DOMA Dammit

soapboxpileDOMA, The Defense of Marriage Act, signed by President William Jefferson Clinton on 21-September-1996 to protect ‘marriage’ and the government. No, Bill Clinton does not get a pass on this despite his current stand in support of Gay Marriage, despite his ‘Don’t do as I did, do as I say now.’ DOMA was then and is now an over-reach by the Federal Government based on Christian standards of marriage being between a one man and one woman, this despite there being nothing anywhere in the Bible to support this view, in fact if we want to be specific the Mormons had it right didn’t they? There are plenty of examples sprinkled throughout that tome our friends in Washington and all their little legislator whisperer’s like to point to when in doubt of marriage being between One Man and plenty of women.

Now that is today, in 2013 the social tide has shifted tremendously and the majority of the public isn’t so certain it is fair or even right to withhold Civil Rights from their fellow citizens simply because they are different. Different as in, they want to marry the same gender versus the opposite gender, nothing more or less that is really the only difference. They are now and always have been part of our society, they do now and always have paid taxes, fought in our wars, lived next door to us, had families, formed long-lasting and monogamous relationships. What they haven’t had, what we have prevented them from accessing is all the rights and privileges we take for granted, things like;

  • Rights of survivorship
  • Inheritance
  • Immigration
  • Next of kin, medical decision making and the right to visit a loved one in the hospital
  • Parenting children born in the relationship after the death of the natural parent
  • Tax benefits
  • Healthcare benefits
  • Social Security survivorship benefits
    • And a host of both private and public benefits marriage allows

All this because there are some people within our society, predominantly within the Christian

scene outside the Supreme Court day 1

scene outside the Supreme Court day 1

Evangelical Right who gained a heavy foothold in our government

and demanded their rights supersede the rights of others.  These

Christians demanded their religious standards and beliefs be written

into the law and be enforceable based on their interpretation of the

Bible. This despite the First Amendment of the Constitution, guaranteeing our individual right to be free to worship and free of a state sponsored religion.

Thus far, eight (8) Federal Courts have found section 3 of DOMA unconstitutional, this includes both the First and Second Courts of Appeals. Today was the second day of oral arguments before the Supreme Court in United States vs. Windsor. It is important to note, the Administration and the Justice Department refused to defend DOMA, John Boehner, Speaker of the House used House Rules to convene the Bipartisan Legal Advisory Group and subsequently hire a private law firm to defend DOMA before SCOTUS. I suppose the GOP just can’t let go.

Nevertheless, on to my real issue, where do these idiots come from? What rocks do these azzhats crawl out from under? Really, this one is presumably educated, talented, knowledgeable and highly respected in his field. This narcissist gives me a true case of the red ass I must say. He became the darling of the right wing simply by showing he had no class, by taking the President to task in a public forum; big f’ng deal you are classless. But then, so are most of those you are attempting to emulate you fit right in.

Let me just ask how did you get through medical school and not ‘believe’ in evolution? How do you teach at Johns Hopkins and not know the most recent findings on homosexuality?

How can you a presumably educated and compassionate person say this (3:40 is relevant to this)

Never mind, I know. Because you are so steeped in your personal prejudice, your personal bias you fail to step out of your box. I do not give two plugged nickels how many surgeries you perform successfully every year. Personally? I wouldn’t allow you to attempt to put the head back on my Barbie doll.

I think SCOTUS is going to find in favor of Ms. Windsor, I think they will find section 3 unconstitutional and strike down DOMA. This will mean we still have a very long ways to go, each state will still be putting the rights of our fellow citizens to a vote but it is at least one step in the right direction.

DOMA and the government report Justice Kagan referred to in her questions yesterday:

Marriage Mudslides & Miracles

weddingvowsI DO

What do we really mean? Do we mean I will stand by you through thick and thin, good and bad, happy and sad times and everything in between? Do we mean no matter what, you are my choice out of all the others I might have chosen, even those who I haven’t met yet and who I might be tempted by in the future I will still choose you. Do we mean, even on those bad days when I don’t like you at all, when you are really an Azzhat, I will still love you and choose you over everyone else.

Is that what we mean when we say, I DO.

