Friday, August 31, 2012

Backlist Bloghop - we need a little Christmas!

We need a little Christmas, right this very minute, candles in the window, carols at the spinet....

Well, that may be from Mame, but hey, it's still true! Sometimes you need a little Christmas, even in the middle of summer. So how fortuitous that Michael Mandrake, aka my friend Sharita, is having a backlist bloghop! For my part, I'm offering a copy of A Special Christmas. Let me tell you a little bit about it...

On January 16, 1920, over the veto of President Woodrow Wilson, an exercise in futility became law when the 18th Amendment, commonly known as the Volstead Act, took effect in the United States. It prohibited the sale and manufacture of intoxicating alcoholic beverages. The Webb-Kellogg Act, which came later, prevented its transportation. Interestingly, the actual use of alcohol was not prevented. Referred to by some as the Noble Experiment, this era is commonly known simply as Prohibition.
Immediately after Prohibition began, the criminal element saw a way of making a great deal of money from the new law by supplying a demand which had not disappeared simply because it was now illegal. The country's major gangsters, such as Tom Dennison in Omaha and Al Capone in Chicago, not only grew wealthy from bootlegging, but gained the admiration of many people, both locally and nationally, acquiring the status of heroes.
Ordinary citizens wanting to drink, despite the prohibition of said drinking, went to secret establishments known as speakeasies; they were also called blind pigs. Those in higher socio-economic circles held cocktail parties. By 1926, more and more people were sympathetic to the bootleggers and their cause — the population wanted their liquor back.
In 1926, interesting things were happening in the world — Gertrude Ederle became the first woman to swim the English Channel; Hirohito was crowned Emperor of Japan; Benito Mussolini gained control of Italy; US Route 66 was created, which ran from Chicago to Los Angeles; and Henry Ford announced the forty-hour work week.
Also, as the year drew to a close, and Christmas approached, two young men who lived near Chicago —Florian Donati and Nick Giannakopoulos— were about to meet, and their lives would never be the same again.


Christmas is coming to Prohibition era Chicago, and two young immigrants are about to have their world rocked.  When Florian and Nick meet by chance in a speakeasy in Romeoville, their worlds will never be the same.  Is it Chance, or has Destiny brought them together?


Florian Donati could charm any woman with a single glance. One flutter of his fabulous baby blues was enough to induce cardiac arrest among the strongest females. One warm glance could halt all traffic within a thirty yard radius, never mind that disarming smile. His lips alone could make a nun regret her vows of chastity. Black wavy hair, free from artificial intervention, and a dimpled chin completed the perfection that was the twenty-year old Florian.

Florian remained blissfully unaware of his charms, for he was possessed of an almost child-like innocence, set within the body of a god. He was graced with a sweet and generous disposition, and the patience of a saint. As well as an undying love for the greatest singer who'd ever lived — the late Enrico Caruso.

