UNDER THE WILL… OVER THE DRAMA…

Tag: Turf

  • The First Hour Is Different Now…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    The First Hour Is Different Now… The first hour of the day used to belong to him. Not in any official sense… he never signed anything. But try telling him that. He ran it like a small, furry dictator. There was a system. A routine. An expectation that I would rise, acknowledge his existence, and…

  • Angel on a Broomstick…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    Angel on a Broomstick… Some days, I think the universe must be having a laugh, because if you’d told me years ago I’d become an angel on a broomstick, I’d have rolled my eyes and gone back to my tea. But here I am. Wings a little bent from turbulence, halo slightly dented, and broom…