Time Warps


There’s a funny thing about calendars and time blocks and schedules and deadlines.


I like deadlines. They’re black-and-white numbers that don’t lie. Something due in three days? I have 72 hours. Easy.


Something due in five minutes?


I have one minute to breathe and four to get it done.


Easy.


Now, I’ve never been a procrastinator where work is concerned, far from it—unless it’s housework. In fact, I usually have the opposite problem. Deadline for a project three months out? Start it as soon as the idea strikes (which usually means I’m starting without all the needed facts and then proceed to get hours into something only to find out that I’m on the wrong track).


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FREE FICTION

The passing of his wife leaves Matt the single daddy of two little girls. Little girls who, in addition to dealing with insufferable loss, are also the target of their gossip-filled community. Can the weary father juggle it all in time to give his daughters one last Easter in the only home they’ve known before moving on?


Matt sat the dollar-store flashlight on the brown marble countertop and knelt on the tile floor in front of the bathroom cabinet. A black trash bag lay opened at his feet, a giant oval mouth waiting to swallow the last of Grace’s unneeded items. He glanced over the toilet toward the small window. The bottom pane was covered with frosted Contact paper to afford privacy and let in a bit of natural light. The top pane, it’s glass left bare, framed blue spring sky. A branch of one of the flowering crabapple trees he and Grace had planted in the landscaping of their brick ranch home ten years ago waved to him. Its dainty pink clusters were starting to give way to tender green leaves.


He’d avoided this task for some reason. This task in their master bathroom. The last of Grace’s belongings not earmarked for Sophie or Sarah hid beneath the sink on her side of their double vanity. The black vanity cabinet she’d picked out during their pre-move-in remodel. The one she’d chosen while she and Matt had taken a break from planting all those flowering crabs.

Grace was still everywhere.


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Copyright © 2019 by B.A. Paul
All work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. All work published on this site, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Beth's passion for writing started in grade school with an epic outer space adventure scribbled on 158 sheets of wide-ruled notebook paper with not-sharp-enough pencils. That manuscript was lost in a basement flood.


Thirty years, marriage, two kids and several dogs later, she's garnered enough story fodder to resurrect her passion—and this time she backs up her work!


She currently resides in Indiana with her family and a couple of meowing fur babies who enjoy walking across her keyboard.