Thursday, September 18, 2014


It was the perfect Spring morning and Rose was working in her garden. Though hesitant to embrace early retirement, she’d grown to love the serenity it offered. A gentle breeze caressed her face and the golden sun beamed its welcome to her as she pruned the bushes aligning the fence, taking care not to tarnish the delicate pink blooms. Macy was chasing after a Monarch in the yard, the orange tabby pouncing at anything that moved, and looked to be having the time of her life.
Rose stood back to admire her work, when a splint of silver caught her attention. She knelt down, dusting the fertilizer aside and unearthed a doorknob, realizing there was an old wooden door planted in the mist of her roses.
 ‘Is that light coming from the keyhole?’
Rose couldn’t see anything distinctive inside, but what she heard almost made her heart stop.
It was the voice of a crying child.
Coming from behind the door.
Rose clawed at the soft earth, desperate to aid the poor soul buried in her backyard. She didn’t think twice about slipping inside once she got the door open and found herself at the top of a short narrow staircase. It didn’t matter that she was a 47-year-old woman, alone, bolting off into the unfamiliar.
Someone needed her.
Rose hurried along and ended up in a dim hallway, tripping over something on the floor. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It was a pair of swim bottoms tangled in a bath towel with her name on it. She dropped the bundle and stood slowly, her eyes meeting the gaze of the framed solemn faces of her brothers and sisters along the wall.
An eerie sense of nostalgia loomed as Rose realized that she was standing in her grandmother’s house, the place her family lived after granny passed away because they were evicted from their home in the city. And the whimpering voice she heard was her own. It took everything in her to muster up enough courage to open the door of her old bedroom, but it wasn’t where she was that sent chills down her spine.
It was when.
Rose stood frozen in the doorway, the familiar feeling of remorse washing over her at the sight of her childhood belongings. It had to be the year she’d be starting eighth grade, because her walls were still painted that awful shade of lime with sample swatches piled all over her nightstand. The bedroom light was off, but the closet offered a manageable view of 14 year-old Rosie laying in the fetal position on the bed.
She stirred and locked eyes onto present day Rose.
“Are you an angel?”
Seeing no reason to frighten the girl, Rose said, “Yes, Rosie. I’m an angel.”
Pain was apparent on her tear-drenched face as Rosie tried to console herself, but it was of no use. Her sobs overwhelmed her once more and she buried her eyes into the pillow, clenching onto it for dear life. Rose swallowed hard and took a step inside the room.
“What, uh… day is it?”
When she didn’t get a response, she eased over to the foot of the bed, sat down and put a gentle hand of the girl’s arm.
“Please, sweetie, I need to know.”
Rosie rolled onto her back and a long trembling breath blew from her lips.
“Labor Day.”
Rose resisted the urge to throw up. She had returned to the day that destroyed her innocence some thirty-four years ago.
“Why?” Rosie said, staring at the ceiling.
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you do anything? You saw what just happened, why didn’t you save me?!”
Rose felt her breath get caught in her chest. “I—“
“HE RAPED ME!” Rosie screamed, slamming her hands into the mattress. “He pinned me to the floor, ripped off my clothes and… you didn’t do anything about it. What kind of guardian are you?”
“I’m not your guardian,” The gears in Rose’s mind cranked. “I’m the voice of faith. My name is Hope.”
Rose reached out to stroke the girl’s hand, but Rosie snatched it away. She closed her eyes, praying for the right words to say.
“I couldn’t stop him.” Rosie whispered. “I tried to fight, but he was too strong. Once he was inside, I couldn’t even scream.” She gripped the comforter until her hands hurt. “He was my friend, how could he do this to me?”
Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, running down her face to her ears and disappearing into her hair.
“Who will want me now?”
Rose kneeled down beside her on the floor, her eyes welling up for her younger self.
“Rosie,” She took a deep breath and spoke firmly. “Listen to me now. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. No matter what happens to you, no matter what you think of yourself, God has made you entirely perfect. You were created in HIS image, and no man, woman, no one can take that away from you. You’re still precious, still lovely, and still worth dying for.”
“I, I feel disgusting.” Rosie whimpered. “Like I’ll never be clean again. I can’t trust anyone, ever.”
“I’m going to share something with you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.” Rose winked. “I could get into real trouble upstairs, if you know what I mean.”
Rosie lay silent for a moment.
“I can keep a secret.”
Rose smiled. “I’m going to tell you about the future. Your future.”
Rosie turned her head to face her angel, eyes wide. She nodded and Rose began.
“After tonight, you’ll become a hermit. You’ll stick to yourself throughout high school, and eventually become a social outcast, that is until you go to college.”
“Community college. You won’t have the confidence to try out a four-year university. Then, you’ll start working for an insurance company and stay there for ten years until you meet an editor who will help you launch a career in public speaking on financial topics around the country. You’ll make a lot of money and retire early. You’ll never marry and have no children.”
“So it’s true.” Rosie frowned. “I’ll end up alone because nobody will have me.”
“No.” Rose shook her head. “You’ll end up alone because you convinced yourself that you weren’t worthy of love.”
Rosie began to sob again, covering her face with her hands. “It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have let myself be alone with him.”
“You couldn’t have known this was going to happen. There was nothing you could do.”
“Why are you telling me this? What good is knowing my future if I’m just going to be an old cat lady one day?”
Rose chuckled. “Funny you say that.”
“There is a cat, isn’t there? I knew it!”
“Sweetheart, there’s still hope.”
“But you just said—“
“You are more powerful than you think.” Rose peeled one hand away from Rosie’s face and held it. “You can grow in the knowledge that God loves you, and He has plans to prosper you in ways you can’t imagine. Somewhere out there, there’s a boy who God made just for you and you’ll experience God’s love in its deepest form through a beautiful marriage and the promise of a family. If that’s what you want. Or even if you decide not to get married, you life can be anything you want it to be. But it’s up to you.” Rose kissed her hand and stood.
“Where are you going?” Rosie propped herself on one side.
“I have to go back now, but I don’t want you to forget what I told you.” Rose made her way to the door.
“Wait!” Rosie scrambled to the edge of the bed and grasped Rose’s hand. “Will I ever see you again?”
Rose looked down at her, tears escaping down her cheeks. “You will. I love you.”
Her legs felt like lead, but somehow they carried Rose back down the hallway to the staircase, everything growing dark behind her. As she climbed, she began to sob. She had lived with this dark secret for over thirty years, never telling another soul. Rose used to have so many dreams, but she let them all die because she thought she didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve to be happy. In that moment, she realized how she had let it consume her. Approaching the light of day shining into the tunnel from her garden, she resolved to make a change and start living fully and freely. She would take back control over her life.