When Caruso died, in August of 1921, the sixteen-year-old Florian had been devastated. He'd wanted to attend the funeral, in order to pay his respects. But that was logistically impossible, as services had been held in Naples, in the old country, home to his family for many generations. So Florian had to content himself with holding a private memorial service at the dry cleaners which his family owned and where he worked, in Cicero, Illinois. The only other person in attendance also worked there — his co-worker and friend, Loria.
The Donati family were long-time friends of Johnny Torrio — and in Cicero, that meant a great deal. The crime lord had been instrumental in their being in the dry cleaning business. He had brought them from New York with him where he had given them the funds for their first store —Donati's Dry Cleaning Emporium, on South Whicker— and they were very grateful to him. He helped them to buy the store in Cicero, and recommended the establishment to all of his colleagues. When circumstances forced Torrio into taking early retirement in 1925 (after nearly being killed by a would-be assassin, he decided that Florida possessed a certain charm), his business interests became the domain of his associate, the amiable and well-dressed Alphonse Capone. And just as Capone inherited Torrio's territory, so did the Donatis inherit Capone's dry cleaning.
The silver bell attached to the shop door tinkled whenever it was opened, signaling the advent of a customer. During the summer, the front door, as well as the back, remained open, mostly due to the heat from the equipment in the back room where the actual cleaning and pressing was done. This heat would build up until it virtually flooded every nook and cranny of the emporium with an intense warmth that was almost infernal. But during the winter, the store provided a welcome respite from the fierce Midwestern cold without.
Florian did not work the equipment, although he'd been around it all of his life. That was Loria's job. She also waited on the customers who came into the store, took their clothes and tagged them, checking them carefully for rips and tears, loose buttons that might otherwise meet an untimely end if not taken care of, and she supervised the dry cleaning that was actually going on in the back. She retrieved the clean clothes for returning customers, and she took their money. Florian's job was to keep the floor swept and the windows clean, keep fresh flowers upon the counter, and to help Loria with heavy lifting should she require his assistance. But his primary duty was to radiate sunshine, to make the customers feel at home — and to sing. Although he was no Caruso, and he had no desire to follow in his idol's illustrious footsteps, he had a sweet untrained voice, somewhere in the baritone range, and he was the delight of everyone that stepped foot inside Donati's.
Loria had been bugging him all morning about his singing. Not that she disliked it, far from it. She loved to hear her friend sing, she would listen to him twenty-four hours a day if she could. No, it was nothing against his ability to carry a tune; it was his choice of material. For here it was, almost Christmas, and he refused to sing any Christmas carols, preferring instead to favor her either with selections from his favorite operas, or with the Italian melodies he had grown up with.
"Uccello," she protested, leaning against the counter, watching him sweep the already immaculate floor. He was such a perfectionist. Uccello was the nickname he had acquired as a young child, when first he began to sing. Uccello canterino bello. Pretty songbird. "Uccello, just a little something for Christmas, for me?" The thirty-something blonde reached out as he came within reach and punched his shoulder lightly, in her typical Loria manner.
Florian was an accommodating guy, but he also had a bit of a mischievous streak in him. In fact, he was a very playful fellow. Pausing in his work, he wound his arms about the broom, as if it were a lover, and began to serenade her in his native tongue.
"Sul mare luccica, l'astro d'argento," he crooned, his beautiful blue eyes so expressive that Loria seemed about to cry. He sang to her of the sea, and the wind, and a silver star. By the time he got to the chorus, his heartfelt "Santa Lucia" did indeed bring tears to her eyes. She wiped at them unabashedly with the corner of her work apron. This was the nature of their relationship — nothing romantic, simple friendship. At times, Loria was like a second mother to Florian, having known him since he was just a boy.
The shop bell tinkled, but Florian continued to sing. He was used to an audience, and most of the customers were used to his singing, never interrupting his arias for something so crass as business. They invariably preferred that he finish before they proceeded. This customer was no exception.
Only when the last note was reverberating through the cozy shop, did he turn to find himself the object of admiration of a swarthy, elegantly dressed man. This man was flanked by two others in dark suits, obviously subordinates. Their professional glance never stopped moving about the shop, as if they were anticipating an ambush. The jagged scar, which cut diagonally across the first man's cheek, made his identity a surety.


Two lucky commenters will win a copy of A Special Christmas! Just be sure to comment by the end of this weekend. Because of the Labor day Holiday, that will be Monday night!

Now, go check out the other participants in this Blog Hop!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie 

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Things happen for a reason

Today I ended my first temp job. I was there for over two months, from June 19th, until today. Now, I could be angry and/or upset, curse Fate and wail and moan about what will happen us now?

But I would rather not, because face it, that's counter productive. I have a philosophy - everything happens for a reason. So looking back at my time at Iron Mountain, what did I gain and/or learn? First, I made money, enough to get back on track with my bills, and have a little fun now and then too. But more importantly, I made some friends. We were a great team, the supervisor told us so - she was sorry to see us go. It's possible some of us can come back to the data center and work (I couldn't do that one, it involved climbing up and down ladders all the time, and it was too physical), and there might be openings in Imaging, which I opted for, although the pay is $1.50 less an hour. But that's still more than zero.  Also, working at Iron Mountain toughened me. The files were heavy and at first I thought I'd die unloading the carts, shelf by shelf, in order to key them. Plus we had to push these wooden carts filled with files back and forth from the data center. But I did it, and I think I got muscles out of it and stamina.

So all in all, it was a positive experience, we all exchanged information and promised to keep in touch. I'm glad I worked there. Maybe I'll end up back there again some day, but for now it's time to move on.

