Everything's Heating Up . . .

 Today's high is 81F, and tomorrow, we head into the 90s. My sister lives in Tucson, too close to Phoenix and those record-breaking heat blasts. Sigh. Surprisingly, I find myself missing the snow, just a little!

What I'm reading. Just now, I'm reading Olga Godim's delightful Squirrel of Magic: Short Stories. And I want to learn much more of this young witch. Olga has that ability to bring adventure and a sense of innocence to life wth a slight paranormal twist. 

On the craft side, I'm diving into Paul Tomlinson's Mystery: How to Write Traditional & Cozy Whodunits. A former librarian, Tomlinson has produced an amazing list of 'how to write' books, along with some intriguing science fiction (Robot Wrecker, Bounty Hunger: Outlaws of the Galaxy). His website has more info and maybe some free short stories.

Today, I have a snippet for you from a story that may stay in the drawer for a long while. 

Last week, I was at a local writer's meeting. One of the writers told us about a woman he'd been helping with editing. She stopped writing her memoir because it was too intense. I understand that. 

A writing friend I admire always says, "Write what you love! Tell the stories you want to tell." Yes, some stories need to be told. We need to know and maybe help those who have suffered. We can also heal ourselves and others by telling stories of light.

So, dear blog readers, what do you think? Should this story be told?

FLIGHT

    I unlocked the door between the two apartments and led the young girl clutching her four-month-old baby inside. “You’ll be safe here. Just stay one hour, and then . . . .” I pushed a slip of paper in her hand. “Go to this address. They’ll take care of you.”
    The young woman whimpered. “They’re going to come after us.”
    “No,” I smiled. “They’re gonna come after me. Not you.” I touched the baby’s cheek. “Just look ahead and make a new life for this little one. Promise me.”
    She looked around the apartment. “But someone lives here. They’re going to come home and find me.” Her lips trembled.
    “Nobody lives here. It’s a cover. This and next door. Both are under assumed names. Just do what I say, and you’ll be fine.”
    Her hand loosened on my arm. “Alright.”
    I checked the living room, tiny kitchen, and bedroom. “Rest and then go. Check the fridge and eat something. I’ll maybe see you again later.”
    She stared at me as if she were still back in that basement with the other women that Caleb and I had gotten out, after two months of undercover. She nodded slowly. “I’ll never forget you, Serena, or that man who helped us.”
    “I gotta go. Don’t worry about me. Think about this little one.” Touching the baby’s soft cheek one last time, I went back into the first apartment, locking the door behind me.
    But I was too late. A circle of bullets snapped into the door of the first apartment. One pinged the edge of my arm, and pain blossomed. I heard cursing as whoever was on the other side shoved the door, trying to break in. I ran into the bedroom, snapped the window open, and pushed through to the fire escape. Closing the window behind me, I raced up, knowing they’d be looking for me to escape going down. I puffed my way up three stories, stopping only once to catch my breath, grateful again I was wearing all black, not especially a good look for me, but useful now. I slipped only twice, because, of course, it would be raining, and a cold rain at that. Once on the roof, I opened my mic and updated Headquarters. “Need a safe way out. I’m on the roof.”
    Sirens sounded below, and I sighed with relief. We were safe. This time.

Blue Butterfly (Pixabay)

May you stay cool these coming weeks of summer!