“There you are, Rosie, I was looking for you.”
A handsome, tall man in jeans and a t-shirt came strutting from around the house and wrapped her in his arms.
“Beth just called. They say they’re on the way to the hospital now. Time to meet Baby Luke!” He brushed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply. “You’re finally a grandmother.”
Rose stumbled back and whipped her eyes to the plot beneath her feet. The soil lay undisturbed, every flower in its proper place and not a door in sight. She looked up at the man before her, heat rising to her cheeks.
“Daniel?” She whispered.
“Yes, love?”
Somehow, Rose knew his name. She knew he was her husband and they had had five kids together. Three girls and two boys. She knew they had been married for twenty years and she worked from home as a freelance writer. Everything over the last thirty years washed over her and her legs gave out.
“Honey!” Daniel reached out and caught her. “Are you okay?”
‘She did it.’ Rose thought.
‘She, I mean I, no we. We did it.’
‘We changed the future.’

Monday, September 8, 2014



    "Tell me where they're hiding it!" Jackal 20 slapped the prisoner across her face, the force knocking her onto the ground.

Nia bent down and translated the command in French to the young woman who lay motionless on the floor. When the prisoner didn't respond, Jackal 20 grabbed a handful of her hair, once gleaming coils now stained with blood, and dragged her to the other side of the chamber. He slammed her against the wall.
    "Tell me, pig!"
Nia gave the demand, keeping her eyes lowered. She tried to reason with the prisoner.
    "Please, Imani. Why won't you speak? Aren't you tired of suffering?"

