No Regrets



Raguel was furious.

Slipping quickly through the smoking mirror into the empty space where Amriel had disappeared he struggled to make sense of what he’s just witnessed. Coming out on the other side he took in his angelic colleague’s wings protruding from the back of his suit, finally free of their constriction. Amriel was dusting the remnants of the crimson, glittered dust from the sleeves of his jacket.

Raguel felt his insides boil.

“You stupid, stupid sprite.” He scolded.

Amriel grinned and shook the empty vial in his face.

“It’s done old friend.”

Raguel sighed, felt his insides heaving, “There is no going back now, Amriel.”

The younger angel nodded, accepting his fate as though he’d been handed his own execution orders.

“I know Raguel.” He said stepping toward the elder angel and placing a hand on his forearm. “I appreciate your worry but I’ll be fine.”

Raguel’s shook his head, his voice more groan than whisper, “There is will be no forgiveness for what you’ve done. The council has never offered absolution in these cases and they are unlikely to start now.” Tears began to spill from his eyes onto his cheeks and he covered Amriel’s  hand with his own. “What have you done?” He pleaded.

“The dust I requested was violaceous.” Amriel confessed.

Raguel lifted his eyes, “I saw it, with my own eyes. The dust you gave Wakeford was red, magenta, the powder of renewed love.”

Amriel smiled, his wings fluttering, scraping against one another in joy. “I know. The dust must have been intercepted by Miniel.”

Raguel was not swayed, “You should not have intervened on Jane’s behalf for any reason.”

The men were still holding onto one another, one’s hand covering the others but the air had gone cold around them,

“I meant to kill him elder.”

Raguel’s head hung with this news, his own wings drooping like a weeping willow. “An advocate! You were always a loyal disciple, a trusted ally. What’s happened to you?”

Amriel thought of Jane; of her sweet, kind, generous heart and the pain it had endured, his own heart aching to give her some small joyful moment.

“Sorry my friend, I’m not that guy anymore.”


Amriel: The angel of May

Nanael:  The angel who governs science

Miniel : The angel invoked to induce love

Raguel: The angel who watches over the behavior of angels. 



This week we borrow from Tina(one of my FAVORITE people)  at Not Just Another Mother Blogger, and her continuing love story of Caroline and David, in “Summer’s End.”

“… I’m not that guy anymore” and/or “entwined”

Signature Scent


You told me,

once upon a time,

how you despised the scent of coconut.

(as if the small hard fruit itself had offended you)


I never asked for an explanation,

but eager to please


preconditioned to seek your approval

I banished my menagerie of pots and bottles

to the dark (deep) corners of my vanity.


Replacing them with the aromas of vanilla and honeysuckle  peach

on my inner thigh,

hopeful for your kiss.

When I was rewarded with a finger -traced peck I suppose I called it even

and forgot all

about the lotions-

potions- that defined me.



Life shifted, like sand on a July beach.

I shivered in the wicked cold of the winter I’d been thrust into

by your washed hands

with the bouquets of Spring doing nothing to warm me.

As a child of sun-drenched days, salty-sweet kisses and copper skin,

progeny of light dimpled waves and air pregnant with moisture and Coppertone,

my husk yearned for beaches and chlorine ridden pools of water.


They say smell conjures our memories more quickly than any other sensation.

What I  do remember is



making me … umm…


sunshine spreading itself along the lines of my body,

deep wheat(y) ales

your smile that warmed my extremities

but I can’t recall the aromas of our rendezvous.


Sights and touches;

what I felt, what you saw

what we said

all comes back so fiercely

I am sure my sniffer must be stuffed up.


Until I reach for the (coconut) cream I’d abandoned

pop the cap,

squeeze the exotic into my open palm and breathe in…


the sweetness sinks readily into my skin

soothing the everlasting burn of you…


it’s been bananas all along.





For Master Class I actually picked the word last week and never got around to writing for it (Sorry SAM!)

So this week I used both words: coppertone and preconditioned. 




Occupational Hazards



Amriel wasn’t stupid. He knew what could happen if he used the vial. Upsetting the natural continuum of events could be disastrous and revenge wasn’t something he was comfortable with. There were other guardians for that, namely the fates and karma.

However, he could not stop himself from wanting to secure a resolution for Jane now instead of waiting. Heaven was a place of infinity, an endless landscape with no ending or beginning where instant gratification seemed foolish and terribly selfish.  His wings continued to twitch against their confinement as he made his way along the hallways and came upon the wide expanse that was the law firm’s kitchen and lounge, the voice in his head at odds with the one quietly whispering in his heart.

