stale? Are you looking for inspiration to keep writing? Then you have come to right spot!

Each week we will include a theme  for anyone who needs additional inspiration. You don’t have to follow our theme if you don’t want to. It is optional.

In fact, Ronovan and I will alternate each week with a themed prompt post written on Silver Threading. This will give you a different perspective weekly to keep your inspiration flowing. Make sure and join us. You never know what we will come up with!

To see all the Entries from last week click HERE for the links in the comments of last weeks Challenge Post.

This is my week, and Ronovan will be back next week to share his theme with you. We thought it would be fun to split the brain power needed each week. All of you get hosts that are reasonably fresh and fun to play with each week, so join in!

#WQWWC Mystery

This week’s theme is “mystery,” or any variation of the word: mystery, mysterious, etc.

So what do you do?

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The Fortunate One.

“Men always want to be a woman’s first love – women like to be a man’s last romance.”
Oscar Wilde
Irish playwright, novelist, essayist, and poet.
October 16, 1854-November 30, 1900

When I arrived, a dream came true. Sunlight danced in her hair, made her skin glow, and all the world combined to make my heart beat faster.

We talked over each other in the excitement of our uniting. There were no angry glances or raised voices attempting to rise over the other. Our tones relayed the truth, words did not matter, we were ecstatic. It was euphoria; at least it was for me. Light headed, walking on a cushion of air, unable to stop smiling, you name all those cliché possibilities, and they were true. Why do you think they are so cliché? It is because they are real.

Was it love at first sight? No, but it was love at first shared thought. Now, there we were, at her doorstep, Christmas Day.

“It will be fine. I promise. They don’t like any man at first.”

I smiled. “You’ve told me that or something like that, a hundred times. I think your first choice has tainted their opinions. That or they just don’t trust your judgement.”

“Okay, perhaps. Just do not worry.” She placed her hand on my chest, leaned in, and smiled up at me.

I raised my brows in mock shock at her affections. “Nope, no kisses. You know they are watching through curtains and blinds all over the house.”

“I know. They will get over it. Now kiss me or I will pout.” She stuck her lower lip out, a fail of a pout that never worked, but I loved her attempts. She knew it. She knew I wouldn’t resist that bottom lip.

Moments of electric sensations sparking through the body later, and she opened door. That’s just the frame of mind I wanted to be in when meeting her family for the first time.

I could only shake my head at that point and avoid looking down to watch her walk in. I was being as gentlemanly as I could, but I was still a red-blooded American male in love with a beautiful mind and beautiful body.

“Glenn, these are my parents.”

“Mister Allen. Mrs. Allen.” I shook both hands. “Ma’am, this is for you.”

Cora’s mother looked surprised. “Me?” Her surprise did not stop her from taking the small gift I slipped from my pocket. Cora gave me an odd look as I shook hands with her brother, who made certain I knew he would kill me if I hurt his sister. I hoped I squeezed back hard enough to make a good impression.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Allen said. She held one hand to her chest. “It is beautiful.”

I smiled at the joy and surprise on her face. “I thought you might put a photo of each child and grandchild in the frames. There are enough for all of them. Of course, they would need tiny photos for a bracelet.”

“Buying your way in are you?” A loud voice rose broke the moment.

I thought Cora’s head would snap off she turned it so fast.

“Gary, what are you doing here?”

“How nice, I think I can visit my children on Christmas Day.”

You guessed it, Cora’s ex-husband.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Whatever, Cor. So this is the guy, is it?”

“Hello. I’m Glenn Taylor.” I extended my hand to be friendly.

“I know who you are.” He took my hand and made a feeble attempt that would have made Cora’s brother laugh.

He broke away and glared. I had never experienced a glare before. It was kind of funny and I had to smile. I don’t think he liked that. “You bring one of us a present, you must bring them for all, or you appear rude,” he said a bit too loudly.

“Sorry, they wouldn’t let me bring the coal on the plane.”

Laughs were muffled and some not. Their daughter’s giggle came out before she could bring her hand up to hold it in.

Gary’s eyes grew uglier. “Funny boy are you?”

“Only when they laugh, otherwise it’s just awkward pauses.”

“Think you’re a big man because you’re with her now, don’t you?”

I glanced down at Cora. The anger was barely contained. She was ready to unload on him at any moment. I looked back to Gary. “Actually, yes I do. I know how lucky I am.”

He laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I got lucky with her first.”

I pulled Cora to me a little tighter as I felt her move. “You were luckier than you could imagine. You are also a bigger idiot than any man could ever possibly try to be.”

“You son—“

“Don’t.” John, Cora’s brother, stepped in front of Gary.