Imani turned her face away, struggling to remain conscious. Jackal 20 was relentless. He kicked her several times in the stomach, lifting her up just to strike her back down again. She screamed out in agony.

    "Tell her if she doesn't tell me where the light of King Totem  is, I will break every bone in her body!"

Nia bent to examine the extent of the damage.

    "You've broken four of her ribs. If you keep this up, she won't live to tell you anything."

    "Then you better get her to talk, or she'll end up in a pit like the rest of them."

Jackal 20 stormed out of the chamber, locking the women inside. Nia carefully lifted the girl's shirt, trying to better asses her condition as tears streamed down her face.

    "Are you a doctor?" Imani moaned.

    "Yes. I was captured in a raid one year ago." Nia cringed. "They beat me often and feed me once every few days. The only reason I'm alive is to care for their wounded and translate their demands."

    "How do you know their language?"

    "My father was once a child forced into the Jackal militia, and he taught me."

Imani tried to sit up, but the pain was too great.

    "I can't die here. I've got to get back to the light."

    "So it is real! The Jackals told me it is the key to overthrowing the entire country."

    "If the light is smothered, it means death to the Totem legacy."

Nia bit her lip.

    "Please, Imani. I don't want to see you get killed! Maybe if you just offer something, a clue, anything. I can try to convince them to set you free."

    "You know in your heart that if I confess I'm as good as dead." With great difficulty, Imani propped herself up on one side, staring at the interpreter. "What happened to you?"

Nia's eyes glazed over, as if she could see what she was describing.

    "The Jackals nearly killed the entire village. Every woman and female child was raped then strangled to death. The men were either shot or brutally murdered. The male children were turned into soldiers. I thought I would die along side my family, but when I begged for mercy in their language and they saw my medical equipment, my life was spared. I wish to God I was dead."

Imani put a hand over Nia's trembling one.

    "What if I told you the light could mean the end of our pain and doom for the Jackals?"

    "How? The only thing strong enough would be a full scale army attack, but we have no king." Nia shook her head. "Everyone knows King Tunde Totem bared no children."

The look on Imani's face told her differently.

    "There is an heir? Then that must mean..."

    "The light will bring an end to darkness and lead the people to victory."

The cell gate swung open and in walked Jackal 20 followed by two other men. The were holding guns.

    "Tell me what she said." He glared at the doctor. "Now!"

Nia looked down at Imani, then slowly back up at the men.

    "No more." She laid down beside Imani, her arms outstretched. "I'll never tell."

Monday, August 25, 2014


Justice, a noble little corgi, grew up in Kansas City.

He was cute and loved to be rubbed on his tummy.

He also had a rough upbringing, making him cautious and overprotective. But let's not hold that against him.

One morning, on his normal 3AM patrol of the house, Justice heard something scratching at the door. He trotted over to sniff out the situation, ears pointed and head low, and that's when he knew someone was trying to break in.

Immediately he began to bark, snarling at whatever was on the other side until the stranger retreated. 

The chaos woke his owners.

"Hey! Be quiet!" Janelle admonished. "People are trying to sleep."

Justice put his nose to the ground. 

Old Spice.

Janelle dragged him away and put him in their bedroom for the night. Justice didn't hear anything else, but he stayed awake pacing.

It was two days later when it happened again. 3AM and the smell of Old Spice was filling his nostrils. This time it was at the window. 

Justice jumped on the window sill and barred his teeth. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear footsteps running away.

"Get down you crazy pup!" Brandon commanded. "You're imagining things."

But he wasn't imagining things. Someone was there.

Justice found himself shut in the kitchen, held back by a baby gate. His owners had gotten complaints from the neighbors about the noise, so he had to stay in there at night. But he couldn't sleep. After all, it was his job to protect the family.

Scratch, scratch.

'What's that?!' Justice froze, listening closely.

Scratch, scratch. Crrreeeeeek!

The door was opening. Someone was in the house!

Old Spice.

Justice peered through the holes in the gate and saw a pair of black boots. 

Dogs have excellent night vision.