When things happen you didn't plan on, it's easy to get upset and blame everything from bad luck to bad karma to every person you know. But rather than do that, look at what you've gained, and decide where  you want to be, and what your next move will be. It's not always easy to see, but you won't see it if you aren't looking for it.

I would rather be optimistic than depressed and yes, I think you can control that, if you try. I'm not saying I never get down, or upset, or mad, or any of those basic human emotions. But on the whole, I have to say I'm a happy person.

So, I'll leave you with the lyrics of a song that sums it up rather well.

Next time you're found, with your chin on the ground   
There's a lot to be learned, so look around

Just what makes that little old ant
Think he'll move that rubber tree plant
Anyone knows an ant can't
Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes
He's got hot apple pie in the sky hopes

So any time your gettin' low
'Stead of lettin' go
Just remember that ant
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant

When troubles call, and your back's to the wall
There's a lot to be learned, that wall could fall

Once there was a silly old ram
Thought he'd punch a hole in a dam
No one could make that ram scram
He kept buttin' that dam

'Cause he had high hopes, he had high hopes
He had hot apple pie in the sky hopes

So any time your feelin' bad
'Stead of feelin sad
Just remember that ram
Oops there goes a billion kilowatt dam

All problems are just a toy balloon
They'll be bursted soon
They're just bound to go pop
Oops there goes another problem kerplop

You might remember that from Laverne and Shirley. I sure do.

So for now, I'll be around!  Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Trapped in Time #17

Good morning one and all and welcome to the Wednesday Briefs! Your source for fun flash fiction! This week's prompt was: "I thought I knew you, but..." and the alternate prompts were: Use: daft, punk, rooster, or "The first time we kissed..." or use: Danube, power, kiss, or "High as a kite, he..." or write a sex scene, but without removing any clothes!

As you may recall from the last episode of Trapped in Time, we left our heroes in a pretty pickle, what with Doll too frighened to cross the flimsy bridge, followed by the appearance of the t-rex. See what's happening there, then go visit the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my story!  Enjoy!

Trapped in Time #17

I am seeing my life play out before my very eyes, but my time on this earth has been so short that it would  not even make a decent one reel film. I quickly cross myself and begin to pray. “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy—”

The monster roads and I jump, my foot sliding too close to the edge. Luckily Vittorio has quick reflexes, and he keeps me from a horribly rapid descent into the water far below.

“Can he reach us, do you think?”

“I’m not sure, but I’d rather not find out. We’d be better off on the other side,” Vittorio replies, urging me toward the bridge. “Please, love, we need to move.” I do not resist quite so adamantly as I did before, although I am far from confident about what I am doing.

“Hurry!” Charlie yells across the bridge, echoed by Myron.

I try to bolster my failing courage by whistling. But my rendition of The Beautiful Blue Danube sounds more like something one might hear from a hurdy gurdy so I give up any pretense of bravery and take a step onto the fragile bridge, under my own power, at least while I may.

“You are doing good, Doll,” Vittorio praises me, leaning in for a quick kiss.

I can’t help but remember the first time we kissed. It was one of those moments, just like in the movies. Eyes meet, and you find yourself holding your breath because there is nowhere for it to go as  your heart has suddenly take all of the room in your chest. And your move toward each other without thinking about it, as your lips meet for the first time.

I knew then that I loved Vittorio, and always would.

As I’ve been reminiscing, apparently Vittorio has been inching me across the bridge. I sincerely pray the creature does not follow us. This flimsy structure will barely hold our weight, much less his. Daring a glance behind us, I see that the large dinosaur has halted at the edge of the cliff, bellowing at us, probably in anger at seeing his dinner escape his clutches.

“Don’t look back, look ahead, love,” Vittorio cautions me. I heed his words and slowly work my way across the bridge. He is right behind me, encouraging me, but the bridge, it is so fragile, and it shakes so much… I am convinced that it will collapse long before we reach the other side.

We’re half way across now, although it feels as though the bridge is sagging even more greatly than it was before, which is too much for my taste. Suddenly the cry of the great beast. From anger to a challenge.
Vittorio and I both turn our heads to see what is going on.

Another large animal has come upon the scene.  It is shorter, with a large bony ridge on its head, and three horns. And it is undoubtedly angry.

“Triceratops,” Vittorio says, awe in his voice. “Doll, this is amazing. No one has ever seen such a creature before. Not alive anyway. Just in fossil form.”