“You gave this up. You messed a good thing up. You never would admit what she was, how important she was, or even that she existed as a unique individual that you needed in order to be whom you became.”

Cora looked up at me. I smiled and felt her ease beneath my touch.

I looked back at Gary. “Yes, you were lucky first. The important thing is that I’m fortunate last, and will be for the rest of my life.”

Oscar Wilde Romance Quote~~~

Thanks for reading!

This is part of the all new Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge co-hosted by Colleen Chesebro of and ME, Ronovan. Click HERE for more links to those entering and to see how easy it is yourself. It’s not only writing a short story. That was just my choice this week. A quote, poetry, haiku, story, and more!

Click HERE to get my Adventure novel on Amazon!

Amber Wake

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In Search of Life #FlashFiction

“You’re such a liar.”

“Shut up. You have NO idea what you’re talking about.” I didn’t care if he did or not, but I wasn’t in the mood for anything he had to say right now.

There was only one problem with that. “That empty hole in your chest, the cold-hollow ache in your bones like a cancer…you know what it is.”  He just never knows when to shut up and didn’t give a crap about my moods.

“This is none of your business, so for the last time shut it.” If I clenched my teeth any tighter they would break.

“This is just as much mine as yours. I’m just not the coward here who’s afraid to admit the truth.”  I hated him. I wasn’t a coward, I just didn’t want to hurt again. I didn’t want the tidal waves to come pounding back in where her love had left from me.

“Ever think about what-ifs?” I didn’t expect or wait for an answer. “I live on them. They are my protein that keep me alive.”

“I know that, Walker. You think that’s news to me? You think I don’t know about your every feeling of dread at every wasted second without her?” If anyone would know it was him.

“I’m tired. This tornado of emotions I live, not knowing when the next moment will be…it hurts.”

“Which hurts worse…pain of never knowing or the pain after the joy of having her for those few brief moments? That is what you need to decide.”

“I already made my decision. Don’t you know that, Mr. Know-Everything? Would I be like this if I hadn’t? Do you think I could live without her…even if having her is for only minutes at a time?” I hated him. Why couldn’t he let me wallow in my self pity?

“I know all of that. I’m here to keep reminding you of it…lest you forget it.” I slammed the notebook shut.


I stared at those words on the cover–words I had been reading for years.

Gripping the notebook in both hands, I tore it in half with only the binding keeping the two pieces together. The small trash can beside the hotel bed rattled and rocked from the fall of the notebook into it.

I didn’t want to read any more.

Walker: In Search of Life by Ronovan

(Tales from my drafts folder. I rarely share my fiction. I know good writing when I see it. But with limited computer abilities right now I thought I would show you why I review books and do interviews.)

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Are you ready for it? Only @RonovanWrites 4 Days

Are you ready for it?

Only here, on RonovanWrites.

4 Days


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What happens in 5 Days?

What happens in

5 Days?


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6 Days.

6 Days


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The L.A.W. in London: Yeah, Baby.

In the last episode of The L.A.W. & Ronovan  who met Ms. Marzapan and Hugh in a skytower or something like that, um, there was like this zombie dance troop and the L.A.W. and Ronovan, I mean me, I mean I discovered that Cyril Bussiere had created all these mind altering things to get rid of like all the Hugh’s of the world. I secretly think it’s because he is jealous of Hugh’s, well I won’t tell that now. Just wait. I just hope we catch him before that housekeeper that he left behind without a job does. Oh, and the Doctor showed up to give us a ride to London.



“Well that certainly was a bumpy landing,” the Doctor said.

“Indeed,” Elena said. She had taken on a British accent for some reason. Actually all of the L.A.W. had. I feared that if music started to play they would tell me what they want what they really, really want. But the door opened just in time.

We apparently had come to rest in some type of store.

“Ow!” Cat said.

I looked and she had an Oreo stuck to her head. “What the—,”

“Uh uh, Kate, none of that language,” Jenna said. “Hey, look!”

We all turned to follow her very excited finger. “Ruby slippers!” Kate said. She dove for them but they disappeared as her hands grasped nothing but empty air. Stinky empty air.

“What is that awful smell?” Amira asked.

“Smells like Troll feet,” I said.

“That’s because that is precisely what it was. Internet Troll feet,” the Doctor said.

“Oh, Doctor, I am so glad you came,” a woman said. We all turned.

“No way!” Jenna said.

“Yes way!” Amanda said.

“No, really no whey,” Jenna said looking at the case behind Amanda. “I love yogurt without whey in it. It’s a great substitute for sour cream and things like that. Lot less fat and calories. Yum!”

