Author Archives: Laurie Whiteley

The pale man’s smile made him look younger than he was, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes wrinkled in genuine pleasure as he handed over the cash for his purchase. The bills were real – she … Continue reading →

It’s a strange thing, coming out of a chrysalis and finally becoming a butterfly in your mid-forties. I’m on an early-morning train to San Diego, and I can’t stop looking at my hair. It started the way most evolution does: … Continue reading →

“Who are you and what are you doing?” He asked. His voice wavered, but the rifle stayed steady. “What I’ve always done.” she said, patiently. “I’m a nurse.” She was seated on a low ammunition crate, olive drab. She was … Continue reading →

He’s hard to forget, the man with the cheroot. It’s not just the cheroot, it’s the patterned sweater and sweatpants that seal the deal. He’s a young man – fit, athletic – standing on the corner at 6 o’clock at … Continue reading →

My aunt’s estate consists chiefly of postcards. Nearly four thousand of them, promiscuously arranged in clear plastic boxes she bought in a fit of organisation. I thought at first they were arranged by place name, but now I’m not so … Continue reading →

No one even uses the chapel any more. In deference to the fact that it’s still sanctified, the hospital staff haven’t begun using it for storage yet. Spare chairs are neatly folded and sit, waiting, next to the votive candles. … Continue reading →

“And what do you think you’re doing, young man?” He knew he was in trouble. Mom’s hand was on her hip, still holding the wooden spoon she’d been stirring with. A drip of vivid red sauce had landed on the … Continue reading →