Writing

Safe Haven

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 1 Comment

Photo Credit: Roxann Phillips

 

SAFE HAVEN

She tiptoed across the kitchen floor, and eased open the back door, put her finger to her lips, “Sssh Lady,” and took off running.

Louise didn’t look back, but she heard her mother’s warning ringing in her ears, “I’ll skin you alive if you don’t stay out of that cow pasture, Louise!”

She couldn’t stop. Here is where she felt safe, in the cow pasture, talking to the cows, her daddy, and God. Mostly God, because He had all the answers.Louise ran to the fence jumped up, squealing.”Lady! Look!” She pointed, “He’s here, see the rainbow?”

Wrong Turn

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment

 Five Sentence Fiction -Foggy

WRONG TURN

It’s true what they say about other senses taking over,she’d never seen such blackness, or been so blind.The disgusting cologne he wore permeated the entire car making her gag on the duct tape he’d pulled across her face stifling her screams, and in an instant he’d thrown her to the ground, hog-tying her faster than cattle at a rodeo.

On high alert, she tried to memorize everything, the sounds, turns they made, the nubby carpet fibers,and pr ayed her searching fingertips would touch anything that might give her a chance. She could tell when he’d turned off the main road by the way she rolled and bounced inside the trunk, the smell of pine, crunch of gravel, and the dead quiet of the night.

A sickening wave of terror rushed through her as the car slowed, the tape tightened as she struggled and clawed at the darkness, her fingers finally brushing against the edge of something, his shovel, damp from the night soil, and she called out to God, “Please, help me.”

Night Walk

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment
Spooky Moon

(Photo credit: rcbodden)

Flash Fiction Friday: Spooky Moon

NIGHT WALK

She gripped her elbows. The sound of her heels shouting out her frustration against the pavement in a rapid chorus of retreat and anger. Dammit! She was tired of fighting. 

The chill of the night air moved through her thin, silk blouse. She folded her arms in closer rubbing her hands up and down for warmth as the moon disappeared behind the clouds. Darkness fell on her like a veil. Footsteps echoed and chills crawled up her spine. She turned, trembling, to face the shadows of the night. “Hello?”

Home

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment
old-wallpaper-mary-shipman

Photo Credit : Madison Woods/Friday Fictioneers

HOME

The musty smell assaulted her senses. Dust flew in every direction as she pulled the crumbling wallpaper, in bits and pieces from the frame of the old farmhouse. She coughed until her lungs burned, forcing her outside for fresh air.

Everyone thought she was crazy to buy this house, but she’d fallen in love the minute she saw it’s beautiful wrap-around porch and winding staircase.

She ran her fingers over the aged walls and the outline of pictures that hung decades ago. Love and laughter resonated through her hand, and she knew it would again. She was home.