I’m not sure if I’m more honored or scared, but the triceratops has accomplished one thing. It’s diverted the attention of the tyrannosaurus from us.

“Keep moving, you’re doing fine,” Vittorio encourages me. I glance at my injured hand, which is red and swollen. I really do need to get to the other side, don’t I? I take a deep breath and plunge ahead, refusing to look down, or anywhere but the other side. Vittorio keeps one hand on me at all times, calming me, so that within a reasonable period of time we have reached the far side and I fall onto the blessed ground with relief.

Vittorio is right there, his arm about me, murmuring sweet words. He pulls me into his lap, and we turn our attention to what is happening with the two gargantuan creatures. The shorter dinosaur charges the larger, using his horns to tear chunks of flesh from the predator. The tyrannosaurus responds by snapping at whatever he can reach, ripping and rending the triceratop’s body. It’s a horrific sight, but we cannot seem to look away.

Charlie seems particularly upset, and Mary is agitated as well, jumping up and down and screeching. I’m not sure which animal she is rooting for, if either.

It seems that his unease is merited, for the two creatures, locked in mortal combat, pay no attention to their own personal safety and roll off the cliff, plunging into the water below, bouncing on the rock walls along the way.

It is not a pretty sight.

Charlie leads our somber little group to a nearby cave, and this is where we decide to spend the night. While Vittorio and I bring out food for the evening meal,  Charlie busies himself in looking for a particular plant, which he mixes with something else, and then applies to my hand, wrapping a leaf about it. At first it feels odd, and has a strange texture, but soon I find that the heat in my hand is lessening, and so is the pain. I lean against Vittorio, and Charlie sits beside Myron, with Mary  on Myron’s lap.

“Do you think we can have a fire?”I ask hopefully, but Vittorio shakes his head. “Not tonight,” he says. “Too dangerous. Besides, I’m not sure how we would light one.”

He has a point.

“Come, I shall keep you warm.” He wraps his arms around me, as we press together closely.  “You were very brave today,” he whispers into my ear, and I melt at his words and his touch. “Maybe tomorrow, we shall see what else Myron can do with that wand, si?”

I think for a moment, before I respond, “Si.”

I hope we won’t live to regret that idea.

to be continued

Now go check out the other Wednesday Briefers:

Nephylim    m/m
Lily Sawyer      m/m 
MA Church    m/m
MC Houle      m/m
Michael Mandrake  m/m

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Sunday, August 26, 2012

One Piece 7: The Crap-Geezer Review

One Piece, Volume 7: The Crap-Geezer  
Author: Eiichiro Oda
Publisher: Viz Media
American release date: July 6, 2005
Format/Genre/Length: Manga/Shonen/200 pages
Publisher/Industry Age Rating: Teen
Overall Personal Rating: ★★★★★

Sanji shows that he’s more than cook when he defends the Baratie with a tremendous kick, deflecting the fish-head, to the amazement of his crew! His action re-energizes the sea cooks, who vow to fight for their floating restaurant to the end against the scurvy knaves that comprise Don Krieg’s pirate crew. So of course Krieg has to throw them a curveball—in the form of his second unit commander, Invincible Pearl.


Pearl, as his name implies, is a huge fellow covered in shields with pearl centers, and wears a pearl on his head. As he leaps onto the Baratie, he takes down two of the cooks with his Pearl Surprise move. One of Krieg’s men attempts to take the knife from one of the dying men but Sanji puts a stop to that with a swift kick. “A chef’s knife is his soul,” he tells him. “A crap-bum like you had better not touch it.”

Pearl boasts to Sanji that he’s been invincible in 61 battles to the death; in fact, he’s never even been injured, and has never lost a single drop of blood in battle. Meanwhile, Luffey is clinging for his life to a mast—if he drops into the ocean, he’s a dead man; since eating the devil fruit, he can’t swim a stroke and would sink like a stone. Luckily, Krieg’s maneuver drops him onto the Baratie, right on top of Pearl, drawing blood, to the pirate’s surprise. When Krieg’s crew see the blood, they immediately try to calm Pearl down, fearful of the consequences. Because of experiences as a child, when Pearl feels threatened, he sets himself aflame. Under the circumstances, being on a ship, afloat at sea and all, this is not a good idea.

