...with love all things are possible

Believe ...

Believe ...



The blast ripped through my quiet neighborhood.  Really?  Pirates?  All that was needed was a booming “Avast!” and they’d all hit the deck.
 But the whole thing passed and was ignored by most people driving west.  What did they care?  In jest, they mounted early morning jets, lest they be late for their transcontinental meetings or holidays.
Sing, sing about it if you like or ring a friend tomorrow morning.  Fling about some hyperbole to make it even more exciting.  Go ahead, say Mike was thrown off his bike on the pike.  That should go down well.
Joe’s fart.

Found Note

“You made me believe you were coming back …” the tattered note under the windscreen wiper read. 
Gravel parking lot empty but for this car. Shop deserted, its "Closed" signpost lopsided in the window.  How long ago? 
I could have drawn my face on the dust that had settled on the hood. Coming back?  Coming back from where?  Handles covered in cobwebs, wipers rusty. Tiptoes, not touching anything, to peek through the driver’s side dirty tinted windows. What was that slumped over in the passenger seat?
I gasped and lost my balance.
            Call the police?
            No.  Run away …

No money


           It was still pouring, but he’d have to go out.   They had run out of subscription money, the butter dish was empty and bedridden Ella hated toast without butter.  How to get it without money?
No matter how many times he revised his plan, all Don could come up with was stealing it.  But he wasn’t a liar, a cheat, or a thief. Ella cried out again.
Don shivered as he shifted mentality. She whimpered. Donning coat and cane he shuffled out into the rain. 
He would do it … for her.  He’d promised her for better or for worse.

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Unless otherwise noted, all articles are written by Cath Rathbone. (Copyright Catherine (Cath) Rathbone and Noony Brown)