Alameda sorted out the books, carefully arranging them in alphabetical order. Tomorrow she would need to take them back to the library. She needed more; she had read all of these. She fingered the title of each book, wanting to commit it to memory, wanting to never forget anything she read. Someday it might be useful. Someday she might need this knowledge. At nine, Alameda was already committed to a life of learning. She had selected three colleges that she was interested in attending, and was doing her best to keep her grades high enough to get accepted. It wasn’t easy, especially sharing her room with two sisters who tended toward noise, and the long list of chores each of them completed every night. It could be hard keeping up with her homework with a nine o’clock curfew, but somehow she always got it done.
Read More“Well-behaved women seldom make history.”
I was born under Venus rising. I was told I had an abnormally long love line. Numerous Tarot readings predicted I would be lucky in love. And when I met…him…I knew. I was truly blessed by the goddess of love.
Read MoreThe rest of the day was like a strange reality show. It was both like and unlike courtroom shows on the television, and it wasn’t even much like the original hearing. Perhaps each judge had their own style, but Amber felt much more comfortable this time. The judge didn’t spend all his time glaring at her, but maintained a neutral manner from the beginning to the end. Her lawyer focused on her case, and was prepared for a major fight if need be. She had prepared pages upon pages of notes, and her brief was thorough and damning. She knew her stuff.
Read MoreAmber realized this was the woman Brad had left her for, the model he had become enamored with, the one who made his wife seem quotidian, ordinary, down to earth. Amber had never pretended to be exotic, and watching Marguerite now, she was glad she had never adopted that style. The woman oozed insincerity, but Brad didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t take his eyes off her even as he asked Amber to run a couple of errands for him after the kids left.
Read MoreAmber shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the door. She pressed the bell again, knowing it had a habit of failing to work at the most important times. She resisted the urge to peek in the window and see if anyone was home. He should be home…they had an appointment. Was he just playing cat-and-mouse with her? She checked her watch against her phone; both showed the same time, and it was three minutes after time. She’d been standing here for five minutes. It was time to go.
Read MoreI pulled my chair closer to the desk and slid my growing belly into the space designed for a human body without that extra appendage. I glared at the offending protrusion as though it were to blame for my current situation. Actually, I think it probably was, but it wasn’t the fault of the child that was growing inside me. It was the fault of a world that seemed to believe that a pregnant woman was…well, something other than fully human.
Read MoreOgden started to crumple the card and throw it in the trash, but he caught sight of the name and straightened. He grabbed the tie he had thrown against the wall last night when he came home and buttoned his collar. He motioned to Lorelei and she brought him the suit jacket she hung on the coat rack last night after he flung it in the general direction and missed. When he arranged himself to his satisfaction, and smoothed his unruly hair, he growled at Lorelei to usher the men into the study. Lorelei rushed to comply, glad she would not be punished for intruding today.
Read MoreThe face was unfamiliar…but it was mine. Was it? Who was this man staring back at me? The mustache…the scar…the blue eyes with the puzzled look…that was me. I dug in my back pocket; I must have a wallet there. I came up empty. So, my face…but no name…nothing. I was lost, so lost I couldn’t even read the map of my own reflection.
Read MoreNEIL goes back to the computer, frowns, and starts to type. We see the words “Get off the Internet, bitch”, but before he can hit enter, the screen goes black. NEIL checks the cord, wiggles it, turns the computer back on, but the screen stays black. He begins to hit the computer, first softly, then harder. Finally, he hits the computer screen, but instead of his fist bouncing off, it glides into the computer screen as though it were made of water. He pulls on his arm. It won’t come out of the computer.
Read MoreThis poem is dedicated to all ex-husbands everywhere. I wish them only the best, that they should receive all that they deserve.
Read MoreSo I wrote. I wrote about the punchbowl. I wrote about being told I should be flattered when harassed. I wrote about my doll (well, actually, she’s a great memory. She belonged to my grandmother, a strong woman who taught me a lot, and tried her best to teach me how to have confidence in myself when everyone else was trying to teach me the opposite. She failed, but it wasn’t her fault). I wrote about the struggle with anorexia. I tried not to hurt as I wrote, but sometimes that’s not possible. I tried not to cry as I wrote, but sometimes tears are the only way we can communicate. I tried not to die inside as I wrote, and I think I did achieve that. I have a great husband who gives me fabulous support, and it helps to know the husband, the dog, and the two cats are all rooting for me, waiting for me at the end of the line, hoping I will cross that tape, even though I will not be first. There have been so many marvelous women there before me, so many incredible women who have been relegated to the dustbin of history in spite of their important contributions.
Read MoreLadies and gentlemen, I know what you have heard here has been damning. The victim was knocked down, his wallet snatched. Our witnesses are unimpeachable. The defendant signed an affidavit the night of the arrest. Yes, he had been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk, not enough to exclude the confession. It must seem to you like we’re wasting your time, making you come over here and listen to this, when you could be home with your loved ones. I agree. I think it is a total waste of your time. This case should never have been brought to the court at all.
Read MoreEmily struggled against the straps. She screamed, letting everyone know she was still here, and still alive. No one had been around for quite some time, ever since they strapped her down. Where was Ethan? He had left her here to die, to be killed, to be treated like a criminal. How could he say he loved her, and then subject her to this torture?
Read MoreA sound behind me alerted me that I and my coffee were no longer alone. I whirled, and found myself staring into a familiar pair of blue eyes. “How did you get in here? Go away”, I told the asshole in front of me. “You don’t belong here.”
Read MoreMAN 2: You realize you are taking the job away from a man who needs it, don’t you? A man who needs to feed his family is unemployed because you are sitting in that chair. A man much more qualified than you.
FEMINAZI: I am quite qualified. My transcripts are on record in my personnel file. I have ten years of experience working for Dexter, Masters, and Michaels import/export business. I will lay my credentials alongside any of the other applicants, and I trust I will not come up short.
Elena shook her head. “That play is saying something that has been heard forever. It’s heard day in and day out in courtrooms all across the country, in the news media, everywhere you look. Everyone is saying it, and everyone has always been saying it, and frankly, I’m sick of hearing it. Do you honestly believe that women who are molested are to be held responsible for the actions of the men who molest them?”
"No, of course not. But that’s not what this play is saying. It’s saying that women who go into the world dressed like they want it, flirting with men and leading them on, are responsible for their own behavior, and that they should think about how they dress, how they act, and how much they drink.”
Read MoreOne more week to go, and I have writer's block. So I decided to write about it, sort of a stream of consciousness poem.
Read MoreThe mail was late that day. Of course. That was the day the package was arriving. “What is the package”, Alicia wondered. The note was cryptic, simply telling her she would receive a package. It was unsigned, but the paper was fine, like that used for résumés or official documents. It looked like it might have come from a lawyer, or someone in the business world. It wasn’t the sort of paper she was used to receiving notes on; most notes she ever got were on Post-It notes and hung on the refrigerator. They were not stuck through the mail slot on fancy paper. So she waited.
Read MoreThe first day she came, she stood outside and shouted the password. She knew it was the correct password; it had been given to her by a reliable source, an insider, and she heard others say it when they wanted to enter. No one seemed to notice, except one small boy, and he just laughed. The doors remained closed, shutting her out while the others entered.
Read MoreRenae clutched the bag that contained the only items they allowed women to carry inside the clinic. She made a mental inventory. In addition to the bottle of sticky red fluid, there was six pair of underwear and an airtight container in which she discarded all her menstrual napkins. It wasn’t the first time she ached with longing to roam free on the savannah, naked and free, not treated like a criminal because she lived in a woman’s body.
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