Ruby Road

She lived on Ruby Road. You know the old woman who wore pearls in her hair. They said she was a beautiful dancer, back in the day when her copper black hair glistened with stars. I wondered what day they meant. Was it the day my daughter cried? Or the day my son’s heart broke? But Ruby Road danced, back in the day with pearls in her hair. Her hair white as pearls now. I thought she should thread sapphires and emeralds in that glorious snow white mane of hers. A lady ballerina with silk slippers lifting her to heaven. Those elegant feet, magical toes like wands tipping magicians’ top hats.

Her name they say–Ella O’Worster. No worster for wear. The wear that catches up–actually runs faster–while we slow down. Not a very nice fast fuckin’ fella. But Ella O’Worster, biblically prayed now with the faith of a wizened old woman hiding beneath a veil of folded flesh. Her spine overburdened in time. Smile. Smile yes she still had the smile like pearls when her hair was wrapped in a dancerina lump bringing her two inches closer to the clouds. To her God. She was anxious to leap up. In her mind, she waltzed with God. He touched her cheek. His smile pearls too. But his eyes were diamonds in blue. Those diamonds in blue were limelight flashbulbs bursting away to capture her and God dancing across the air, on the clouds. Which by the way, she prayed tasted like marshmallows. The tiny ones she loved disappearing in her cocoa.

Ella O’Worster would disappear like mini marshmallows, with pearls in her hair that glistened with stars. Her smooth lips glossed in orange-blossom pink. She knew God adored orange-blossom pink. The lotus trees breathed these secrets to her when she danced in the bathroom or in the hallway or in the little kitchen that used to be home to her little dog Sampson. Now it was just her. Her ballerina slippers tied to her bedpost. Sampson’s little woven green collar hung there too. Everyone was waiting including the mini marshmallows each night to meet God and dance a waltz on a cloud white like pearls against a sky of orange lotus flowers.

wood nymph

hearts out to Orlando

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21 thoughts on “Ruby Road

  1. Beautiful work AnnMarie! How was your weekend AnnMarie! I created a facebook author page where I am posting links to short stories so the readers can read stories from 3 years ago. My link is https://www.facebook.com/emma01wceltic39/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel if ur interested I know you are busy. I’ve been using the links to reach people on twitter. I’ve been super excited that my book was well received with no negative criticism. AnnMarie=Number One! Wo hoo hoo woo woo hoo woo hoo Love The AnnMarie

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      • Thanks AnnMarie in general Italians rock especially ones named AnnMarie. That is awesome you guys are enjoying yourselves. This is a great moment for me and a time where I need to let it sink in of what an historic accomplishment I achieved. I got a big source of inspiration from all my friends I was glad I got to make a video to thank them.

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      • hey, Dan
        watched the video!
        you know being the old gal that I am, I would have left a youtube comment but wasn’t sure quite what to do and my kiddies are not in the immediate area to run tech support –
        just want to say how very sweet and thoughtful you are – to thank friends in such a candid way – you’re a special young man and I know you writing will continue to blossom into beautiful bloody roses;) hey, had to put that in to keep in your horror motif
        am:)

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      • No worries AnnMarie I am just glad I got to do that video to show how much I appreciate your friendship. I wish I could have thanked everyone but not enough battery for that. Thanks for your nice words AnnMarie. You are a great friend and I am glad we are friends. Yea I’ll keep on writing, It’s so much fun and I love it. And I love the AnnMarie too. woo hoo! You might be older but you still are the prettiest girl in the world!

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      • Well I don’t want to do that I posted 30-40 of my short stories dating back 3 years. If you scroll back you’ll find them. Good summer reading they give me fond memories of when I was just starting writing short stories. I look forward to my next horror book coming soon dedicating it to John Carpenter,

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  2. My kind of story–especially those gorgeous details: the slippers tied to the bedpost, the little dog’s “woven green collar” hanging there, too. Those two details speak volumes, speak a life. “Truth” should be a tag for this piece, AM, for this flash fiction speaks the truth of life. Poetic prose, my friend. DS

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