Amriel put a hand on the wall, a wave of nausea tumbling his insides. Angels were made to protect and prod non-believers toward devotion. Instead he felt a cold, sheen of sweat coat the back of his neck when he thought about dumping the black dust into the unattended mug. It hardly mattered that the reaction would be swift and undetectable.

Dear God, he’d changed.

Once a loyal and humble servant, it had all begun to fall apart with the arrival of Jane and her devastated heart. Right or wrong was no longer a consideration, he simply wanted to grant his charge a chance at happiness even if it meant compromising the life of Charles Wakeford.

His queasiness abated and he straightened plunging his hand into his pocket for the vial.

The dust in the flask wasn’t the dark, sinister purple it had been just moments ago. Instead it sparkled and bubbled inside the glass, a red the color of beating hearts, painted lips and swollen bouquets.

Had Nanael and Miniel conspired with the fates on his behalf?

Before he could curse his fellow guardians for their carelessness he spotted a profile out of the corner of his eyes; arms folded tightly against a chest and lips set in a horizontal grimace.


The nausea threatened again and Amriel realized he had precious little time. He covered the space between himself and the mug in three strides, emptying the contents and sealing his fate.


Amriel: The angel of May

Nanael:  The angel who governs science

Miniel : The angel invoked to induce love

Raguel: The angel who watches over the behavior of angels. 


Using the following prompts:


Studio30Plus’s prompt:

Our prompt comes from Stephanie, at From My Write Side, “And There Was Nothing They Could Do About It.”

“… it all began to fall apart.”

Tipsy Lit:

Risky Business

Tipsy Lit Prompted

And thank you so much to SAM for offering up “The Trouble with Jane” as a title for this series.

You can see all the chapters of The Angel Sagas by clicking the tab at the top of this page. 


Amriel’s wings twitched under the trench coat as he strode down the street. He wore a faded brown fedora he’d snagged from Lameschial before he left the hospital room offering strict instructions to his two colleagues but vague references as to where he was headed.

Thinking about Jane’s sleeping body and her anguished heart caused his wings, eager to unfurl, to flutter against their forced imprisonment again.

He sidestepped the cracks in the concrete, still suspicious even after all these years, and kept his head down as he passed the hooligans clustered at the corner of 10th and Carson ignoring their petty cons and shenanigans .

Amriel was angry.

Anger didn’t come naturally to angels.

Frustration at the sight of human unkindness? Sure. Disappointment with a flawed soul refusing to learn from the lessons thrust upon them? Yes, it happened every day. He’d even felt moments of torment or plain grief as he watched events unfold saddened by the knowledge that there was nothing his hand could do to stop them, but anger was a new and especially frightening emotion.

Angels were built for forgiveness or empathy, but Amriel crossed the street to the high rise building he was headed with Jane’s guttural wail of despair echoing in his ears. Touching the brim of the hat, as if he were straightening it and pinching the bridge of his nose,  he willed the sound to recede.

His body burned with rage.

He’d never believed it could happen to him when he’d been warned over and over again about the risks of becoming too close to a charge. Amriel was the angel of a beautiful and especially serene month and no appointment he’d ever been given up to this point had turned out to be anything but a chance to right a wrong.

But Jane was different in ways Amriel couldn’t explain.

Coming through the front door of the law office he made his way to the front desk where the trench coat draped over his arm, his beautifully tailored suit and hat in hand offered him entrance to the inner sanctum.

As he moved through the halls  his hand cradled a small tube of fine dust he’d drawn from his pocket; similar to the pink dust Kabshiel has sprinkled over Jane, but a purple so dark it appeared black.

Going off grid was not advised and Amriel knew he would be dealt with severely but he took comfort in knowing the reason Jane was not healing was because the heart her own was still attached to felt no sorrow or remorse.

It was time to right that particular wrong.



You’re not going to believe it but I’ve wanted to write this piece since Sunday.

Work is crazy.

Home life after mini-vacations is crazy.

I am tired.


I used three different prompts to write this newest installment to my story about angels.

(Anyone have any good ideas for a title of this series? All opinions welcome!)



From Studio 30Plus: 

This week’s Studio 30+  prompt comes from Ashley, at Fictional Fool, who gave us “Buried Treasure,” 

“He wore a faded brown fedora.”

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From Light and Shade Challenge: 

If you wish me to weep, you must mourn first yourself.

