The Christmas Angel

Christmas Angel

I lit the fire in the fireplace, and sat down, drink in hand. This was a tradition for me, every night of the Christmas season. The tree went up on December 1st, and came down on New Year’s Day. I loved decorating it – placing the bits and pieces that I had collected over the years on the branches, writing a new story with them each year.

The little angel at the top – her story stays the same each year. She was a gift from someone that had left my life. She reminds me of good times, and bad.

I honor her, and she honors me.

(c) December 2018 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

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Christmas Ornaments

Christmas Ornaments

Amanda sat, staring at the Christmas ornament sitting in from of her. Odd how memories can be attached to inanimate objects. It had been her mother’s, but her mother was dead.

Why had her mother kept it? Why not give it away – or throw it away. Her mother had clung to it all these years. For her it represented hope. For Amanda, it represented the day that her father had walked out of their lives – never to return. She put the memory back in the box, and put the lid on. She was not going to allow this memory to haunt her.

(c) December 2017 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

 

What the Cards Say to Each Other

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Cards from the Morgan-Greer Tarot

King of Rods: “That was an interesting reading! I was very clear on what the Seeker was to do, and you, Fool, you did not make clear what the consequences would be if they were to take the action they want to take!”

The Fool: “With you on the one side, pushing your vision, and the Empress on the other side,  insisting on balancing things, what was I to do!”

The Empress: “Fool, I do not always appreciate you trying to turn balance into risk! I could not temper the King of Rods, but I could temper you!”

So Be It!

(c) November 2017
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.

Little Things Count

Earth Day Flash Fiction

The war had been going on for many years. All over the earth actions had been taken – grave actions, with consequences that went far beyond what the eye could see. The land was disintegrating, the seas were being poisoned, fires were ravaging the land, the winds were wrecking carnage.

The Council had met many times, under clandestine circumstances, in Zurich, Hong Kong, New York, and London. No one ever saw them together, no one knew what they discussed, no one knew the financial considerations.

Earth needed to be saved, and saved now. That is what the Watchers were there for.

(c) April 2015 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without the written consent of the author.

The Skill of the Mask

Flash Fiction

There are masks all around us – every day, everywhere. Some are shoddy, and slip easily. Some are created with great care, and wear well. Does your mask wear well? Do you wear your mask, or does it wear you? If you wear your mask, in the blink of an eye you can take it off and replace it. If it wears you – well, it might be there forever, essentially becoming a false mask, or it might slip off entirely, without you being aware, and leaving you open to the world.

How important is your mask to you? It is a connundrum.

(c) September 2017 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.

In The Dead Of The Night

Flash Fiction

I love walking in the dead of the night. As a kid, in our neighborhood it was perfectly safe to do so . Now, of course, times have changed. But I still love walking in areas that are well lit, late at night.  It is quiet, and I can think.

Walking by the houses, one imagines the stories that they have to tell. The streetlights, the trees, the well tended yards – they are all part of the story.

Past, present, and future become one in the gateway of night. We write, and rewrite, our stories. Choose your ending wisely, my friend!

(c) August 2017 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

Holding Time In Our Hands

time

Time is such an elusive quality, she thought. Can we really hold it in our hands? Time just seemed to slip away, for no reason. It was there, and then it wasn’t. The times that she tried to hold onto it were the times when she became the most frustrated.

Life went so much better when she ignored time, when it held only a minimal place in her life. Time seemed to be the curtain opening and closing on the performance of life.

The ebb and flow of life was just that – movement that was never meant to end.

(c) August 2017 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.