Marriage is rough; no matter how much time we spend trying to make certain we fit together we usually miss something. Sometimes it is the small stuff, you know stuff like he doesn’t replace the toilet paper when he uses the last of it or she squeezes the toothpaste from the middle. Sometimes it is stuff you can work through, stuff like she is a neat freak who thinks the bed must be made immediately upon arising or he is a slob who thinks the floor and the laundry basket are the same thing. Sometimes though it is stuff you thought you understood, you thought you talked about, you thought you understood about each other, maybe you forgot to ask or it just didn’t come up in conversation. Other times, well it is the stuff you talked about, just didn’t probe deeply enough; maybe something changed over the course of years, or maybe it didn’t change but in the rosy glow of ‘love’ you failed to hear what the other person really said.

Things like MONEY, RELIGION, FAMILY, FRIENDS. Yours, mine, ours and not so much.

What if you marry thinking the things you don’t ‘love’ or maybe even don’t like so much about your most beloved will change or worse yet that you will be able to change them. What if you fail to mention before the vows there aspects of your future spouse you wish were not part of their make-up, you like them just not their;

  • Smoking
  • Drinking, to excess
  • Tattoo(s)
  • Tendency toward introversion
  • Tendency toward extroversion
  • Competiveness
  • Hair color
  • Bookwormishness
  • Bad Manners
  • Stinginess
  • Dress, style habits
  • Self-righteousness
  • Selfishness
  • Family

What if any or all of these things were simply things you thought you could either ignore or change? Well if any or all of these were part and parcel of the person you were planning to marry and you thought you could ‘fix’ them after the fact, you were in for a shocking awakening. In fact your marriage would soon look as if it had been hit by a colossal mudslide right through bedroom and on into the main living quarters.

Strange list above, isn’t it? Yet, those are personality traits, habits and choices a person brings with them into a relationship and thus a marriage. You knew it at the start; you lived with whatever is bothering you throughout your romance; why in the world would you think anything was going to change once you said your vows? Do you think your vows are magic? Guess again, the mud is covering every last bit of all the presents, you might not have even gotten the thank you cards out the door yet.

Obviously, there are some of those things that can be negotiated if both partners are willing and the problem is approached with some sensitivity. Let’s look at just a couple of the list.

  • I love you, I want to live with you for a very long time I wish you would stop smoking
  • I love you, when you drink to excess it concerns me and I wish you would spend more time with me doing healthy things.

These are perhaps ways you could approach problems that affect the health and well-being of a loved one. These open the door to conversation, negotiation and compromise over time.

  • If you get another tattoo, I will leave you.105_edited-1
  • If you change your hairstyle from the way I like it (color or cut) I won’t think you are beautiful.

These are obviously not good strategies for compromise or negotiation. This is especially true if the person you married was already tattooed, which is a body integrity and personal choice issue. You do not get to choose for another person after the fact. You should never use threats as a form of negotiation.

  • You don’t fit in with my family and I will not stand up and defend my choice of you.
    • With this one holidays become nothing but stress. Resentment flairs as one or the other of you are not with family or are alone.
  • I won’t spend holidays with your family, they are not mine and I would rather not be engaged.
    • Again, you are forced to choose between your spouse and your family. Resentment build over time as you make excuses for his/her absence from dinners and other gatherings.  

The last one, family tends to be a hot button for many couples. Love them or hate them, when you marry your spouse you marry the family it is a package deal. You must be willing to say to your family, this is the person I love, this is the person I choose and I will brook no evil towards my spouse. If you don’t believe you are able to stand before your family in defense of your spouse you should reconsider your decision to marry. Either you are marrying the wrong person and you will never have peace in your home or you are not ready to marry, not ready to set aside childish things.

Believe me the resulting muck and mud will stick to everything, it will pile up in the corners and you will not be able to shovel it out fast enough.

When you get through all the nonsense that annoys the holy hell out of you, maybe you still like each other at the end of the day. Perhaps at the end of the first year (a hard one) you don’t want to start a bonfire with your wedding pictures and burn your spouse at the stake in effigy. Maybe you haven’t raised a white flag yet and said this is far too difficult, good for you Miracle One (1).

Did you get this far because you didn’t bother to mention all the stuff that annoyed you? I will just bet you did. You likely fought about nonsense and didn’t bother to mention all the really wicked things rolling around in your head. Let me give you a clue, just a small hint believe me you will thank me for it.