'What can I do?' He thought. 'If I bark, I'll get in trouble but I can't let them near my people!"

Justice took a deep breath.

A dog's gotta do what a dog's gotta do.

Head down and chubby legs bolting at full speed, Justice rammed the gate open and charged towards the intruder.

The stranger tried to run from him, but it was no use. Justice had him by the leg and was not letting go.

"Ow, ow! Let go!"

Bite, bite, bite!

The stranger knocked over a lamp, and pulled down the curtains trying to escape.

"What's all that noise?" Brandon and Janelle ran from their room and saw Justice wrestling with the intruder.

"Oh my gosh!" Janelle screamed.

"I'm calling the police!" Brandon said.

Ten minutes later, the cops were taking the man away in handcuffs.

"Good boy, Justice! You're a hero!" Janelle and Brandon petted his tummy for a whole hour, and gave him his favorite treats.

Justice was featured on the news, in the paper, and even on Facebook! The news reporter told the town of his courage and bravery.

"That just goes to show you, folks, you can't keep a good dog down. Three cheers for Justice!"

Hip hip, hurray!

Hip Hip, Hurray!


Friday, August 15, 2014


"Irene, you know she's always been crazy that way."
"Who Diane?"
"Kasey. Complete psycho."
"Really? I never would have guessed."
"She killed him, you know."
"I know Kasey. Who did she kill?"
"Who the heck is Mike?"
"Her younger brother."
"The entire town was talking about it."
"What did she do?"
"Killed her brother."
"How, how did she kill him?"
"With a hammer."
"What happened?"
"With the hammer."
"What hammer?"
"The one Kasey used."
"When she killed her brother."
"Which one?"
"Mike! Kasey killed Mike!"
"How did you know?"
"You just told me!"

"Ma'am, it's time to take your medicine."
"Good, take me away from this lunatic!"

The nurse rolled Irene down the long hallway of the nursing home. Diane leaned over and whispered to Jillian.

"You know Jill, she's always been crazy that way."


If you're like many Americans, you've convinced yourself that in this country everyone has the same opportunities and that there is absolutely no excuse for failure in our land of the free. If you work hard, really hard, you can be successful, right?

If you agreed to any of the statements listed above, you could be prejudice.

Let me explain.

Close your eyes. Imagine you see an American man wearing a suit. You might think "Oh, he must be a business man at some company or a banker or something."

Now be completely honest: What was the race of the American man in your mind?

Typically when people (especially white people) are asked to imagine or describe a business man whose American, they see him as white.

When you picked up Harry Potter, did you read anywhere in there that he was white? No, because it was assumed by both the author and the reader. A sprinkle of other races were present, but they had to be pointed out to the reader.

Am I calling J. K. Rowling racist? Absolutely not. In fact, she is an artist I admire quite a bit. I'm making a point.

Here's another example. Name the first scary movie that comes to your mind. Now, tell me, who was the first person to die? I'm willing to bet that it was probably a black person, if there were any casted with speaking roles that is.

This perpetuates the ideas that black people's lives aren't valued. On the news, they're only shown killing each other, so to make the movie more authentic, they should have a shorter lifespan, right?

Yes, I know what you're thinking. In Alien vs. Predator the black girl is the only survivor. That's a cinema enigma.

Not convinced? Okay, how about this angle. Readers and movie viewers fall in love with characters and almost feel like they've have a relationship with this person. They are written to be loved, hated, envied, pitied, etc. So, how many minority characters have you fell in love with?

I'm not saying that you don't know because you're prejudice, I'm saying they weren't written for you to love. 

They were probably fillers to the story. Flat characters used as props or comedic purpose.

How many movies with a majority of minority cast members have you ever watched that didn't include gang members, a comedic crack head, a crazy grandmother figure, or a pitiful juvenile holding on to his dreams of becoming a professional athlete?

Probably not many, because, those are black movies.

Wait, did you really just think that?

Do you think that when a minority goes to the movie, they believe films without minority leads aren't for them to watch?

Aren't these coincidences strung together in some ridiculous plot to blame the so called "man"?

If you answered yes to the latter, you are probably someone who enjoys white privilege.

