The Christmas Forest by Rebecca Boxall

Prologue
Friday 17 November 2917
Enid

Even as she approached the postbox, it’s bright-red hue matching her sister’s winter coat, she wasn’t sure which one she would send. The letters looked identical: the same high-quality ivory envelopes; the same precise calligrapny – neat, inky loops; the name of the recipient and his exotic address; the stamps and the royal-blue ‘Airmail’ stickers. There was nothing to distinguish them at all but Enid knew absolutely that the one clapsed in her gloved left hand was a polite refusal and the other, in her right, said ‘yes’.

Elevation by Stephen King

Chapter 1

Losing Weight

Scott Carey knocked on the door of the Ellis condo unit, and Bob Ellis (everyone in Highland Acres still called him Doctor Bob, although he was five yeard retired) let him in. “Well, Scott, here you are. Ten on the dot. Now what can I do for you?”

So sorry about this week’s post. It was scheduled to post last night but it didn’t so it was a few hours late going up. And then when I checked it today Mister Linky was missing. Thanks for adding your links in your comments before I got it fixed!

Harbor Me by Jacqueline Woodson

We think they took my papi.

It’s over now. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe, even as I sit on my bed in the dying light of the late afternoon, it’s beginning again. Maybe Ms. Laverne is looking over the new class list, her finger moving down the row of names. Maybe her, she is thinking. And him. And her. But it won’t be the same. It won’t ever be the six of us together again.

We think they took my pappi.

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

1.
Ma
1952

The morning burned so August hot, the marsh’s moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog. The palmetto patches stood unusually quiet except for the low, slow flap of the heron’s wings lifting from the lagood. And then, Kya, only six at the time, heard the screen door slap. Standing on the stool, she stopped scrubbing grits from the pot and lowered into the basin of worn-out suds. No sounds now but her own breathing. Who had left the shack? Not Ma. She never let the door slam.

But when Kya ran to the porch, she saw her mother in a long brown skirt, kick pleats nipping at her ankles, as she walked down the sandy lane in high heels.The stubby-nosed shoes were fake alligator skin. Her only going-out pair. Kya wanted to holler out but knew not to rouse Pa, so she opened the door and stood on the brick-‘n’-board steps. From there she saw the blue train case Ma carried. Usually, with the confidence of a pup, Kya knew her mother would return with meat wrapped in greasy brown paper or with a chicken, head dangling down. But she never wore the gator heels, never took a case.

The Lido by Libby Page

Chapter 1
~~~~~~~~~
Step out of Brixton underground station and it is a carnival of steel drums, the white noise of traffic, and that man on the corner shouting “God Loves You”, even to the unlovable.

“Tickets for the Bixton Academy tonight”, yells a ticket tout at the station entrance. “Buying and selling tickets for the Brixton Academy!”. Commuters shake their heads at promoters and preachers who try to thrust leaflets into their clenched hands. You push through the crowds and walk past the Rastafarian selling incense and records outside the Starbucks. Across the road is Morleys, the independent department store that has stood on the street for years. “Love Brixton” glows in neon lights in the nearby window of TK Maxx.

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson

february 12, 1963

I am born on a Tuesday at University Hospital
Columbus, Ohio
USA-
a country caught

between Black and White

I am born not long from the time
or far from the place
where
my great-great-grandparents
worked the deep rich land
unfree
dawn till dusk
unpaid
drank cool wather from the scooped-out gourds
looked up and followed
the sky’s mirrored constellation
to freedom.

The Bridge: A Collection of Short Stories by Paula Kay

Not Today

Laura glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror as she waited for the light to change.

So tired. She looked so damn tired. And old. And pathetic, she thought as she noticed just how red her eyes were from the latest onslaught of tears that had come during the last hour.