I looked at the Doctor. He looked at me. He went into the blue box thing. And then, gone. I couldn’t blame him.

“You know I so don’t blam—,”

I didn’t get the words out of my mouth before I found myself being tackled to the ground by several tough women. One that looked like a train. And one with a—Rudolph nose?

Screeching tires and the smell of burning rubber assaulted our senses. “Yeah, baby,” we heard. “I say, I didn’t see any rockin’ so I came a knockin’.”

We all stared at the man with the thick glasses, mop top hair and extremely tight pants. “It can’t be,” I said.

“Oh but it can, baby. Well, you’re not a baby, that’s just one of my catch phrases. Unless, wait you’re not a man!” Suddenly the insane1960s reject was trying to pull off my shirt and my hair.

“Austin Powers, get off of him,” Ms. Maple said.

Powers looked up and squinted at Ms. Maple. “Honey?” He asked. “Honey Maple, is that you?”

“Austin, I told you never to call me that in front of people,” Ms. Maple said. I had only seen her on Skype but I didn’t think the red flushed complexion was her natural look.

Powers got up and was at her side in a flash. “Groovy, baby. And I do mean baby,” he said. “At least I didn’t tell them why I call you Honey.”

Ms. Maple giggled like a school girl.

I looked at the others and saw various reactions from the rolling of eyes to dry heaving. There was even a reindeer being used as a gag to not laugh. I just hope it had not been tried on for a fitting.

“Should we ask him why he is here?” I asked.

“I say no,” Amira said.

“Agreed,” everyone else said in unison.

“Jenna,” Amanda said. “What did you find out in El Waco?”

For some reason none of us corrected her. It was like we had entered a Twilight Zone and decided we would just go with the flow. “Cyril Bussiere is behind it all, or at least he’s a top gun. Oh, I sooo loved that movie. And the songs. Oh, Take My Breath Away was sooo good. And then You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling. I just melt every time Ronovan si—,”

“Ahem,” I said.

“Oopsie,” Jenna said. Her smile flashed.

I shook my head. “You really need to explain to them someday that you have a friend named Ronovan or this could all get really weird.”

“For sure, right?” she said.

Face palm.

“Okay, as she was saying. French Texan blogger Cyril Bussiere, also author of The World Might available on Amazon at a reasonable price and can be followed on Twitter at @CyrilBussiere, came up with a special formula that looks and tastes just like—,”

“Yes?” Kate asked.

“You were there, Kate, you know,” Elena said. “You told us what it was.”

“Oh, right. Healthy Oreo cream,” Kate said.

“Not so healthy,” I said.

“Mind altering.”

Amira was right. “And, we found blueprints,” I said.

“For what, a death ray?” Amanda asked.


“A sting ray?” Eloise asked.


“A blu ray?” Cat asked.

“Cat!” the rest of the L.A.W said.

“I got caught up, alright?”

“Mind controlling helmets that look like bowl cut hairstyles,” I said.

Amanda’s eyes got bigger than ever. I swear I saw photos of Thailand. “The royal family.”

“Exactly,” I said. “And possibly Rhianna and Miley Cyrus. Just saying.”

“Oh dear,” Amanda said.

“We can only stop all of this one way,” I said.

“How?” Seven female voices asked in harmony.

I just so hoped they didn’t discover they all loved ABBA. Mama Mia. “We go back in time.”

“What? How?” Eloise asked.

Amanda smiled, tilted her head to the right and gave her trademark look. “I know,” she said and pointed.

We all turned to follow her obviously mommy finger. The psychedelic painted Mini Cooper.

“No way,” said Jenna.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Amanda said.

“All aboard,” Eloise said.

I just had time to turn before Amanda ripped the onesie off.

“Oh dear,” Eloise said. “Thank goodness for this Batman onesie I had on underneath.”

I hung my head and just hoped that this would all be over soon. I had no idea crossing the ocean meant crossing into insanity. And here I always thought British women were hot. Maybe it was Australian women I was thinking of. Where was Olivia Newton John from again?

“Everyone in,” Elena said. “Ronovan, you first, backseat. Pile on the Ronovan time.” Okay maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Wait, where was Hugh?



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A beauty so high.

Stoneworth didn’t give a fig about life. As far as he was concerned it could end in a breath and that would be just fine with him. He had lived long enough and life was a bunch of bull. Every step he took he stepped in a big pile of a reminder of it.

“Mr. Stoneworth, may I have your autograph, please,” said the young girl.

Stoneworth looked at the book and pen offered. Gritting his teeth he put on his best fake grin and signed one of his somehow formulaic but popular mysteries. If he thought it all was crap then why did he care if the girl was happy or not? Perhaps he didn’t want it to be all bad, maybe he wanted a sign of something good. Or maybe he wanted to pay bills until the crap buried him.

