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Easter01's Short Stories

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Fri Mar 10, 2017 1:56 am

scared here's the nail bitter lol..


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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Postszanne7000 on Fri Mar 10, 2017 3:50 am

:yeahbabe: :choci: scared



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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Mon Mar 13, 2017 12:51 pm




Part 9

It was the last man in, I would bet anything, that had caused Francesca’s reaction. She had scrambled to her feet as soon as “Tony Tomatoes,” her husband, had walked in, and was now backed against one of the steel tables lining the wall, making a low keening wail. Antonio was wearing a floor-length coat of black mohair, a black homberg hat, black and white dress shoes, and was carrying a gold-handled walking stick. He looked very much the picture of a mob boss. He strolled casually out to the middle of the room and leaned on his walking stick with both hands. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, addressing Francesca, who was facing him, gripping the edge of the steel table with white-knuckled hands, and then turned his attention to me. He cocked his head and said, “You, I don’t know. Pat him down, Frankie.”

Without taking his gun off me, Frank moved over behind me and set the crowbar down on the table at the opposite end, and then took a handful of my collar and pulled me away from the table to the center of the room. “It’s that PI, boss. The one who was with that lady detective Joey plugged.” He pulled his coat aside and tucked the automatic into the rear of his waistband, and then started going over me roughly with hands the size of shovels. The cold-eyed goomba shifted his aim slightly, keeping the barrel pointed at my midsection. Frank quickly located my shoulder holster and deftly extracted the .38 special, also tucking it into his waist.

While Lucci frisked me, Tomatino raised an eyebrow and looked me over more carefully. “Oho!” he said. “Well, Frankie, I guess this is your lucky day. You’ve been wanting to meet up with this guy again for a little payback, and here’s your chance.

Frank muttered, “You got that right, boss,” and kept going, sliding his hands down my legs until he located my hideaway gun, a Walther PPK, in the holster on my left ankle. He inspected it and then started to shove the little gun into his pocket, but Tomatina interrupted him by clicking his tongue, saying “Here, let me have that, Frankie. I like a Walther, it’s a great little gun. One thing about the Germans, they sure knew how to make firearms.” He stepped over to Lucci, careful to stay out of Fish-Eyes line of fire, and extended his hand, palm up, and Frank, rather reluctantly, I perceived, gave it up. Tomatino held onto it, letting it dangle carelessly from one finger, and turned back to Francesca.

“Well, ‘Cesca, what am I supposed to do with you?” he said, sounding exasperated, and then his voice turned angry, and he started tapping the end of his walking stick on the floor to emphasize his words. “Did you think you could hide from me? From ME? I’ve got eyes everywhere, people tell me everything they think I want to know!” He regained his calm. “Even in this restaurant. That little weasel, Joey Fabrizzi, couldn’t wait to tell me where you were.”

I knew it! After I had spoken to him last night, Joey the waiter had gone running to the local street boss to give Francesca up and collect his reward. I think I needed to have a few more words with him. Of course, I needed to get out of this situation alive before I started making any long-term plans. Odds weren’t looking exactly in my favor, at the moment, but at least I was still breathing.

“Get a good hold on him, Frankie,” Tomatino directed. “If he moves…well, break something. I need to have a little conversation with my wife.” Frank grabbed my arm and twisted it up painfully behind my back and stood there behind me. Probably smirking, I’d bet.

He laid his walking stick down on one of the tables and stepped over to Francesca, still holding the pistol in one hand. “Why did you run away? Are you…involved…with this man?” he said, nodding in my direction.

Outrage gave her courage. “Tu hai ucciso mio figlio sorelle!” she screamed, and then spat in his face.

Tomatino continued to regard her steadily, and reached inside his coat and extracted a clean handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit. Without taking his eyes away, he reached and wiped the spittle away from his face, and then, after tucking the handkerchief away, backhanded her across the face with a powerful blow, sending her twisting sideways into the clutter of pans and utensils on the steel wall table. When she straightened back up, she quickly folded her arms beneath her breasts and glared defiantly at her husband.

“Of course I killed Angelo,” he said mildly. “He left me no choice. The little *&%$# was stealing from me. Because he was family, I gave him a piece of the action, put him in charge of collections, and how does he repay me for this kindness? By skimming the take!”

