Flash 500 by Nicole Pyles, Carrie K Sorensen (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

I've been looking after Jackson for just over a year, the longest resident that I'd had since entering into the fostering programme. They'd warned me that sometimes it could be hard to let go once a more permanent home had been found for them. The last two children I'd looked after were only babies, and I was surprised how easy it was to hand them over, knowing they were going to a loving family. But with Jackson he was quite a bit older, we could actually talk and get to know each other. He'd been very quiet when he first came to me and had terrible trouble sleeping. Quite often I'd check on him in the evening when he'd gone to bed, and he'd be sat at the window inside the curtains staring up at the moon. I tried not to think too much about what had happened to the children before they came to me, I just had to concentrate on helping them to feel safe. He settled in nicely after a few weeks, and we established a nice routine that worked for both of us. He'd hit it straight off with Chester, the pair were inseparable now. Something else that would only make this process harder.

I hadn't even thought about how I'd approach the subject with him. I needed to be careful, I didn't want to undo all the good progress we'd made. He'd told me about his dreams, of growing up in a loving home, eventually going off to university so he could get a good job and look after his own family properly. He was already sure he didn't want his own children to grow up like him. Listening to him melted my heart, and in this business that wasn't always a good thing. You were expected to lock your emotions away in an iron vault.

As we reached the bench I called for him to sit down with me, my mind trying to calm before I started. In the trees behind me I noticed a lone bee rustling in the leaves and I thought to myself what a simple life they must lead.

About Heather Musk

I wish I could say that I've been writing ever since I can remember and it's been a part of my life since I've been on the planet, but the truth is I can't.

It has taken the best part of 30 years to find this hidden thing within me, which is the need to write. It's my own kind of therapy, a way to engross myself in something else away from my life, my own bubble of the universe.

I'm still at the very beginning of this journey, learning and honing my skills. On the way I also have my husband and five year old daughter to contend with, as well as working towards an English degree with The Open University and working nearly full time for a science research institute. What can I say? I like to keep myself busy.

To join me on my travels and follow my progress head over to readingwritingeverything-heather.blogspot.co.uk.

Mama's Songs by Leanne Sype

Mama died a little while ago. I don't know how long, but it seems like forever. But sometimes it feels like just a minute ago. Daddy still seems sad. Even though he tries to hide his sad face, I can tell he misses mama. So do I. Everything changed when she went up to heaven. Our house has no more music. I miss that the most. Mama always hummed when she was takin' care of me 'n' daddy. When she would iron daddy's work shirts, or brush our dog, Felix, or even that time she put medicine on my bee sting, she would just hum these soft pretty songs. Her songs made me know she loved us. I never knew the words, but I know she did cuz even though she only hummed, I could tell she was singin' in her mind.

When mama got sick, she couldn't do as many things. I think that made her cry. One time I couldn't sleep, so I went to look out the window. Sometimes when I look at the moon, I can think about stuff better. I saw mama sitting on the bench under our big birch tree. Mama loved that birch tree. She said birch trees were her favorite because they reminded her of the human spirit: beautiful and mighty in stature, yet made with many delicate layers. I think maybe she learned that at university school or something. Mama was pretty smart. I watched her on that bench. Even though it was real dark, I could tell she was cryin' because the moonlight made her tears all shiny on her face. I wanted to run out and hug her. Maybe even hum a song to her so she could know I loved her even though she couldn't do as much stuff for me 'n' daddy.

Daddy came out to be with her. He walked over real slow and gentle like. Mama seemed happy to see him cuz she smiled, so he sat next to her. They didn't say any words to each other, but it seemed like they were talking somehow. Mama leaned her head on daddy's shoulder and he wrapped her up in his arms like a big comfy blanket. I fell asleep watching them that night.

Three days later mama went to be with Jesus.

I sure do think about her a lot when I'm all by myself. It seems to be takin' a long time for the sad to go away. Sometimes, when I am extra sad, I bring Felix on my walks through our field. I think Felix understands me better than anybody even though he's just a dog. Plus he doesn't seem to mind when I hum mama's songs out loud in the times I miss her the most.

About Leanne Sype

Leanne is a coffee-addicted freelance writer and editor who believes happiness is found in large slices of chocolate cake. Her favorite color is orange, and she loves connecting in community with other writers. Leanne is the founder of Pen to Paper Communications where she indulges her passion in helping individuals and businesses find their story and tell it well. She lives in Portland, OR with her three elderly cats, her husband, and her two adorable kids, all of whom constantly give her good writing material. You can connect with Leanne through leannesype.wordpress.com or on Twitter @pentopapercom.