He left the tip on the table and then the cafe behind. His burger was not even half eaten. It was not a normal bull day.

It was worse. It was like rodeo week and he was the head scooper.

He should have stayed home and eaten the frozen Chinese dinner. It would match the frozen ears he had from the early winter wind. His work was now going to suck the rest of the day and night and he was going to be hungry. Any flow of plot he had was gone. And he had a deadline. Ten days or death would be knocking at his door. Either death or his agent. They looked about the same.

His apartment smelled like burnt hot chocolate, not coffee. He had tried the stuff but couldn’t drink it until it had enough milk, sugar and chocolate syrup in it to taste like hot chocolate. Why waste the time and the money? Just cut out the middle men.

He looked at the wall thermostat and the screwed on lock box. Freaking landlord. 65 degrees. He left his coat on and turned the small electric heater on. He let it oscillate just to have some noise in the place.

Even though he knew his purpose of the day was ruined he sat down at the laptop anyway. The 1 appeared at the top of one tab of the many opened in his browser for research on ancient Central American civilizations. His thoughts improved with hope.

He had mail. The list of songs were long and not quite his usual fare but he listened. She had sent them. He didn’t listen to much music. It caused headaches. But from her, the headaches didn’t happen. They inspired him.

My beauty has given a gift to me

One I don’t often have time to take

It could not be more sweet and dear

Unless the music her own fingers did make

How is one so beautiful

How is she in my life

If by chance life did change


He looked up at the ghastly form approaching. He stared through it. Why would it not leave him be? The ghost of a past that was no longer his. All he wanted was the now, the reality of what is.

He did not need what was the never was. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together until his fingers turned white. The music started again in his ears.

“Worthless! Invalid!”

Stoneworth moved his hands to his ears and pressed hard. Forcing the music in. Driving the hate away.

The pain seared through his brain and down his spine. Cackling laughter reached his now unprotected ears. He slowly sank to the floor unable to control his movements. His body arched as spasms began.




He shut his eyes tight. Focus on her eyes, those brown eyes, focus. The cackling continued. The pain continued. But suddenly he did not care. He felt warmth touch his skin. A smile crossed his face. It didn’t matter. There was a light he could see now for the first time. And music. He was climbing higher and higher. His dream was there, higher than he had ever been before. A beauty like he would never witness again.


“What happened?”

“I don’t know officer. I came in when he missed his deadline for a book he was writing and found him.”

“Did you turn that heater on?”

“No officer. It was already going. I moved it away from his face though. It was really close.”

“Well, it looks like a heart attack.”

“He always said that’s how he would go.”

“Well, this looks like another case he solved before he ever got a chance to write it.”



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© Copyright-All rights reserved by 2014

Female Focus Friday Reblog: Murder she wrought! AWESOME! or nuts…

Nishi is either really insane or this is like incredibly original and funny. I mean seriously. I had to Reblog this For Female Feature Friday. Go check it out and get your knives read!!!!!
Much Respect

The Showcase

The Farmers Wife or shall we call her Mrs Farmer was getting dinner ready at home..It was almost midday and the farmer household was quiet. The oldest of Mrs. F’s six was out in the field with Mr. Farmer and the little ones were at different spots all carrying out their allocated chores after they had come back from school. There was absolutely no dearth for work around the house and no one was too young to do their part.

She moved around the kitchen whilst preparing dinner. The Farmers were having meatloaf that evening and as she heard the kitchen timer ding, using her oven mitts she took out her signature dish out of the oven and slowly placed it on the kitchen counter. As the delicious aroma filled her kitchen, she turned to where the carving knives were placed and she could’nt help feeling a tingling sensation pass…

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Bus Stop Stories: Margaret and Martin-A Man’s Stomach. She wins? or He Loses?

“I don’t care, I’m not going to like it.” Martin’s arms were firmly crossed in combat formation.

“I know, dear.”

He lifted his hands, shoulders up around his ears. The first crack in his battle formation. “Then why are we going?”

“Because we must. If we don’t, you know what they will say.” Margaret’s head bobbed with every other word.

Martin’s hand slapped down on his gray slacks. He shook his head and stared at the sidewalk. The shaking stopped, and he looked at me. “I will trade with you.”

I held my hands up in defense.

He nodded. “I thought so.” He turned to Margaret. “See, I told you. I doubt I could pay for someone to take my place.” His shoulders sagged, his eyes focused on the reliable cracks in the pavement.

“No one you ask will know what you’re talking about. Besides, if we don’t go then we won’t be able to stop off at Strom’s Deli on the way back.” She leaned forward, as if she were looking for the bus.