“And you killed him for it? How could you! How could you kill my sister’s son, the only child she has!” Francesca was shouting at the top of her lungs, but Tomatina only regarded her sadly. He reached out with one finger and gently touched the welt on her cheek; Francesca shuddered with revulsion at the contact, and so he drew his hand away and regarded her coldly.

“I understand now,” he said. “I suspected, when I saw that my pistol was gone from my desk, but now all the pieces fit together. You went to the police to inform on me. That is the one thing that can never be forgiven.” He shook his head. “You have destroyed my trust. Now you, too, leave me no choice. In the morning, your body will be found in the ashes of this restaurant along with that of this pezzo di *&%$# DiMarco. The police will assume that he was your lover, that you were here after hours on a romantic rendezvous, and were trapped by an accidental fire.” He turned to me. “As for you, Mr. Private Detective, you should have known better than to stick your nose into my business. I give you to Frankie and Stefano, here, and they will take you fishing out in the harbor, although it will not be a pleasure trip for you. I expect Frankie will want to slice little pieces off you to use for bait.” His lip twisted in appreciation of his own attempt at humor.

I still couldn’t move; in fact, Frank had twisted my arm up so high that I was standing on tiptoe; the pain was excruciating. At the moment Tomatino finished describing his plans for us, Francesca quickly unfolded her arms and lunged forward with the small paring knife she had been keeping concealed, stabbing her husband in the stomach, screaming “Demone! Assassino!” He squealed in pain and clutched at his abdomen, dropping the Walther which went skittering across the floor.

This was my opportunity! I raised my foot and stamped down hard on Frank’s toes; he grunted and, as his grip loosened, I twisted out of the hold and dived to the floor, my hand reaching out for the Walther. My fingers touched the grip and I scooped it up and rolled over on my back and, with both hands holding onto it, fired two shots at Stefano. He had instantly turned his Woodsman on Francesca the moment she had stabbed Antonio, but my downward lunge immediately pulled his aim back toward me. Even as I fired, I felt something punch me in the stomach, hard, and then I rolled over on my side and put two .32 caliber slugs into Frank as he struggled frantically to reach back and free his own gun from his waistband. Both men collapsed on the floor, and I rolled back to put a round into Antonio before he could react.

The world began to turn gray just about then. There was a terrible pain in my belly, and I realized that I was leaking blood all over the floor. The last thing I remember was looking up to see Francesca leaning over me, deep concern in those lovely green eyes, and then the world went black.

The Lady in Blue
The Conclusion
coming soon




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Mon Mar 13, 2017 4:56 pm

I don't remember this story being this long..are you sure it's a short story rofl301

Ready for the next chapter watermelon watermelon

Thank you Joanne budhug


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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croiduire
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Postcroiduire on Mon Mar 13, 2017 11:00 pm

Classification    Word count
Novel    40,000 words or over
Novella    17,500 to 39,999 words
Novelette    7,500 to 17,499 words
Short story    under 7,500 words

At 18795 (so far) it's technically a novella, and an excellent one too!  
(but who's counting, right? >.>)



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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Mon Mar 13, 2017 11:20 pm

Croi I am just joking with Joanne.. lol..


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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croiduire
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Postcroiduire on Mon Mar 13, 2017 11:24 pm

Uh...so was I. *sigh* It's ok...no one ever laughs at my jokes...*I* think they're funny... *goes off muttering about complete lack of comedic delivery...*)



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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 2:53 am

I think your jokes are great, Croi!

...then, I have a low, libelous sense of humor, lol.

However short, or long, Joanne's stories are - they're well worth the read! inlove34



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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 3:48 am

Wow! A novella, that is soooo cool! And, quite the discovery for me. wow!!! I do get a bit winded when I'm telling a story.

croi, jokes are just all part of the fun we have.  sisters

Easter01




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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 3:54 am

Jokes keep me sane these days...

... :D :D :D



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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 4:41 am

I'm sorry Croi..I wasn't thinking..I thought it was cute.. inlove34 I'm sorry I thought you was serious..and my mind is else where today.. I feel bad now baghead


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 4:46 am

Don't feel bad, Sam...

