You can check out my website at www.RDLarson.com
POLITICAL SLASH
I get so torqued out about all the slamming of the candidates. And you know who is at fault? The stupid news medias, CNN, FOX, ABC, CBS, MS NBC and multiple others. What do they think? That these candidates for PRESIDENT are somehow really rock stars like Brittany or publicity hogs like Paris? Their personal lives do matter but the lengths to which these media moguls scramble for do not exist. Good Grief! Give IT a rest. So what does it matter if this wife or that guy said something off? Or the Candidate stumbles? Let me see you talk for 17 months straight and not repeat yourself! Okay, end of soap box tirade!
DOGGIE SPLASH
Zippy had his third "arm" surgery for cancer a few days ago. He's doing great but it it comes back the vet says he is a good candidate for amputation. Now I got a whole host of questions about that. He is 15 or thereabouts. As long as he is acting happy eating sleeping and playing he has a good life. If he gets so bad that I think he is suffering, you know what I will do. It's like this. He can't talk; I can and I think what would be right for me in this situation. I think people need to take their responsibilites to their dogs seriously. They are our alter egos and our true friends.
FICTION FLASH
The Heat of Spring
by
RD Larson
As the hot wind swept through the park, a man watched. It was late afternoon, dry for once after nights of rain, yet warm enough to be summer.
She would be here soon. Finally he heard the sound of a horse and soon the carriage pulled up.
Adrianna stepped out with the help of the driver. She looked fragile and ethereal. She had been his goddess for all these months.
She should have known that he had spies everywhere. She should not have coupled with that writer from England.
"Good afternoon, my dear. How lovely you look," Cyril bowed and extended his hand, "Let us walk."
"Please wait for Miss Alford," he called to the driver who nodded his head, already dozing in the fading sunlight.
"Cyril, how kind to think of a picnic under the trees. Thank you for sending your carriage."
"Darling, you can't know how I love to surprise you," Cyril lead her into the trees. He patted her pale hand where it lay on his forearm.
Her blue eyes, so innocent, hid her lie. A surge of anger like a torch seared his stomach.
Cyril reached for her, wanting to kiss her one last time. As she raised her lips to his, he envisioned her in the arms of that young man. As his lips touched her, the flame flashed to his hands and set him afire.
In an explosion of fury, as their lips met, his hands closed around the white throat, pressing -- squeezing as the young woman realized her death was near and struggled. Cyril could not feel his own hands as they fulfilled his tormented jealousy. Crushing her neck, his hands snuffed out Adrianna's last breath.
Gently, lovingly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the trees to the stagnant pond near the deep forest that bordered on the park. The fetid stench floated in the heat. He threw her body into the murky green slim and watched it slowly sink into the bottom mud.
Cyril sighed. He turned away walking until he reached his horse; he swung up on to the sorrel mare.
"My lost love."
POLITICAL SLASH
I get so torqued out about all the slamming of the candidates. And you know who is at fault? The stupid news medias, CNN, FOX, ABC, CBS, MS NBC and multiple others. What do they think? That these candidates for PRESIDENT are somehow really rock stars like Brittany or publicity hogs like Paris? Their personal lives do matter but the lengths to which these media moguls scramble for do not exist. Good Grief! Give IT a rest. So what does it matter if this wife or that guy said something off? Or the Candidate stumbles? Let me see you talk for 17 months straight and not repeat yourself! Okay, end of soap box tirade!
DOGGIE SPLASH
Zippy had his third "arm" surgery for cancer a few days ago. He's doing great but it it comes back the vet says he is a good candidate for amputation. Now I got a whole host of questions about that. He is 15 or thereabouts. As long as he is acting happy eating sleeping and playing he has a good life. If he gets so bad that I think he is suffering, you know what I will do. It's like this. He can't talk; I can and I think what would be right for me in this situation. I think people need to take their responsibilites to their dogs seriously. They are our alter egos and our true friends.
FICTION FLASH
The Heat of Spring
by
RD Larson
As the hot wind swept through the park, a man watched. It was late afternoon, dry for once after nights of rain, yet warm enough to be summer.
She would be here soon. Finally he heard the sound of a horse and soon the carriage pulled up.
Adrianna stepped out with the help of the driver. She looked fragile and ethereal. She had been his goddess for all these months.
She should have known that he had spies everywhere. She should not have coupled with that writer from England.
"Good afternoon, my dear. How lovely you look," Cyril bowed and extended his hand, "Let us walk."
"Please wait for Miss Alford," he called to the driver who nodded his head, already dozing in the fading sunlight.
"Cyril, how kind to think of a picnic under the trees. Thank you for sending your carriage."
"Darling, you can't know how I love to surprise you," Cyril lead her into the trees. He patted her pale hand where it lay on his forearm.
Her blue eyes, so innocent, hid her lie. A surge of anger like a torch seared his stomach.
Cyril reached for her, wanting to kiss her one last time. As she raised her lips to his, he envisioned her in the arms of that young man. As his lips touched her, the flame flashed to his hands and set him afire.
In an explosion of fury, as their lips met, his hands closed around the white throat, pressing -- squeezing as the young woman realized her death was near and struggled. Cyril could not feel his own hands as they fulfilled his tormented jealousy. Crushing her neck, his hands snuffed out Adrianna's last breath.
Gently, lovingly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the trees to the stagnant pond near the deep forest that bordered on the park. The fetid stench floated in the heat. He threw her body into the murky green slim and watched it slowly sink into the bottom mud.
Cyril sighed. He turned away walking until he reached his horse; he swung up on to the sorrel mare.
"My lost love."