The shoulders straightened. Martin’s eyes lifted from the sidewalk. “Well, I guess it would look bad if we were the only ones not there. It’s not like I have any problems with it, it’s just that it’s so far away. But if it will make you happy, then okay.”

Martin stood up as he heard the whine of the bus, that sound only a bus makes. Margaret stood and looked down at me. She winked and put her arm in through the crook of her husband’s.

He helped her up onto the first step of the bus and then followed. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But so is his weakness.



© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.



by: Ronovan

Black and White Question Marks

“So you’re a loner, huh?”

“I’m sitting in a dark room…by myself…and you ask me that?”

“This could just be a momentary thing, right?”


“Dude, what is your problem?”

“You’re the one intruding on my time and you are asking me what my problem is?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Are you mental or something?”

“If I were the one sitting alone in the dark all the time staring at a computer screen and making up stories that no one will read then you could say I was mental, okay?”

“You’re making fun of me now aren’t you?”

“Dude, don’t you realize you make fun of yourself every time you exist?”

“Why do you have a problem with me?”

“Don’t you think you should ask yourself that question?

“What are you talking about?

“Dude, how many people are in this room?”


“Don’t you realize I am you?”

“And who else understands me enough to talk to?”

“Does anyone understand anybody enough really?”

“Am I going insane?”

“Are you already there?”


© Copyright-All rights 14, 2014.

Jacob: Chapter 1 Part 1



by: Ronovan

Chapter 1 Part 1

Over 100 years since the last time and I’m going to miss it. There it is, just the beginning. At least I get to see that much. A lunar eclipse, a complete one, and I’ll be stuck inside having to choose between two worlds I still know nothing about.

I suppose that makes sense today. The first day I can remember had storms, but then do you really remember the first day of sunshine? But today is different. This is the last day I will get to see this view. Where does that jagged laser of lightening strike or does it even strike at all? Why am I up here at all? And most importantly where will I end up striking?

18 years of being taught two worlds and I don’t know which one to choose. Everyone else seems to know where they will land as they fall out of this sky that the Academy represents. But I don’t know. Not much longer and I will be forced to pick what the rest of my life will be ruled by, what the rest of my life’s thoughts will be ruled by.

I think therefore I am. Are we really taught to think though? We are given ‘facts’ from two philosophies without really knowing how to determine which one is correct. How do you know if something is right if you aren’t taught how to determine right from wrong? This is fact, no this is fact. Who do you believe?

From the top of the Academy tower I can see both worlds I must choose between. But neither have I been invited into to experience. How can I choose without knowing the reality of each? How do I know if either are reality? Give each the same word and they each give a different definition.

The headache magnifies. Each one has been greater than the last as this day has grown nearer. But I am not sure which pain is greater, that in my head or that in my body as I am twisted and wrenched about. How do the others make it seem so easy? I burn inside when there is nothing to fuel the fire. There is no food there to give the flames the energy to cause the burning that I feel. It has been days.

The wind hits me as the approaching storm pushes the air before it, and I can smell the dampness that will be here soon. What a perfect day to decide the rest of a life. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the damp air.

“Jump,” a voice whispers.


© Copyright-All rights 08, 2014.

Holloway Part One


by: Ronovan

Part One

French Boarding School

The lightening was high up in the clouds, threatening of the coming storm. It was the only light in the cloud covered night. The boys face was drenched and his forehead was plastered with his brown hair, not from the first drops of rain but with the sweat of anxiety of what he was facing. Hundreds of feet below lay trees and rocks and a river.

The boy’s chest was heaving as his breaths became quicker and quicker. He looked over his shoulder. His eyes suddenly became clear and void of the panic that had filled them moments before. He looked back out over the scene below him, closed his eyes, and leaped outward.


That’s where I wake up each time, and have every day for the past week. I could follow Eric all the way down, just like I did that first time, but I can’t, I won’t ever do that again. His funeral had been a week ago. After that my parents had given me something to make me sleep.

I stopped taking the pills when I couldn’t wake up from that first dream. Falling through trees and feeling them and hearing them as they snapped and tore at Eric and then the impact of his landing, never again.

At Ridgeline Lake we had all been at the cabins like we did every year. I was there with Emily and Abbie in one cabin, and Eric had been there with Jessie and Milo in another. Our parents had their own cabins. It was a tradition before school started back. We had to make it a week earlier than usual because of football practice for Eric and Jessie who were starting quarterback and tight end, Milo was team…well I don’t know exactly what he does, but it’s not water boy or anything like that, he does something with the electronics for the stadium and things like that.