I hope you are feeling better today :D



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PostSamantha61 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 4:48 am

Between Shya and this weather it has me a bit down..but don't want to talk about it on Joanne's stories lol.. she might use the angry on me giggle


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 5:46 am

So, let's move it to 7 Cups :D



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croiduire
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Postcroiduire on Tue Mar 14, 2017 7:22 am

It's ok, Sam.  Please don't feel bad on my account.  Not every joke suits every listener; they can't.  We all have too many different frames of reference.
Besides, here's a joke that maybe you will laugh at, a true story that just happened tonight.  
Amy, my daughter, was invited to join Phi Kappa Phi today!  I am so proud of her, and was telling John (my husband) the good news.  
He said, "She should join the Vietnamese fraternity."
*blank look from me*
"Yeah, you know...Pho Kappa Pho. They have the best noms."




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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 7:33 am

ohno



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PostEaster01 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 4:21 pm




Conclusion

It was the tenth day in April, and the weather had finally decided to give New York a break. I was in the Police Arlington Burial Grounds at Cypress Hills Cemetery, in Brooklyn, and there was a lot of spring color showing. Cherry trees, azaleas, daffodils, and all sorts of blooming things I couldn’t even begin to put a name to. The site had been established more than a hundred years ago by the Metropolitan Police Benevolent Association to honor the bravery of those officers who lost their lives on active duty. It was fitting that Julie be buried here, among so many kindred souls. The city had given her a lavish funeral, spared no expense, and mourners had turned out by thousands, most, but not all, cops in dress blues. I had missed her funeral. I had been in the hospital, being treated for a gunshot wound in the gut, and I understand it was touch and go for awhile. I woke up on Monday, the day of the funeral, in no condition to go anywhere. I had just been released a few days ago, and came here to pay respects to the woman I had been starting to fall in love with, who also happened to be one of the best police officers I had known. I suppose it was fitting that I was here today, exactly one month to the day, since she had been shot and killed by Joey Peretti.

Sam had come by the hospital often to visit, and fill me in on what had happened. Antonio Tomatino had survived, despite being stabbed and shot; it was, after all, a very little knife, and I guess after having been shot myself my aim was a little off when I put a bullet into him. He was, however, not a very happy capo, because his wife had delivered up her husband’s pistol to the police with his prints intact, and as it happened, the slugs were a perfect match to those found in Angelo’s body. Then of course, Francesca was absolutely delighted to tell the police everything she knew about the killing, and about any other little thing the police might want to know about her husband’s activities. She had been sheltered from most of it, but I gathered that it would be enough that Tony Tomatoes would be occupying a very small room at state expense for a very long time.

Stefano was dead. His full name was Stefano Vacarro, the police were having a field day tying that Colt Woodsman into a dozen murders in the New York area; apparently he was sort of a roving triggerman or problem solver for the Five Families. No tears shed for this guy. Nor would there be any for Frank Lucci. Unfortunately, he was still alive but still in hospital, the prison ward that is. I guess a body that size can soak up a lot of lead. His future did not look very promising, however, since he was going to be extradited to Chicago to stand trial there for murder, and Illinois had the death penalty. I for one would be quite content to let the state barbecue Lucci.

Allesandro was doing just fine. Lucci had clocked him with the crowbar after prying the front door open, but the injury had been more spectacular in appearance than damaging. He was back cooking up his usual delicious meals in his restaurant, none the worse for wear.

Francesca had been to the hospital to see me once, about a week after the incident at the restaurant. She was very serious and didn’t have a great deal to say, but I could tell that she was glad to see that I was going to recover. We didn’t speak about anything of consequence, did not talk about her husband or nephew or what her plans were, but I later heard from Sam that she had left town, destination unknown. I hope she makes out all right; she was a classy lady, and I owed her my life for the distraction she provided.

I stood in front of Julie’s headstone and watched the clouds passing in the distance. It promised to be one of those magnificent spring days when one was happy just to be alive.

I looked down at the stone. So much we had never said.

Carefully, I placed the single red rose I had been holding onto the top of the stone, and turned and walked away.




(c) 2016 Joanne Easter and Richard Easter. All Rights Reserved.




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 4:50 pm

Awwwww...

...what a great story, Joanne summerB7



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Postcroiduire on Tue Mar 14, 2017 6:19 pm

Brilliant resolution. You could so easily have gone sappy or unrealistic. You could have tried to tie up too many loose ends; even John D. MacDonald (the Travis McGee novels) sometimes fell into that trap, straining credulity. You neatly avoided both pitfalls, and have positioned Conner Nash as a recurring, very sympathetic protagonist for future work. Well done!!



