The creek's water hissed and crackled, racing over sharp rocks and fallen branches. They had walked through the woods, moonlight filtered through the changing leaves, turning blood red. They were completely alone.

Lily held her secret. And that made her dangerous.

The only way for a secret to truly die was for the body that held it to die with it.

Wisps of hair were slipping out of Lily's braid, the jasmine blossoms she had woven in were wilting.

She pressed her hands into Lily's back, and pushed her into the whispering water below.

I'm a 52-year-old white "upper class" attractive mom, 5'4" 100 pounds, With blonde hair and green eyes. I Built and lived in $800 homes with my ex. Good-Bye ex.

I just had my world shaken again. In 2019 I was homeless walking the streets wondering where will I sleep. Oh YES, was that, an experience. And what could be worse than being homeless and your daughters not talking to you?

Finding out you are an orphan, mom died during childbirth. I am blamed for her death. I was a "rape" baby. "who is daddy?"

no-one.

I am truly all alone.

Legs trembling, she made it to the door. A relieved sigh escaped her as she fumbled to get the right key into the door. Cars honking around her would pull her attention away, but after several attempts, she finally unlocked the door. She made a beeline for the bathroom. She was practically dancing as she twirled anxiously as she struggled with the drawstring of her jogging pants. She got them down and sat down to see the blood that stained her underwear. She had felt it, but seeing it made the tears fall harder as she dialed her OB/GYN's number.

Every Summer the town of Ravello, which sits at a lofty 1200 feet above the azure blue Mediterranean along Italy’s stunning Amalfi coast, puts on a classical music festival. On moonlit evenings a full orchestra assembles on the grounds of a 13th century villa perched at the edge of a limestone cliff commanding an unbroken view of the gulf. Against this backdrop of sea and sky the audience watches spellbound to the strains of heavenly violins. I can think of nothing more desirous for my ultimate romantic getaway than to sit there on such an evening with my lovely lady

Cheri hides things, big and small, real and imagined.

She squirrels away tokens she finds walking home. Pretty, plastic gemstones from crushed rings, a soldier figurine, a cigarette butt. Though these aren’t big, she knows where they are and can exercise control.

Cheri hides bigger things lamentably real, too. Pretty, bluish bruises from crushed arteries in her arm, circular burns from a cigarette butt.

Things Cheri hides that she imagines are more frightful to her than painful scabs and scars. These scare her to the brink of telling someone, revealing retaliatory fantasies. But so far, she’s kept them to herself.