Marriage is hard work; the miracle is some of us sometimes make it through decades and still like each other. People stop in here all the time and tell me they have been married for 30, 40 and even more years and their spouse is their best friend and greatest love. I am in awe of them. My father found his soul mate and the love of his life in his sixties, they had twenty great years together.


It isn’t right to want to change your spouse. But, if the person is truly who you love, flaws and all then love them with everything you have, flaws and all. If they don’t love you back in the same way and in the way you need, well time to think about what you really do need from life. It isn’t going to be for them to change, it might be though that you need to make a change. We can’t force another person to love us no matter how much we might love them.

I am not going to be silent from fear. I am going to ask for what I need, the rest well it is up for discussion.


To be brave, I want TO BE BRAVE.

I am not brave, certainly not today. Truthfully, I am fearful, afraid, scared; brave isn’t even in my make-up bag, not today. I now and then talk a good game, with years of practice my lips move and I sound as if I don’t care, or I might instead retreat into silence, find my place of quiet and stay mute. But brave? No, I am not brave, not today.

Whenever someone says to me, you are brave I find myself searching, looking over my shoulder for who they are addressing; it can’t be me I am not brave. I am a survivor, to that I can agree but I am most certainly not brave. Life has thrown some curve balls; I have caught most of them with my chest, or my face or worse my heart. I let those balls batter me into submission, time and again sometimes even shouting defiantly, “Throw another one, I will do better next time”.

Brave, no I think rather I simply missed the ‘flight instinct’ in ‘Fight or Flight’. Oh hell, I might have missed both in all honesty, since it seems I do neither the right way.

What am I afraid of? Why am I a puddle of abject terror?

Am I afraid of being alone? No, but I am afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. I am afraid of never being loved again. Sounds stupid when I write it or say it aloud, I am afraid that perhaps I have never been loved in my lonely-old-womanlifetime and I am simply afraid I will never know what being loved means.

I am afraid of growing old alone. I am afraid there will never be anyone in the world who will look at me and see me, who will find me beautiful and want me. Oh hell, that is happening now isn’t it so what will be different? Why am I so afraid?

When I look in the mirror what I see is a woman out of energy, worn down, tired and broken. My body isn’t what it was, well whose is? I get that, I really do except I will be 56 this year, I am by society’s standard Fat, Obese even. I don’t get to run away from this, nor do I get to hide from the judgment, it is the truth. My body betrays me every single day; this is a simple reality of my life, my world. My body is defined not by muscle tone but by every injury, my day by pain.

What would I say to a new maybe lover, “No not that way, don’t bend that or don’t look there and sorry if I wake you in the night screaming or pee on you during a seizure.” No, I can’t imagine having that conversation, except maybe to chase off would be suitors.

I am not brave; truthfully I am a mass of quivering and abject cowardice.

Dreams of You

Everything I wanted was a dream of you.

scan0003The you I saw in pictures on the beach, when both of us were younger and smiled whenever we were together; it wasn’t often maybe that was why we smiled. The you I talked to for hours on the phone, every single day of the week; why do you tell me now, you don’t like to talk? I don’t remember that about you. The you who wrapped your arms all the way around me and held me for long minutes, as if you would never let me go, as if I mattered. The you who listened to me after a long day at work, who didn’t interrupt to tell what you would do, just listened to me.

Everything I wanted was a dream of you.

You were imperfect. So was I though, I was honest about my imperfections; hell, most of my imperfections were drawn vividly on my skin along with some of my milestones in the form of tattoos. I laughed sometimes at your unique view of women and men and marriage, I thought honestly, you would grow out of them. I wish you would have told me before we married, maybe it is my fault for not probing more deeply, for letting my heart lead my head. Instead you let your views out slowly and you grew more rigid more severe, your unique views demanded my silent compliance. Your views became rules with consequences, while your own small compromises nothing more than resentments you hold against me. To keep peace I paid, for all the things most partners do together or for each other, I paid others to do; to keep peace and so you would not have to lift a finger.

Everything I wanted was a dream of you.

What changed? Did I give you too much? Did I make life too easy or demand too little of you? Do you blame me, well of course you do. I ask you, what do you want and you refuse me an answer. I tell you what I want and you say it is too much, yet all I want is a life in which you do more than show up now and then, it isn’t enough. You twist each word to stab me, using each request to prove I am the cause of any unhappiness and all misery. Now, I speak my peace I am unhappy at your withdrawal from me, from life, from marriage. Yes, I am unhappy at choices you make, these choices.