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PostSamantha61 on Wed Mar 15, 2017 10:40 am

This story game me goosebumps at the end lol..like most of Joanne's stories..at the end..and I love them.. inlove34


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
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I am so proud of all of you..
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PostEaster01 on Wed Mar 15, 2017 12:46 pm


Wigeon and the Witch
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c)2015



Part 1

The Sleeping Town

A waxing moon rode high in the night sky, shining brightly down upon the sleeping town of Three Springs, bathing the landscape in silver. Not a light was visible from any window, not even in the highest towers of the baron's castle on the hill in the center of the community, where Nicholas, baron of Greatoak, and his wife and members of his court slumbered peacefully. At the bottom of the hill, the waters of the three springs poured quietly from low gaps in a limestone bluff, merging within a short distance to form a fast-flowing single stream that rippled over a series of ledges to feed a large pool surrounded by a rock wall, the heart of the town commons. An ancient and immense oak stood above the springs, its far-ranging branches casting a welcome shade, and the grassy commons stretched southward for a hundred paces.

Surrounding the commons and extending away in all directions were rows of thatched cottages, separated by narrow lanes and mixed with stables and craft workshops. The commons served as an open air market, with vendors setting up temporary stalls in good weather. The market district also extended to rows of more permanent shops that were concentrated along three streets to the west of the commons area. To the south, towards the river that was the ultimate destination of the stream, were vegetable gardens and expansive fields of wheat, barley and rye, heavy with ripening grain. Surrounding the town on all other sides were pasturelands, land that had been gradually claimed from the forest over the centuries, and at the edge of the meadows, the Great Forest began. The edge was marked by massive stumps where giant trees had been cleared to feed the sawmills of Three Springs, the primary source of the barony's wealth. Apprehensive of wolves and other mysterious residents believed to inhabit the dark and forbidding depths, the townspeople feared to venture very far into the forest in search of timber and had remained content to nibble away at the edges. A single road pierced the forest, leading to the east and the neighboring, if distant, kingdoms of the Thalassian Empire. Greatoak was the westernmost outpost of the empire, and still part of the frontier; the castle on the hill had been built by the young baron's great-grandfather less than a century before.

The people of Greatoak were prosperous and well-fed, and accustomed to a light touch from their rulers. For many years, the land had been ruled by Baron Stephen, who had been sensible enough to keep the burden of taxes light and the granaries full; if not loved, neither had he been hated. The people of Three Springs reserved their affection for the baron's son Nicholas and his wife, Teresa. As a young man, Nicholas had prepared for the day when he would become ruler by undertaking more and more of the baron's duties and responsibilities as his aging father's health declined. Yet he was not content to loiter in the castle and remain aloof from the community but instead involved himself fully in the realm's affairs. When a storm devastated the town, Nicholas rolled up his sleeves and pitched in to assist with the rebuilding effort, donating timber and supplies from his father's storehouses and expending his own sweat in wielding hammer and saw. When outlaws raided an outlying farm, Nicholas led a mixed party of men from the town and armsmen from the castle to pursue and hang the miscreants. When called upon to settle disputes, he did so with justice and fairness. His wife Teresa was a cherished fixture in the town, visiting new mothers with small gifts to help to celebrate arrival of babies and bringing comfort to the sick and dying. When his father passed away last year and Nicholas became the new baron, he and Teresa continued to rule in the same manner.

They were an attractive couple, both with light blonde hair, fair complexions, and sunny dispositions. They had met five years before, when Nicholas had ventured down the river to the kingdom of Celusia to renegotiate a timber contract and there been smitten by the daughter of a local lord at the town fair. With her golden tresses, sparkling blue eyes and quick wit, it was an instant love match. A marriage contract was soon in the offing, and the wedding took place the next year at the commons beneath the great oak that shaded the three springs.

Life was good in the barony, and the people were content.


The Clearing in the Forest

On this night the moon cast its light upon a remote glade deep in the Great Forest; a light mist clung to the ground. In the center of the clearing was a large, flat black slab of polished obsidian, half buried in the loam and rising a few feet above the grass. Traces of mysterious writing lined the perimeter, rendered indecipherable by the passage of eons. A large black cat sat in the precise center of the stone, perfectly still, front feet tucked together, tail coiled around her hindquarters. Around her neck was a finely worked collar of silver. Piercing gray eyes gazed out over the misty glade, focused on nothing in particular, but alert to any intrusion. Thoughts turned inward, waiting.