Example: When you walk into a room of strangers and meet someone for the first time, however they experience you is what they think of YOU and YOU ALONE. But if you meet an Asian, you automatically think back to all the asians you've ever encountered to look for common ground, or you feel it important to ask them about cultural issues that THEY can relate to.

Why does the only asian at the party represent their entire race and you only represent yourself? Do people ask YOU about white people issues?

White people issues? You're probably wondering what those even are.

So why do we think it's appropriate to ask strangers these kinds of questions?

Here's the worse I've ever witnessed and do witness way too often.

My friend is 100% Indian, not Native American, Indian. People automatically think he's Mexican for some reason, and when he says he's not, do they apologize for their ignorance? No. They ask "Oh, well what are you?"


I have another friend whose Korean who is constantly called Chinese and a Puerto Rican friend who is told that she is the same as a Mexican.

Those are two completely different countries and dialects!

The worse part of it all is that the people responsible for hiring, firing, approving, authorizing, and denying decisions that affect our livelihood have these same thoughts.

Isn't that terrifying? 

I didn't write this to upset you, start mess, or use the internet as a soap box. I wrote it to open to your eyes to prejudice in 2014. I'm not saying that any of it is your fault, or that you are a bad person.

I'm not even calling you prejudice. (I don't know you)

I'm calling it to your attention because it means we all still have work to do. Civil rights issues among minorities are very much alive and we need to detox our minds from the filth of the past so we can see clearly. Interact without predetermined judgements of someone's character based on their race. Give people a real chance to show you who they really are.

Give people a chance to actually feel free.

Thursday, August 14, 2014


We the gold diggers of America have come together willingly and freely, as is our constitutional right to assemble, for the purpose of declaring what will become the national standard for anyone seeking to marry for money. If anyone seeks to join our ranks, they simply need to apply these truths to their daily lives and they will claim their dependence.

I. Dedicated to being arm candy

  • A true gold digger knows that one must always look their best because the opportunity to meet a rich prince/princess charming can appear at any moment
  • No expense is too great to upgrade one's looks; Investments to alter one's teeth, physique, and turkey neck are necessary evils that must be made
  • Most importantly, one must never have bad breath, even in the mornings

II. Dedicated to being smart

  • In order to find the perfect Mr./Mrs. Right, one must be up to date on all of the city's most eligible bachelors/bachelorettes and be able to identify them by description, occupation, and passions
  • Research is mandatory to discover their ideal 'type' by applying their past mates to memory and making oneself fit that mode
  • For best results, one will take interest in one of the discovered passions for an authentic feel
  • Gold digger decree: NEVER  sign a prenup without your own attorney!! Make sure that  if divorce occurs, you at least walk away with no less than 10 years of comfortable living expenses so you'll have enough time to find the next Mr./Mrs. Right

III. Dedicated to being charismatic

  • To impress your future sugar daddy/sugar mama, gold diggers must commit to development in interpersonal skills. Being a bitch is no longer attractive (Unless their into that sort of thing)
  • Loyal friends are on the look out for our kind, so if you can charm their friends, you got them!

IV. Dedicated to being strategic

  • Gold diggers reserve the right to only hang out at fundraising events, bars at luxury hotels, sporting events, and any excuse to get dressed up in the city
  • Gold diggers never look for mates at house parties, the club, concerts, or blind dates
  • And we NEVER let our families hook us up with anyone

V. Dedicated to being accommodating

  • Commitment to a lifestyle that revolves around our companion is non-negotiable. If they want to go to the opera, we don't complain. If they like the rodeo, we buy cowboy hats. If they enjoy comic con, we put on the sexiest Pikachu outfit we can find online (Then we burn it)
  • We support the dreams of our partners, unless it goes against our morals (and we most certainly have morals and values)

VI. Dedicated to being genuine

  • Just because we marry for money, doesn't mean we don't deserve true love. Gold diggers who want true happiness only allow themselves to commit to wealthy individuals we are actually attracted to: physically, mentally, and spiritually. This is the true meaning to our right to pursue happiness
This is America, land of the free, and gold diggers have the right to thrive in this beautiful country just as much as anyone else. Our lives will be fueled by a new method of self sufficiency by finding a partner who supplies us with our every need because of our dedication to making ourselves the perfect partner; loyal, generous, and beautiful. This is our American dream. 