It had been the best summer yet, with Eric and I having just started dating during the spring. He was a year older, which was fine, and the brother of Emily, which was weird because that almost made him my brother too. Emily, Abbie, and I had been best friends since Kindergarten so our families were each other’s families.

Early that Thursday morning, way before dawn I had sat up in bed. Everyone had put it down to a clap of thunder as the storm finally broke over the cabins. All I knew was something was wrong. I woke Emily and she came with me to my parents’ cabin. I told Dad that I was worried about something, that I just felt something was not right. Over the years he had learned to listen to my feelings.

We knew that Abbie was okay, so we went to the boys’ cabin. Eric wasn’t there. Milo, Abbie’s boyfriend, said he had heard something earlier but thought it was just one of the guys going to the bathroom. Dad ran to Eric’s parents’ cabin and a search began. They wouldn’t let the girls go because of the rain and lightening. But the fathers and boys went.

Jessie, Emily’s boyfriend and Eric’s best friend and Eric’s dad were the ones that found the note on the tree. It was too dark to tell what had happened. My Mom had already called the sheriff and as soon as it became light enough the storm had passed and they said they could see broken limbs down below where the note was found stuck to the tree with Eric’s pocket knife.

The river was up and moving fast so they couldn’t find Eric. The note said he was tired of trying to be perfect all the time and was just ready to rest. Wednesday they had a funeral to at least mark a spot for him to rest in. Everyone from school was there. I had noticed a lot of people staring at me, but I just thought it was out of curiosity. Yeah, they were curious.



“McKenna, hurry up, you’re going to make everyone late the first day of school!” Mom called up the stairs…again. This was supposed to be a big day, the biggest day yet for me and my girls. No, we’re not a gang or anything, but we had been looking forward to high school for two long years. The school had a history to it and you just knew when you walked through those doors you were an adult. Okay, so on your WAY to finally being an adult.

But things had changed. Mom had not listened when I said I didn’t want to go yet, that I wasn’t ready. Emily had said the same thing about her mom too. Abbie…well she was always ready for school. She got bored during the summer and wanted the challenge of seeing if a teacher could teach her something new. For her high school would be like a candy store full of new things she had never tried.

I looked in the mirror. I hated what I saw. Holloway High was not a private school but it had followed the trend of a dress code to keep everyone equal. I liked skirts, real skirts, but the gray pleated skirt and white blouse were just not real to me. But it was better than the khaki pants that I could have chosen. I’m sorry, but I am not in the army or like in my thirties. Give me jeans and a t-shirt or even a real dress and I am fine.

Glancing down out of my window I saw the top of a head of dark hair parted down the middle and tied off into two pigtails. It was hovering over a book and moving ever so slightly as the reader moved back and forth from word to word.

I grabbed my bag and thumped down the stairs. “Good luck, sis,” called a voice from an open doorway at the top of the stairs. I ran back up and through the door. The tall boy braced himself as I leaped at him. I felt the bear hug as my brother, a freshman in college showed me he loved me best.

“You too, bro,” I said as I punched him in the stomach. “And no sorority girls until junior year, remember, you promised.” I ran out without waiting for a reply.

Throwing open the front door I had barely opened my mouth when I heard, “Hiya, Mac.”

I looked at the back of the pigtailed head still reading the book. “And just how do you know it’s me?”

“I doubt your mother would resemble a thundering herd of rhinos coming down the stairs like that…twice,” Abbie said. “I take it Ken begins college today.”

Grrr…she knew everything. “Yeah,” I said as I leaped around and in front of her. Ken was short for McKenzie, just as Mac was short for McKenna. Are we Scottish or Irish? I have no idea.

Abbie looked up from her book and scrunched her nose to adjust her glasses. She looked me up and down in my uniform, which she was wearing the exact same version of. She nodded and stood up. When I said she wore the exact same version I meant even the size, although she was smaller than me by a little. She never wore clothes that fit her.

“Did you eat breakfast, or are you sticking with tradition?” She asked me as we began walking to the Japanese but made in America SUV parked in the driveway. It was Mom’s turn for carpool. We could ride the bus but we didn’t. I have no idea why not, the mom’s had just decided it years ago.

The doors clicked and I jumped in the front while Abbie slid into the back and across to behind the driver’s seat. Mom walked around the front with the keys in her hand. “Always stick with tradition,” I said.

“Good, because Em has a new yogurt she wants me to try and some kind of bagel with like all sorts of things in it for you,” said Abbie. “She said she forgot to ask you last night before you two hung up.”