A large brown rat ventured out of the trees into the open, paused, and, seeing the cat, slowly slunk forward to a position just before the stone. It rose up on its hind legs, forepaws together, and then bowed to the cat. The cat focused its attention upon the rat but made no effort to pounce upon its natural enemy, merely nodded slightly in acknowledgement and made no further move. The rat settled back down, and they both continued to wait.

Next to arrive was a ferret, which oozed bonelessly through the mist to stand next to the rat before the altar stone. Like the rat, the ferret also stood and bowed, and was rewarded with a nearly imperceptible nod from the black cat before settling into place. A few moments passed, and then a small red fox appeared at the edge of the clearing, sniffed the air, and walked over to the stone to make obeisance to the cat. Floating in on the moonbeams, an enormous owl glided into the clearing, clutching a sachel in its talons. Dropping the leather pack at the edge of the grassy area, it landed and took a few steps to the stone. The owl dipped its head in a dignified bow, and having been acknowledged, with a flap of its wings hopped up on the stone behind the cat. Not a sound had yet been uttered; they continued to wait in the silence of the dark forest.

Time passed. The tail of the sleek black cat began to twitch impatiently.

At last, two more creatures came into the glade, winging in out of the darkness together; a pair of ravens. They landed on the grass and folded their wings. They glanced at each other with red eyes and exchanged a couple of bad-tempered pecks before hopping over to the stone slab, glaring insolently at the cat. The cat's tail lashed about, and her eyes narrowed; she stared at the two ravens until, temporarily cowed, they bobbed their heads in respect and settled down. Satisfied, the cat now nodded deeply, and, from each figure, a green mist boiled upward in a swirling column and quickly materialized into solidity. A human figure was now revealed where before had crouched a bird or animal. Each figure before her was female, each strikingly beautiful and dressed in a black flowing gown.

On the obsidian altar, the black cat had also been transformed within a column of green mist. Now standing upon the stone was a lovely young woman with jet-black hair and gray eyes; like the others, clad in a fine gown all in black and with an elegant silver chain around her neck from which hung a small locket. Whereas the appearance of the others was merely well-dressed, she projected a vision of refined beauty and radiated an aura of power and confidence far beyond her apparent age. At her side, where the owl had rested, was now a bearded young man in a flowing brown robe, who also wore a silver chain around his neck, but thicker, and carried a staff of rowan wood crowned by a large red, multi-faceted gemstone. His long black hair was bound in a ponytail by a leather thong and hung down between his shoulders.

The two women who had been ravens, the last arrivals, were identical twins with long, platinum blonde hair and blue eyes, and wore matching gowns. They exchanged a look, and then one of them spoke first: "Summoned..." and her sentence was completed by her twin, "...we come." The smirking expression each wore belied the apparent respect of their words. Upon the stone, the eyes of the leader, Sensua, sparked with barely repressed fury.

The young man at her side cleared his throat and spoke softly. "Mistress, what would you have of us?"

Sensua slowly smiled, a wicked smile, a smile that contained no mirth nor joy. "You will be the instruments of my revenge," she said. "We will destroy the barony of Greatoak."




Wigeon and the Witch
continues with Part 2
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Last edited by Easter01 on Sat Mar 18, 2017 4:11 pm; edited 1 time in total




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Postszanne7000 on Wed Mar 15, 2017 1:53 pm

Rereading is good fun...

...especially when the story is amazing! :summerB8:



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PostEaster01 on Wed Mar 15, 2017 2:10 pm

Suzanne,

It's taken a bit of time to post all the stories I removed in order to sort them.  I can see me posting a Father Michael story on this thread if I'm not careful. What a mess that would be.  

I still have several more stories still on the shelf to dust off and post. ~ big smile ~

Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments. They have given me so much encouragement to share my stories with my friends on cbs.

Easter01

:girlie5:




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PostSamantha61 on Wed Mar 15, 2017 3:09 pm

I haven't found not one of Joanne's stories boring.. :multistars: but my hips have gotten a bit bigger.. watermelon watermelon even with the watermelon lol.. giggle keep them coming girl.. watermelon watermelon :goldstars:


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
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I am so proud of all of you..
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Postszanne7000 on Thu Mar 16, 2017 6:23 am

I'm looking forward to rereading those I've read...

...and those I haven't, Joanne.

I'm just happy that you share them with us :D

Thank you, again and again and again!



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3

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