  • I need to get away, I need to see my family. I am doing so during the week of our anniversary and you are not part of this planning.
  • I am not going with you to your grandson’s birthday party. I don’t feel like it.
  • I am not spending Christmas Day with you, I don’t feel like being with your family.
  • I am not spending Thanksgiving Day with you, I don’t feel like being with your family.

These are some of your choices, they are selfish and self-serving, they show a complete lack of love and care for me. When we speak of love, marriage and partnership and I say to you I make sacrifices all of the time to remain married, what is your response?

You respond with, “I will leave then, I don’t want you to sacrifice”. You begin to pack your belongings. You have no place to go, I don’t think; except maybe home to your mother. I think you have been waiting for this moment, this opportunity to bolt. I suspect you were looking for the door to crack open so you could blame others, as you have done at other times. Your pride won’t allow you to admit failure, not your own at least. This way you can easily say, “She did it, she put me out. I was the perfect husband but she was never happy, never satisfied”.

Everything I ever wanted was a dream of you

There was a time, when you were the kindest most moral man I had ever known in my life. You made me feel safe and protected. I thought, you above everyone I knew, you would never hurt me. Despite all of our differences, OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAall that we had to overcome to be together I thought the dream that was you might be real. There was a time, I followed my heart and thought maybe, just maybe this will be fine and I will be finally mostly happy. There was a time when I believed there was someone in my life who accepted me, loved me, celebrated me and would walk beside me to the end.

Everything I ever wanted was a dream of you.

I suppose your dreams were different, you just forgot to tell me.

FTP 11 Brokenhearted

Screeching tires warn of impending doom, the entire street freezes. A child wails, ear piercing, brokenhearted as angels weep. Mothers, uncertain run to their doors. Was this their child?

In the center of the road she stood, teddy in tatters.

No living person was harmed only her beloved teddy bear.


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

The Hot Flash word is Brokenhearted. The word limit is 50 words. This one comes in at exactly 50.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

Ungentle Histories

The dam broke. Something roared to the surface, something whispered in corners, I felt as if all the air was being sucked out of the room and I wanted to pick something up and just beat someone with it. Instead, I decided to write another entry to Broken Chains.


In my industry, we have a saying, “close hold”. It means things that are not revealed, instead they are held closely to the chest. I have always treated some of my history as ‘close hold’; it is mine and mine alone. I will hint at it, throw pebbles into passive lake waters to watch the ripple affect but my entire adult life I have treated some parts as dark secrets, as was demanded of me. This ‘close hold’ in large part has been a tribute to those who never deserved the gift of my silence. The other part has been the lesson learned so many years ago, I have simply been unable to let it go the lesson of shame and fear.

It was told nearly 45 years ago, one who should have loved me should have protected me, should have taught me to speak truth, that one chose instead to do no such thing. Their choice was too fling me into a vortex; an emotional black hole demanding my silence because the alternative was somehow their shame. Worse even than this would be the loss of love from the person I loved most in the world, I was convinced if I spoke up I would be spurned, found forever wanting. They convinced me, I was not believable. That even if I was to scream my pain and hurt, I would be rebuffed. No one would believe me, no matter what I said because I was nothing more than a  …….




These were the words thrown at an eleven-year-old child. Words of power. Words of rage. Words burned into a soul still unformed and willing to believe. Words that fell like the Blacksmiths Pein on the soft Anvil that was my young and untrained heart. Words that would set my feet on a path for years to come. Convinced of my lack I would unwind what little of my ego remained and offer my heart and my body to anyone who would validate my conviction of valueless. Unable to fight back, I would accept the brutality even at times welcome it as it corroborated what I knew about myself, what I had been told; that I was less than and undeserving of love or care.

All this, all the brutality. All the loss because my mother wanted to preserve her standing. She failed an eleven-year-old-child who had been gang raped. She failed to report. She failed even to tell that child’s father. She demanded that child’s silence and even blamed that child for the brutality of that rape. That child was me, she failed me and miserably so.