“I didn’t even think about it,” I said. Last night the thought of breakfast had been as far from my mind as…as…hmm…as anything else. “Em always comes through though.” Emily always had something for us for breakfast, just a little something. Okay something little for her and Abbie, and something crazy for me. I liked to eat but I worked out a lot so I could handle it.

We all lived on the same street, although it was a long street. Abbie always walked to my house because she wasn’t far away and she liked to read along the way. Then either Mom or Emily’s mom would take us to school. Abbie’s mom was the pickup mom after school. Emily lived a little further along the street at the very end. The gates were just shutting as she was attempting to hold a bag of our food, a holder of drinks, and wondering what to do with her book bag.

Mom saw the situation, sped up just a little and came to a quick stop. I jumped out and grabbed the drinks. “You seriously need to have like someone out here and help you or have them put a table by the mailbox,” I said as she hugged me. I stood back and looked at her.

We wore the same thing but she still looked like a million dollars. I looked like just the average girl who just…didn’t…care? I cared how I looked. It’s just that there wasn’t anyone at school I cared to impress enough to take the time. Not that Emily really took much time. She was just naturally gorgeous.

Even though we all had to wear the same brand and colors of clothing, shoes and accessories were different. And accessories made the difference. Don’t ask me the name of her shoes or the cut of the diamonds in her ears. But she made them both work, not that she needed them.

She jumped in behind my seat and I got in with the drinks. I handed Mom her coffee, and passed Abbie her juice, and Emily her smoothie. I had a big bottle of milk. I liked milk. When we were all little people thought we were sisters because we all had dark hair and dark eyes, and we might as well be. But we had always been very different in a lot of ways.

The bagel was loaded with roasted veggies and some white cheese, amazing. Before I took my second bite, I asked a question. “Hey, Abbie?”


“Do you have your locker planned yet?” I heard an almost snort from Emily.

There was a muffled noise from Abbie and I glanced back. She was nodding with one hand slightly up to her mouth as she was swallowing her yogurt quickly. “Yes. I was able to get the list of books and find out the sizes. I have the perfect plan for what I want to do.”

I didn’t dare look in the mirror. One of the last things Emily and I had talked about was Abbie’s tradition of planning out the most efficient locker. It was a thing she did and it actually always worked out best. Our lockers were never that neat and we always had to hunt for things.

I caught the raised eyebrow from Mom. I gave her my toothy innocent grin and she just shook her head and took a sip of the gourmet coffee from Emily’s housekeeper.

“What class do you have first, Mac?” Emily asked.

“I have English with Ms. Trask. “How about you?”

“P.E. with Coach Tompkins, can you believe it? First period?” I could see her eyes rolling in the visor mirror. “What do you have Abbie?”

“Honor’s Algebra with Mr. Mason.” We all got kind of quiet as we realized that we weren’t going to be in the same classes any more. Emily and I might luck into some, but Abbie was going to be in a whole different world than us. I mean Emily and I are good in some classes but who knows if schedules will let all three of us be in those together.

Mom joined the line of cars dropping off students. I guess if every student rode the bus then they would need a lot more busses.

“There he is!” Emily shouted in my ear. She had leaned forward and for some reason was looking over my shoulder at exactly the same view she could have seen from her window.

“Might as well let us out here, Mrs. Lark,” said Abbie.

“Yeah,” I said, as I gathered up my bag. “She’s spotted Jessiekins. Bleck.”

I felt the tap on the top of my head. “Oh, hush,” said Emily. But Mom stopped and before Emily could even touch the handle the door was promptly opened by the muscular blonde boy wearing khaki pants and pale blue polo, of course covered by the Holloway High crimson and white letterman’s jacket.

“About time you showed up, princess,” said Jessie. Some might almost hurl at hearing his nickname for her but the truth was he treated her like one. It wasn’t a cheap name every boy in school called their girlfriend. You could see it in his ice blue eyes that he really adored her.

Abbie scooted around the oblivious duo and slipped her hand into Milo’s. Their adoration was less obvious but no less real. “Call me if you need me, McKenna,” said Mom. “I have to meet a client about a catering assignment but it’s okay to call.”

“Will do,” I said smiling. Mom was her own boss. She ran a catering company that didn’t just handle business in Holloway but pretty much anywhere. She even had assignments several states away. She was good. She pulled away and I turned back to look at my new school.

Holloway High was at one time the home of an exiled member of French royalty. He had this huge palace built out here in the middle of nowhere that was now a school. There were a lot of stories about from when the guy lived there.

The walkway to the main doors was wide and designed with tiles. There were tall trees everywhere and flowers of all kinds. It was really an odd place for a school and had even appeared in magazines and on TV several times. Movie companies used it during the summer sometimes.