The sea cooks back down from the human wall of flame, but not Sanji. “Moron,” he says, “you can’t be a cook if you’re afraid of fire!”  Things are starting to look up when Sanji finds himself on the wrong end of a gun barrel, being pointed at him by Gin, the pirate whose life he saved when he was starving!

Gin offers Sanji the opportunity to get off the ship, but he refuses, even when Chef Zeff taunts him, calling him eggplant head.  Luffy tries to intervene, but to no avail. He certainly doesn’t understand Sanji’s attitude, and neither does anyone else. Especially when Pearl pounds him with some of his best moves. Still the stubborn chef refuses to go. But there is method to his madness, and he finally explains why he refuses to let the Baratie be taken away from the ornery one-legged Chef Zeff. It all began nine years before…

When Sanji is done with his tale, everyone understands the debt he owes Zeff, and why he won’t allow anything else to be taken from him. Still, Luffy thinks Sanji is being ridiculous, and he sees only one way out of the situation—he intends to sink the Baratie himself. He tells Sanji it’s not worth dying over, and what use is Zeff saving his life if he’s going to just throw it away?

Don Krieg steps in and he and Luffy get into a battle of words, Luffy adamantly proclaiming himself the best pirate there is. Finally it comes down to Gin and Sanji. Can Gin kill the very man that showed him incredible kindness? Well, he is a ruthless pirate, after all…


The battle over the Baratie continues as we meet yet another of Krieg’s crew in the form of Invincible Pearl. Despite his record, Pearl’s a blowhard and not very likeable, but he’s an interesting villain. The backstory involving Chef Zeff and Sanji explained a lot about the latter’s loyalty to the crap-geezer, as he calls him. Sanji is a very interesting character, one I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot more of in the future. In this volume, Luffey doesn’t play as big a part as usual, but when he does, he’s generally very brave, but often in the way, in misguided attempts to assist.

This is a fun series for all ages, and there’s lots more fun ahead. Sticking with it for the long haul!

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Poetry and me...

Once upon a time, I used to write poetry, and I'd mail it off to different magazines. And sometimes it would get published. This was a very long time ago, before computers, before e-magazines, and definitely before it became easier to be published. There was no money involved, just a copy or two of the magazine you were published in. I generally don't write poetry any more, preferring prose. But I thought I'd share some of my poems with you at odd times, like today.  I had vampire poems and non-vampire poems (yes, I'm a sucker for a bloodsucker lol)  This first one I'm going to share with you is entitled Amid the Ruin. Enjoy!

Amid the Ruin
                by Julie Lynn Hayes © 1996

Amid the ruin of silken sheets,    
Rumpled in the rampage of a lovers'
Tug of war,
Beneath the blood-smeared bedclothes,
Tangled in the tantrums of a
Passion play,
She lies in saintly beauty,
Mona Lisa-smile upon stained lips,
Lips which wear the color of her lover's blood.
He loved her well,
Then freed her soul from Hell
To face Eternity, away from nighttime joys
And carnal pleasures reserved
For those who cannot bear the light of day.
A single rose lies upon her breast
Above a simple wooden stake,
Her instrument of release,
As love and peace rule the night supreme
Amid the ruin of silken sheets.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Trapped in Time #16

Wednesday is upon us once more, therefore it's time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! Today's prompt is: "How could you think you're less than perfect to me?" The alternate prompts are: Use pasta in a creative way, or use: flowers, bridge, seesaw, or "please don't leave me..." or feature a fight in your story - verbal or physical or use: pink, condolences, believe. Last week, in Trapped in Time, something rather amazing happened, and Myron actually saved the day with his wand. Is that just a fluke? Or a sign of something more. Come see what's up with Vittorio and Doll and the gang! Don't forget to check out all the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my story!

Trapped in Time #16

After we catch our collective breaths, and our heart rates all return to normal, we resume our journey once more, while we still have daylight with which to travel. Vittorio says we will not be safe out in the open, so we must seek some sort of shelter. Charlie says he knows of such a place, so we follow his lead. I cannot help but keep an ear out for the Mama dinosaur, fearful of her resumed wrath, but all seems to be well in that direction.