I knew who raped me, I knew all their names. I knew who stood by and watched, laughing as it happened. I knew who held my legs, I knew who held my arms. I knew who tripped me. I knew who tore my clothing off. I knew which of them touched me and which of them had intercourse with me. I knew which one of them took my virginity, laughing when he realized he had done so. I would have to attend school with my rapists for two years. Because no action was taken against them, there was no repercussion for their actions I was emotionally and physically brutalized by my classmates. Teachers heard the story of my rape but believed I was a voluntary participant in my own pitiless and inhumane violation, my introduction into the world of sex. Slut was something whispered in the halls as I walked by, not for something I did but for what was done to me and what my mother failed to do.

My heart was damaged, my core was broken and I retreated to an internal life, one that I don’t believe I have ever quite stopped living in. My pragmatism is my strength and my defense. My views on forgiveness were formed in 1968, though I couldn’t have defined them as clearly as I can today they haven’t changed very much since that time.

Life journeys are odd things. What set my feet on the path I have trod was a random act of cruelty forty-five years ago. So many of my choices since that time, so much of how I saw the world for so many years tie directly back to that single terrible and fateful day. I didn’t think I would ever tell this story, but Steubenville, has brought the memory raging to the forefront. My heart breaks for this young girl, for the terrible and heartbreaking future she faces as she begins to rebuild her life.

My brother has said to me my mother did what she thought was best at the time, I will never accept this answer no person with a heart does what she did to a child thinking it was best for that child. We were both adopted but our experiences were very different. I have always wondered why, I don’t think we will ever know now.

The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness, and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival.

Aristotle (384 – 322 BC)

Our life is always deeper than we know, is always more divine than it seems, and hence we are able to survive degradation’s and despairs which otherwise must engulf us.

William James (1842 – 1910),  pioneering American psychologist and philosopher

Deeds survive the doers.

Horace Mann (1796 – 1859)

Oppression can only survive through silence.

Carmen de Monteflores

Making of Me

What if someone asked you today to define yourself, all that is you, who you are and what makes up the core of you. Could you do it?

One of my favorite bloggers, Rebecca “Sweet Mother” Donohue, did just that the other day in her three hundred and fortieth post (I am half way there and in awe of this number), What Made You (#340)? Her post got me thinking, even as I read and sometimes giggled I was thinking about what made me what I am. Rebecca asked a question, “What made you?”

My answer to her question was simplistic, it was also the only way I knew to answer on someone else’s blog, it was this.

My history forced me to make the best of me. My future forces me to see what is possible for the rest.

I look at that answer I think, what does that really mean? Big picture, little picture all of us are cobbled together from so many different experiences, so many different sensory inputs and so many  choices we make through the course of a lifetime. What really sticks?

So, I thought to myself, I want to take that answer and expand it. I want to try to pick apart what is important and trace the roots back to what made me.

scan0028My Parents Made Me: all of them, each in their own way contributed to how I view relationships both inside and outside of family. Most people only have one set of parents, I have three and half sets each individual added to who I am over my lifetime. Of course, my biological parents contributed my DNA but more than this, when I met them in my twenties they gave me a sense identity. My adoptive parents showed me the world and expanded my opportunities, they also taught me survival instincts and unfortunately hate. My adoptive father and my heart mother taught me the most important lesson of all, don’t settle for anything short of real love. My heart mother made me more compassionate, she taught me to see others with empathy and to forgive shortcomings, she taught me to heal.

Travel Made Me: exposure to the world made me, it broadened my horizons from a very early age. Travel made me more willing to accept what wasn’t exactly like what I had at home and even welcome what020 Venice San Marko 6504 was different. World travel made me look for adventure, excited by new stamps on my passport and miles in my airline bank. Travel wiped out the jingoistic attitude we Americans so often have that cause our “Ugly American” reputation worldwide. Travel seeped into my blood and spirit at a very early age, I have had a passport since I was six and never let it expire. Travel taught me there is wide-world out there that think and do differently than me.

Dance Made Me: as a very young child, I was Pigeon Toed, drastically so. I wore really ugly corrective shoes (when anyone could get me into them). Finally a doctor suggested Ballet might help to correct both my posture and my Pigeon Toedness (is that a word?). Off we went, beginning Ballet at barely five (5), even before I saw my first Nutcracker Suite. I was lost forever after, even when the teacher hit my toes to point them out. I was lost, linda2even when she cracked my knees to bend them properly. I loved dance I specifically loved ballet. I loved the discipline of it. I loved the movement, I would move furniture in the living room and dance when no one was home. I would practice form in my bedroom using the window as my barre. Dance taught me self-discipline and beauty.

