Creativity is a beautiful thing.
Sometimes, we need a little bit more oomph to describe our meaning. In a Bit of Imagination, you will find a collection of creativity. This is where stories come to life through painting, photography, literary works, music, videos and the like.
Join us in our first excerpt by award-winning author Casey L. Bond. Casey lives in Milton, West Virginia with her husband and their two, beautiful daughters. When she’s not busy being a domestic goddess and chasing her baby girls, she loves to write young adult and new adult fiction. You can find more information about Bond’s books via her website, newsletter, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
This is Frenzy:
Mother wore her manipulative face this morning, my least favorite. She blew out a long breath, filling the air with the rancid scents of disappointment and aggravation. That was her modus operandi: out with the bad, in with the good. But Miranda Grant never found enough good. She could never inhale enough hope or contentment to keep her from suffocating. So she struggled through every second of the day, a perpetual frown thinning her lips, a rigid frame and cold, dismissive eyes.
She yelled more often than not, reminding me I was more the cause of her disdain than the utter despair we found ourselves in. The world had gone to shit and she didn’t ask for this life. But then again, none of us did. Mother handled it more poorly than everyone else—her moods and actions swinging violently back and forth across an invisible pendulum. One moment she would dismiss me without so much as a glance or flippant gesture, and the next she would strike out. But I learned to use the reflexes I was given, snatching her wrist before her hand could make contact with my cheek.
This morning, she chose the well-trodden path of disdain when she should have been mourning. If I knew my mother, she would soon go into fix-it mode because she knew better than everyone else in Blackwater about what was wrong with the world. All anyone had to do was ask her. And if they didn’t ask, she would gladly offer the solution in detail, at which point I would gratefully fade into the background and sneak away. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Hearing it often enough, I was sure, would make my ears bleed.
I tugged down the sleeve of my hand-me-down dress until it grazed my wrist, almost reaching to where it should ideally lay. Mother leaned against the Formica countertop, assessing me. Her steely blue eyes took in every detail, every stray thread; the way the dress didn’t and would never fit me the way it had my sister. I would never measure up to Mercedes; never fill her shoes, literally and figuratively. My sister was beautiful, petite, and full of life. She was happy; the embodiment of everything Mother thought should be mixed together to create the recipe of the perfect woman, the perfect daughter. I was her exact opposite.
Where Mercedes had been short and curvy, I was tall, and my bones protruded indelicately. Where her hair looked like golden honey in summer, mine was a dull, light brown and dry like the withered stalks of corn in winter. She was light and I was too much like my mother. I was dark. But unlike Mother, I wasn’t miserable. I just had a different outlook on life, different goals than those she had chosen for me. And unlike my sister, I wasn’t afraid to voice those aspirations, to carve my own path. Unlike my sister, I was alive. That fact alone made Mother hate me.
Mother cleared her throat and offered a slight smile, tucking an errant strand of silvering hair back into her tight bun. “You look terrible in her dress.” I stood taller, despite the words that should have made me cower. She noticed. Wrinkles formed around her tightly pursed lips and she narrowed her eyes. I tugged on the sleeves again. I was too tall for Mercedes’ dresses, too tall by several inches, but they were all we had so they would have to work. To Mother’s chagrin, I would wear them proudly. They were all I had left of Mercedes. All that was left of her light were her ebony dresses, the signature of all Colony women.
My feet carried me through the kitchen and out the back door before more venom could spew from her mouth.
Cover Design for Frenzy: Marisa Shor of Cover Me, Darling
Cover Model: Ali Burgamy
© 2016 Casey L. Bond
Creativity is what you make of it.
I don’t know about you, but I definitely want to read more! If you would like a glimpse into this creative mind, please read Passion and Life Do Mix in a Bit in the Life of featuring Casey L. Bond, where every day people persevere to make life a little more beautiful one dream at a time. Let your creativity blossom. Find your passion. Stay beautiful!