“Don’t be too impressed,” said Jessie, who had finally stopped hugging Emily. He nodded at the high school. “It looks impressive, sure, but once inside and in classes, it doesn’t take long to just think of it as a school.”

“Very true,” said Milo.

Before we could even take a step toward the school four figures stepped in front of us blocking our way.


© Copyright-All rights 05, 2014.

Bus Stop Stories: Two Girls and a Lesson in Shame.

He half dragged himself across the street, shoulders sagging under the long coat. Two girls moved several steps away.

We exchanged nods and closed-mouthed smiles as he glanced my way. The bench shook slightly as he let himself drop. “It’s been a long day.” His voice sounded like it. “But we made it through.”

I nodded in agreement.

He saw the girls, phones out. One had a finger poised on her phone screen, the other talking to someone. They both kept glancing our way. He ran a hand over his head of short, tight curls. Nails perfectly trimmed, the skin smooth, smoother than mine even.

“You know what I need?”

I looked at him.

“I need me a woman. A young one.”

I could see the muscles around his mouth twitching. Looking forward, I could see the two girls out of the corner of my eye huddled together. I nodded my head in reply.

“Nothing like finding a young one. Sweeping them away. Training them up the way you want them.” He stared at the street.

The girls moved away. “Dr. Farra!” We both looked at the woman in floral printed scrubs racing across the street.


“Jerry is getting a taxi now. Get to the hospital. An elderly lady fell and hit her head and they called for you.”

Dr. Farra was no longer tired as he ran across the street.

The girls glanced at me and I smiled back. They turned away, ashamed at their thoughts. Shame can be a great lesson.

© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Bus Stop Stories: Rebecca’s Red Face-Conclusion Jumping

“I’m so glad you stayed last night.” Sheryl hooked her arm through the other woman’s.

“I would more often if your apartment was warmer. My bones can’t handle it.”

“The blankets made it okay though. It was such a surprise when you showed up with them.”

I saw Rebecca and Tony eying the two with raised eyebrows. Rebecca with a disapproving look, Tony one of interest.

“Yes, they did. But you really need to ask about it. That cold seems to seep through my skin more now. A few years ago and I would not have needed a blanket at all. Just your smile would have been enough. You need a younger friend.” There was obvious love in the woman’s eyes as she looked at Sheryl.

Sheryl returned the look and smiled. “Next time I’ll come uptown.”

“Deal.” The lady kissed Sheryl on the cheek. “And here’s my bus. Now be careful and if you have any trouble with the super about the heat, give your Dad and me a call. No one freezes our baby girl and gets away with it.” She pulled Sheryl’s coat lapels together.

“Mom, I can handle it. You be careful on the subway. You still have bruises on your butt from the last time when that guy pinched you.”

“Well, I can’t blame the guy for wanting to, just for doing it.”


Glancing at Rebecca and Tony, I saw a tight-lipped Tony trying to stay quiet and not get punched by Rebecca. And a red-faced Rebecca staring at the ground, ashamed by her judgment of the situation. If it had been Sheryl’s father instead, there would have been other assumptions jumped. Never question love until it questions you.

© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Bus Stop Stories: Rod the Observer

Bus Stop

Rod took his place on the bench as the bus pulled away. “What was that all about?”

I shook my head with a half-smile in reply.

“I don’t know how he lives through that day after day, man.” He looked at me for agreement. I raised an eyebrow.

“What? That was crazy. She’d drive me off my rock, man.” Rod was a college student wanting to be a journalist. He liked to bounce his observations off me. I could see his wheels turning as he tried to look outside his world box.

“I guess he didn’t seem upset or anything, the patience of a saint. I would have blown.”

I nodded to acknowledge I was listening.

“Rod!” We looked up as Rod’s friend Emerile jogged across the street.

“Real Erile,” They did the handshake thing began that I never could master.

“How is it my friend?”

“Fantastic, just talking ‘bout two oldies going back and forth.”

“You were necking it again? Need to stop all that, going to get that elastic head joint of yours chopped listening where it don’t belong.” Emerile smiled.

“Man, I’m good.”

“What you doing?”


“Good, we’re heading to Tippy’s.”

“Why?” Rod was tight with his money.

“Man, Tippy’s only sells one thing.”

“I know, but I’m good as is.”

“Serious? Man, their stuff makes everything else like 2001.” Emerile gets excited about things, talking with his entire body. Never stand next to him when he gets started.

“You get it then.”

“Go with me anyway. You ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”

“Man, I am the busiest man in town.” The bus pulled up. The doors closed behind them. Two lifelong friends going on about nothing. Didn’t matter what the age. Rod would never realize he was a back-and-forth guy himself.


© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.