This is our Declaration of Dependence!

Tuesday, August 12, 2014


I woke up, like any other weekday, and rolled out of bed to make my husband's lunch while he freshened up in the bath room. Through the blinds on my patio, I saw a guy getting out of this black, tented truck on the street with a huge headlights. He left the door wide open and walked into his building. Well, after 30 minutes, I thought he wasn't coming back and being the good neighbor I am, I decided to go outside and close his door for him.

Why can't I just mind my own business and be selfish like the rest of the world?

I pranced my considerate behind down the stairs and out the front gate to do my good deed. The moment I touched the handle, a big black german shepherd popped his head up in the back seat, teeth bared and growling. I wanted to run, scream, anything to escape, but I couldn't move. My feet were cemented to the pavement and my voice was trapped in my throat like slow dripping molasses. I swear the dog could hear my heart pounding because his upper lip trembled in tune with its beating.

The beast leaped across the armrest. Hitting me square in the chest, he pinned me to the street and ferociously barked and snarled. Drool and fear were all over my face and I just knew that I was going to die.

He bit me!

My cries of agony did nothing but agitate the monster, and he ripped a giant hole in my robe, damage no doubt that was reserved for me. Adrenaline finally stepped in at the sight of my ruined clothes, and somehow I was able to kick the dog off of me. I stood with my hands in fists and glared at my attacker.

"If you come near me again, I'm going to kick your ass!"

The dog jumped at me. I dodged him and in one graceful move, brought my foot on top of neck, slamming him against the street.

"How do you like it?! Huh?!"
At last I was in control when--

"Step away from the dog and put your hands up!"

Click, click.

To my horror, I came face to face with the barrel of a gun, the owner of the car pointing it directly at me.

"Your dog nearly killed me! Look at my arm!"

"I'm warning you! If you don't comply I'll be forced to act with brute force!"

"Who the hell are you?! This is illegal."

"I'm with the Dallas Police Department, Canine Unit, and you're under arrest for assaulting an officer!"

The next thing I know, I'm in handcuffs and in the back of a squad car. WTF!

Tuesday, April 29, 2014


Sleeping in my room then alarm clock, boom
Reality is back, dreams gone too soon
A slave to my trade, 9 to 5, 10 to 8
Little time for my family cuz we gotta get paid
Feeling stuck in the system, with no pearls of wisdom
Of how to escape, the situations dismal
A hunger deep inside, the source of my drive
Keep looking towards the sky just to stay alive

Slowly breaking the links that are chained to my feet
Getting out this place, Lenny Kravis, fly away
Gotta vision so strong, gonna change the whole scene
My eyes are wide open, i'll be living my dream
Things done through Christ must all turn out right
Because i'm working through faith, not power or might
So good riddance to the struggle, taking back my soul
Keep your biweekly checks, i got my own bank roll 

Saturday, April 26, 2014


I have a gorgeous puppy

She was sent from above

I named my puppy Angel

And I give her all my love

Angel, you can do no wrong

Because your eyes they cast a spell

You can banish away anger

With the wagging of your tail

Though you chew up my socks

Sneak food and disobey

You win me over with your cuddles

At the end of a long hard day

Little Angel, you're so cute

The world you want to explore

Sniffing like a maniac

It's the smell you adore

So puppy, never leave me

Your spirit is so pure

I'll love you for forever

Of this you can be sure


They eat and breathe chaos




Though the bee's body is anatomically incorrect for it, it flies.

(So just because the odds are against you, doesn't mean you can't achieve something impossible.)

Friday, April 25, 2014


Fools of folly, infuriate me with false friendships
Flaky, fake, fraud friendships feel frozen
Following me, frienemies hoping for my failure
Refusing faith, settling for fantasy, afraid of fulfilled dreams
Fruit of my labor, my future feast and fountain of fortune, force my foes to fall to my feet
"Can we eat?"
Forgave you.
Forgot you.
I'm free.