Week of 12/12/2012

Photo courtesy of Matt Brown

Words Required

Parking Meter

Stomach

Magazine

Chart

Olive

I Have a Bad Feeling About This by Nicole Pyles

"I have a bad feeling about this," Marco knew these were famous last words. His goofy, and seriously off the chart, magician friend Figaro brought them to the college campus and Marco stood behind a large oak tree, waiting for the next disaster his friend would think up next.

Figaro set up the door prop on the grass and opened it up.

"Oh ye of little faith ..." Figaro said, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Marco suppressed a heavy sigh. "How about the time we ended up taking two strangers back in time?"

"Ssh," Figaro join Marco behind the tree and giggled to himself. "Wait, how much did you fill the parking meter?"

Marco rolled his eyes at the question, until he realized its implication. "Why? How long are we gonna be here?"

"Ssh, ssh, look."

Marco followed Figaro's eyes to a cluster of students on what seemed like a campus tour. The crowd of parents and hopeful teenagers watched the oblivious tour guide at the front of the crowd.

"Here we have our campus park, where you can hang out with friends, try our tasty olive pizza at the food truck or ... or ... see a piece of ..." The tour guide's right arm remained frozen in the air and directed at the mysteriously placed doorway in the middle of the open space.

Figaro snickered. "Here it comes."

Marco's stomach twisted like a knot at Figaro's comment. He watched as the tour guide stepped closer and closer to the curious object.

"Wait! Wait!" Marco shouted. He ignored the harsh whispers from the oak tree that called out his name and smiled at the crowd. "Ha ha, sorry. I left my ... my ... latest project here." He took the arm of the tour guide and awkwardly shook it. "Thank you sir for monitoring my latest piece. It's about to be featured in ... in ... You Design Magazine, you know!"

He shut the open door and lifted the doorway off the grass as the tour guide began to explain the school's elaborate modern art program.

"Darn you, Marco!" Figaro shouted. One thing that Figaro hated the most was having his schemes interrupted. He burst out behind the tree and ran for the doorway in Marco's arms. Figaro jumped on top. Marco collapsed to the ground with the extra weight. Enraged, he shoved off the door and pushed Figaro who returned the favor.

"We can't have this type of activity happening in front of prospective students and their families!" The tour guide shouted. He joined in the scuffle and attempted to pull the two apart.

Without either of them paying attention, the doorway collapsed to the ground with the door wide open. As Marco pulled Figaro away from the tour guide who pulled at Marco, Figaro tripped - either accidental or on purpose - in the direction of the open door.

"Bibbity - bobbity- boo!" Figaro shouted. Like a flash of a camera, all three of them disappeared into the doorway, leaving a lone door prop lying flat in the middle of the park.

About Nicole Pyles

Nicole Pyles is a writer living in the Pacific Northwest. She received her Bachelor's Degree in Communication in 2011 and works in marketing. When she's not daydreaming about the California sunshine she grew up on, she's writing about fantasy, horror, and science fiction (and sometimes all three at once). She's currently editing a fantasy novel she started when she was 15 (and finished at 25). Most of her editing work is done on her smartphone during her bus ride home. You can visit her blog World of My Imagination or find her on Google Plus.

 The Photo Finals Project by Scott Taylor

Jenny had exactly 57 minutes until her class final in her university photography 101 class was due. "Why?" Jenny screamed to the sparse crowd at the Common. "Why do I always wait until the last minute on these things?"

She had planned on doing her final project earlier in the day, and it would have worked, too, but the call from her sister Olive disrupted her world, like only her little sister could. "Okay," Jenny said when Olive called. "I'll come over, but I can't stay long. It's finals week and I'm already behind. Really, Olive? Stomach flu? You have the worst luck of anyone I know." Jenny hung up the phone and spent the next two hours across town comforting her only sibling.

Things didn't improve as she left Olive's apartment. "Crap!" Jenny yelled as she noticed the unmistakable yellow paper attached to her car's windshield. "I mean, come on! I fed the parking meter! I can't believe this!" Jenny ripped the ticket from the windshield and jammed it into the back pocket of her jeans. A quick look at the clock on the dash of her car as she