Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of Criminally Funny Fables series that currently includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; Zo White and the Seven Morphs; Cold Case Morphs; and London Broil.
For further giggles and a touch of true fiction try: The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men and One Woman.
Silkstone’s writing has been described as “perfectly paced and pitched – shades of Janet Evanovich and Carl Hiaasen – without seeming remotely derivative. Fast moving action that shoots from the hip with bullet-proof characterization.”
Find Barbara online at barbswire-ebooksandmore.blogspot.com
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Lia Fairchild
Dear Brother:
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Even after all these years, I still look for you in the faces of strangers on the street. Would I even recognize you? I try to tell myself you are still tall and fit with dark features and a beautiful smile (I always was jealous of your perfect teeth), and not weathered and beaten from hundreds of miles of walking. I think about you when the bitter rain pummels the roof of my house. Do you have a coat to keep you dry? Are you freezing? I think of you when the sweltering sun heats up the pavement on my street. Are you thirsty? Do you have shade to protect you? I never take for granted that these things seem to be at my fingertips. That I can eat when I’m hungry, or sleep in a comfortable bed when I’m tired.
I often ask God how two people that started out in life in the exact same manner could end up in totally different situations. Why does one feel so thankful for life’s blessings while the other is left with seemingly nothing? He does not give me an answer, but I feel he wants me to continue thinking of you and hoping for better days. And, to reach out to those that lead similar lives. I tell myself that maybe if I help them, someone, somewhere will be helping you. Most people accept my assistance with a smile and a thank you. But others are distant, only wanting to be left alone. I pray you are the former and that accepting a stranger’s kindness might give you some comfort.
My thoughts of you are not only sad. I try to remember what things were like when we were both carefree; or at least as carefree as two children could be in those circumstances. I remember the games, the crazy things we did, getting in trouble because we were so damn bored. And no matter how mad we got at each other, when the shit hit the fan we had each other’s backs. I remember a nine-year-old girl crying her eyes out because she was never as good as the big brother who held four blue ribbons in his hand. And even though you were more than willing to give one up to me, I couldn’t take it. I wanted to earn it on my own, the way my big brother did. What happened to that fighter, that competitor? It’s never too late for a comeback, you know. It’s never too late to try again. I know there is a strong possibility that you can’t or simply don’t want to try. Maybe you think you’ve been abandoned, forgotten about. I hope against hope that is not the case. I hope you will remember when I took you in. Or that day I found you in the park. You did know me, but something wasn’t quite right. It felt more like you were recognizing a familiar face.
I still hold out hope that one day you will find the strength within yourself to want more; to want a better life for yourself. And when that day comes, we’ll be waiting. I tell myself as I write this letter that I’d know if you were gone for good. I would feel a loss of your presence. Somehow I would know. So I will continue to wait, hanging on to the memories and thinking of you often, big brother.
Love,
Your sister