Kristine E. Brickey

       Sunday evenings used to mean a giant bowl of popcorn and the whole family snuggled together watching the Disney movie of the week. First, my mom made sure all three kids had early baths. I remember the excitement of being squeaky clean, hair brushed, flannel nightgown, slippers, and robe on and tied tight for the popping portion of our evening.        See, in the old days, we popped popcorn on the stove. I can still remember how much fun it was, waiting for that first kernel to explode, and then after a few seconds the next, and the next until they were popping too quickly to keep them separate anymore. First, my mom would take out the big metal pan, pour in some oil (the old vegetable kind, nothing fancy like olive oil in those days), and wait for it to heat a bit. Once the first tendril of smoke coiled out of the pan, mom would pour in the yellow kernels, shake the pan to even things out, and then put the lid on tight.     ...

  Morning Chores After mixing Old Man Donkey’s feed, Blending hot water and pellets, oatmeal fit for fifty-something years, I step outside into a new January morning. Bracing cold steals my breath, but Mesa’s nicker from somewhere Hidden in the darkness Warms my heart. The sky is still dark, and stars twinkle overhead.   I love morning chores in the winter.   Despite the wind blustering at my jacket, My smile widens as my little donk trots my way, Always ready for food, his belly Broad with stored fodder for any coming storm, his  Small hooves plunk path markers into drifted snowy speedbumps.   As horse and donkeys munch breakfasts, the barn Welcomes me inside, safe from the sting of the wind. Darkness is chased away with a flick of a switch.  Thor, the mighty rat killer, stretches his bulky gray cat form  From the warmth of his cozy flannel bed, blesses me by moving my way. Feral once upon a time, now he  Pushes his thick velveteen forehead into ...

As I watch the Inaugural news today, awaiting the current president's departure, I am saddened and infuriated. Once again, the world will be shown the true nature of this small minded man. Rather than leave with healing words for our Nation, this man has once again shown his true character. I do not wish to dwell upon political issues here, however. What this has brought to the forefront of my mind is something I believe with all of my heart. In our darkest moments, people show their truest selfs.  The day that my son died will remain the most devastating of my life, no matter how long I live. Even ten years, eight months, and four days later, I have not written about most of that day. That is not my intent now either.  On that darkest of days, my heart disintegrated. There were sounds coming from me that I didn't recognize as my own. I remember the poor officer in brown, standing to my right where I crouched on the concrete of my drive. But then, my son's father showed up ...

  Fiction in a Flash Writing Challenge: Mystery, Space, Raven/1000 word limit *This weekend a fellow writer, Allison Spooner, posted the above challenge. My story came as a combination of an idea from a Mid-Michigan Writers shadow prompt and Allison's. I don't usually write this genre, but I am proud of what I produced in a short  amount of time.  Please, let me know what you think in my blog comments section.    The Shadow of a Stranger   Shadows are portrayed as dark and dangerous, something to be feared; yet the day he showed up at her house, the only thing Gemma could think of was sunshine and hope. So many men out of work, carrying their belongings, asking for work, for food. Gemma had to send away more than she could assist. She could only do so much these days, post war, her husband missing in action, her home and her toddler absorbing all of her time, energy, and food supplies.   She hated sending them away, imagining her husband, wandering som...

One week into 2021, the year that everyone, including me, seemed to be rooting for as an easier route than 2020, and I find myself already needing to reflect and focus upon what really matters.  As I sit in my dark office, I am hoping that the certified electrician shows up sooner rather than later. You see, yesterday afternoon we had another recurrence of 'electrical problems or haunted house' issues. The fridge and stove went off. Dryer wouldn't work. Then, fridge and stove came back to life, but stove wouldn't produce any heat. The basement lights dimmed, came back, repeat. Then a new symptom...no water was coming out of the sinks anywhere in the house. Ahh, the added joy of being electrically dependent upon electricity to run the home's well. (Electrical...for sure.) Chad reported an outage to Consumers. They responded it would be a few hours, but then about an hour later, everything went back to full powered functioning. Red hot stovetop burners. Dryer spinnin...

  Even before Covid, I shared many times that I felt like the world has turned into one of the dystopian sci-fi novels I used to enjoy reading. I haven’t been able to indulge in that genre for a number of years because reality hits too closely in these times. As I watched the news this morning, my stomach clenching, my heart breaking, and my mind spinning, another moment popped into my head. In the final Twilight novel/movie, Alice takes the hand of Ari (super creepy vampire leader) to show him the truth, to show him what the future will be if he continues on his path of narcissistic destruction. In the movie, Alice is horrified as she realizes and says something along the lines of, ‘It doesn’t matter what I show you. You’ve already made up your mind.’ What follows in the movie is an all out shit show, much like what I stayed up late last night watching unfold on the news at our Capitol.  It doesn’t seem to matter what the truth is, and I don’t need to outline all the fa...