The land rolls gently before us in a gradually lesser slope, and as we top the rise of one last hill, we see spread out before us an amazing sight—a veritable carpet of flowers, as far as the eye can see, in the most amazing shades of red and purple and blue. I feel as though my heart will burst at the sight, it swells up so suddenly. I cannot speak for my emotion, gripping Vittorio’s hand tightly. He returns my squeeze and I can see that he is just as affected by the flora as I am.

These flowers are a sign to me that God is with us, that all is right in our world, and reaffirms what a beautiful world we live in, no matter what time we are in.

Unfortunately, I have forgotten the corollary that where there are flowers, there are bees, until I unthinkingly reach for one of the lovely blossoms, intending to adorn Vittorio’s hair with it, and a nasty looking thing flies out and stings me on the palm of my hand, before giving me a smug look and departing for presumably greener fields.

My hand is on fire, and I’m muttering every foul word I know; first in German, then in Italian, and finally in English. Where is a cube of ice when you need one? Not here, that is certain.

Vittorio is fretting over me, trying to calm me down, cooing and clucking, while Mary is jumping about excitedly. Somehow I think she has better sense than to try to pick a bee-laden blossom. Belatedly I remember the flower that I’ve given over to my uninjured hand to hold, and I proffer it to my lover, tears of pain welling in my eyes.

“For your hair,” I whisper. He leans toward me. I tuck it into place behind one perfect ear, and he kisses me.

“Come,” Charlie beckons to us, tugging at Vittorio’s arm. Myron hovers anxiously, attempting to be of use. I try not to snap at him, but it isn’t easy. Not that I think it is his fault, I am just in a great deal of pain.

“Myron, can you please bring the penny farthing?” Vittorio asks.

Color suffuses Myron’s face, but in a good way, I think. He quickly nods. “Of course. I’d be happy to.” He takes it very gingerly into his hands and walks it, just ahead of us, near to Charlie, so that I can see what he is doing at all times. I know that Vittorio knows what he is doing, and I focus on him instead.

Charlie halts first. He holds up his hand, and we all stop, wondering why. Edging forward to where Charlie stands, the answer becomes apparent. We now stand on the edge of a cliff. Sheer walls drop below us, down to a meandering stream. I follow it with my eyes as it disappears from view.

“What is that noise?” I ask Charlie. I hear a dull roar I cannot place, and I cannot tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

Charlie struggles for words, using his hands to illustrate something.

“Waterfall?” Vittorio asks, and Charlie gratefully nods.

So what now? And how do we get to the other side, assuming that is our goal? As if reading my mind, Charlie points to something I’d missed—what appears to be a narrow, rope bridge, swaying across the ravine, leading to the other side.

Wait, what did I just see? A bridge? Here? In this place? How?

“We are going to the other side,” Charlie informs us, and I have the worst possible feeling he means we’re crossing that rickety looking bridge, and I don’t like it. But my hand is hurting, and it’s hard to think clearly, so Vittorio makes the decision for us.

“Who built that?” my lover asks, as we cautiously approach the bridge.

“The Professor,” Charlie replies, as if surprised we need to ask. “Come. On the other side are plants that will feel good.”

Charlie goes first. He takes Myron’s hand. I see that Myron has the same reservations that I do, but Charlie doesn’t give him time to think about it. He leads him and the penny farthing onto the bridge, with Mary following them closely. As they seesaw carefully across it, I see how fragile it is; it sways with their weight. Myron yelps. I cannot blame him for being afraid. I am too. 

Vittorio and I stand and wait for them to make their way across, slowly but surely, until they leap from the end onto the solid ground at the other side. Now it’s our turn.

My stomach is twisting and turning into complex knots and I suddenly dig my heels into the ground. “I can’t do it…” I mutter. “Vittorio, I can’t do it.” I turn helpless eyes on my lover.

“Yes you can, sweet love,” he replies, reaching for my good hand. “You must. We need to get to the other side for your hand.”

“I can’t,” I whimper, afraid that I’m going to cry any moment, from fear and from pain.

Looking down, I see the water rushing below, I hear the waterfall, and I begin to visualize what might be in the water, such as vicious and hungry crocodiles. What could be worse?

I wish I hadn’t asked, as a loud roar sounds behind us, and I turn to behold the Tyrannosaurus Rex again.

 to be continued

Now visit the other Briefers and see what's rocking their world!

Lily Sawyer      m/m 
MA Church    m/m
Tali     m/f
Nephylim    m/m

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie