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Date: Tuesday, March 28, 2000
From: Michelle Shuttlesworth <mshuttlesworth@yahoo.com>
Shades of Beauty
By: Michelle Shuttlesworth
Interlude 3
<You're just being nuts, she's fine,> Mrs. Luder thought to
herself for what must have been the fifth time that night.
She was currently lying in her bed next to her husband and
listening to him sleep soundly, oblivious to the worries
that were running through her head. She envied him this.
He always woke up refreshed in the morning while she often
felt more worn down than she had when she first went to
bed. It had all started with her little girl's friend,
Bobbie, being kidnapped. Even though she had been
returned, the fear was still raw in her mind.
<Just one little peek, then I'll go back to bed,> Mrs.
Luder thought, trying to calm herself with this idea. She
crept out of her bed, careful to not wake her husband and
padded her way down the hall.
The window at the far end of the hallway cast a ray of
moonlight into the otherwise darkened space, illuminating
her flowered, flannel nightgown. She made her way past the
bathroom and her little boy's bedroom, just peeking in to
make sure he was sleeping comfortably, before she came to
the child who had effectively stolen her slumber.
She pushed the door open with a slight nudge and looked
over to the small bed, expecting to see the auburn curls of
her daughter peeking out from under the purple comforter.
When she did not see them, she went over closer, thinking
that perhaps she was looking from the wrong angle. Coming
upon the bed, she got a sick feeling in her stomach and
flung open the covers only to be greeted by the sight of
empty sheets.
A pained scream rang out through the still house, followed
by a thump as Mrs. Luder's body hit the floor.
******************
What do you think so far? I would love to hear from you.
Michelle :-)
=====
Poems are windows to the soul. They are the glue that holds the rest of the world together
and they are the helping hands that put our lives in perspective. You can survive without
poetry, but you cannot really live until you feel its presence for poetry is in every
action,
it is in every word, every phrase that falls from a human tongue. It is in the movement of
the oceans and the songs of birds. It is in the air and in the sun. Poetry in motion is
what
makes the days seem brighter and the stars look more radiant. You are poetry whether you
realize it or not, you are beautiful.
__________________________________________________