The Men in My Life Made Me: not telling who or how many, not important. The men in my life both those I married and those I didn’t made me who I am. This is true whether we ended well or on the other end of the spectrum and ended nightmarishly. The men I have chosen to partner with over my lifetime have taught me enormous lessons about myself, life, forgiveness and obviously love. Whether those lessons were how to walk away and rebuild or how to love someone who failed me, all of these lessons made me. There was a time when my heart was set behind a steel door, the key was in a bottomless sea and I had no space in my life for love, no patience for fools in love. Over time, the men in my life including brothers, fathers, lovers and husbands have taught me better and thus made me who I am today.

The Women in My Life Made Me: I have been mostly fortunate in my friends, blessed in the longevity of my friendships. The women in my life have enriched me in more ways than I can ever say. Though cautious in who I let in I have been uncommonly privileged; when I am unlucky even then, I have learned lessons I apparently needed at the time.  All the women in my life have made me, from mothers, sisters to heart sisters, friends and mentors.

The Convicts in My Life Made Me: sounds strange doesn’t it, for nine years I have walked a road I never thought to walk, speaking about what happened to me twenty-one years ago to offenders. Speaking in a program intended to teach Empathy to Offenders based on the experiences of real victims, like me. When I started down this path, I was so angry still my fury was white hot I could not imagine how I was going to stand in front of a room of Convicts and not lash out. I made it through that night and many more since then. I have expanded speaking to Juvenile Offenders in the Sex Offender program, because it is important. How do they make me? Because they have stories, because their humanity exists right alongside mine and I have learned compassion and empathy as I stand up and tell my story and listen to theirs.

There is more that went into the making of me, I know there is more, some of it terrible.

  • Violence made me. I have let it go, I will not allow what was done to own my future.
  • Rape made me. I have let it go, my past does not own today or my future.
  • Pain makes me even today, it does not own me though.
  • Divorce and abandonment made me, it does not own me it does not convince me of my worth.

Writing makes me today, I am learning a craft I thought I had no talent for but I am finding my voice and my heart in it.

What makes you?

Red Hat for Red

redhatOne must wonder what we are coming too in this world, what we are becoming. My friend who is generally not one to rant, not one to open the windows and scream into the wind, not one to open the door to her world and show her personal fury has done just that. As I read her justified tirade, I was ravaged by the heartlessness shown her by those who surround her. Truthfully, I wanted to jump on a plane with my cowboy boots firmly in place and go stomp on some people’s heads.

Well stomping on people is wrong; you and I know violence never solves anything. Thinking about it surely does make us feel better sometimes though.

When I consider what my friend, Red does for others, what she accomplishes every day I am dumbfounded. It amazes me, always her capacity too reach out and share of herself and her knowledge and experience, rarely getting redscarlettthanked, rarely getting much in return. Then I smack myself in the forehead, I think how little help she has, day in and day out; living on top of a mountain one mile past where the hell am I in South Carolina, with two young Autistic children and not one single bit of help from anyone.

Want more? Please read what Red has to say about the State, the City and just how heartless people really are here.

Read Red’s Story

FTP 10 Ashamed

“She is your child to the core!”

“It took both of us to create her I suspect.”

“She is yours. Just look at her, no sense of shame.”

The both stared out the window at their beautiful three-year-old child, gleeful in her innocence cavorting in the noonday sun. Mother her brow pulled together and lips pursed; but Father, his smile nearly as broad as the Linda_the fence0001child’s.

“Father, aren’t you ashamed just look she is climbing over the fence. What will the neighbors think?”

“It looks dangerous, she might get splinters, but why ashamed?”

“She is naked!”

“She is a child.”


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

This week’s word is Ashamed. The word limit is 100 words. This one comes in at exactly 100.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

FTP 9 Intoxicated

True watched with jaded eyes and a secret smile. That one, he would be hers. Intoxicated, power flowing she focused. He dropped the hand of his partner meeting True’s eyes, bowing his head, submission in his every movement. Yes, he would be hers before the end of the night.

The season’s last revelry, the affluent of the city snap up tickets to a night of well-contained folly. Unbeknownst to them, this night will be different, this night the well-heeled are visited by Bacchus himself, their party spilling into the streets of the city, embracing the true meaning of bacchanalia.


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

This week’s word is Intoxicated. The word limit is 100 words. This one comes in at 99.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

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