Horace (65 BC – 8 BC)
And from Master Class (the weekly challenges) 
I used the words HOOLIGAN(last week) and SHENANIGANS (this week)


I invite anyone here from any of the challenges to come write with another one. I am so proud to be a “Prompt Diva” with Tara (Thin Spiral Notebook) over at Studio30Plus and we have lots of exciting things planned for our community. Please come #WriteWithUs.


Jane’s eyelashes fluttered once then again until her eyes popped opened and she stifled a yawn.

The lighting was so bright in this room and she hurt all over as if she’d overdone it in Zumba class. Again.

Adjusting to the sunlight streaming in, she squinted and balked at the three people (people she’d never seen before in her life) standing around her bed.

Her bed?

Wait a minute. This bed wasn’t quite big enough and the sheets were white and, yes, stiff and if you were asking, a bit sandpaper-ish.  Where was her overstuffed comforter and sheets that felt like clouds laying on top of her feet? This bed felt like a hospital bed, all tucked in corners and shiny metal bed rails…


Jane reached out and touched the shiny metal bed rail. Tears welled as she finally made eye contact with the man whose hand was sharing space with hers on the rail.

“Hello Jane.” The man said.

He was short but handsome, the man standing next to him was taller with a longer nose and a chin so sharp and angled Jane was sure he could cut glass with it if he wanted to, but the shorter man was more Jane’s type; piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the color of her favorite shoes and wavy brown hair that sat on his head like a cap.

The men were wearing suits. Jane loved men in suits particularly.

She flirted with a smile and then bit the inside of her mouth.

“Am I dead?” she asked no one in particular.

“Oh dearie, no!” she heard from the foot of the bed and Jane fixed her stare on a small round cherub- like face hovering right over her blanketed legs. Jane blinked. The woman couldn’t have been more than 4 and a half feet tall, the size of a small six year old really, and her bouncing yellow curls made it look like she had a halo (slightly tilted) above her head.

The shorter man touched her hand, “Jane, you’re not dead but you are, um, not quite alive.”

“Oh.” she said, letting the single syllable slide through her dry lips.

“My name is Amriel.” The man continued “And I’m your, well,” he turned to the taller man who shrugged and shot Jane a smile as if to say, ‘you can tell her’ “I’m, we’re your guardian angels. This is Lameschial and this is Kabshiel. ” He used that move where he wagged his pointer finger between the three of them to denote their inclusion in the club.

“I have guardian angels?” she asked.

“Oh indeed dearie!” the cherub lady chirped. “You needed them, especially after the, um, unfortunate incident.”

Jane’s head hurt and her throat felt like the bottom of the ocean, all grit and salt plus every time she tried to sit up an awful case of vertigo sent her falling back on to her white sterilized pillow.

“Best to stay put for now.” The taller man advised patting her legs.

Jane nodded and tried to remember how she’d ended up here. Squeezing her eyes shut and thinking really hard it all came rushing back. Suddenly it seemed like all the oxygen was being pulled not only from the room but from her lungs too.

She was back in her living room slowly folding the letter into two then four pieces then unfolding it only to fold it again. It was like he had just evaporated from her life. There had been no signs to indicate anything was wrong. In fact he’d told he loved her, wanted her for his own (his words) only two days before she found the letter and then , out of the blue, he was gone.

“Charles!?” she sputtered and soon tears were sneaking down her cheeks into the hollow of her neck, creating puddles. Then a  sob erupted and soon she was choking, wailing from a primal place in her.

“Quickly!” Jane heard Amriel order Kabshiel who jumped up and waddled to the side of the bed where she sprinkled a fine pink powder over her.

Jane felt sleep take her swiftly under.

“That was close.” Amriel said to his counterparts. He produced a small phone from the inside pocket of his suit and pressed a button.

“Yes, hello.  Please tell him that we’re here and we tried but she’s simply not ready.”

A moment passed, Amriel listened.

He sighed, “No. No, no. We’re not going anywhere. I made a promise to guard Jane’s heart and that’s what I intend to do.”


If you missed the first part of this story click here! 

Studio30 Plus prompts comes from :

Nonamedufus who let us borrow this line from his story, “He Confessed Everything.”

“… he had just evaporated…”


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My response to the  Light and Shade Challenge  prompt based on this quote:

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

May 23.  Exactly 11:11am.

Jane should have been making a wish at precisely this moment, squeezing her eyes shut with a crooked smile playing around her mouth like she did when she was contemplating her options. Instead she was confined to the bed in this overly bright room with soft love songs pulsing in her ears and her dreams locked away from everyone but the angels guarding her.

Amriel made a notation in a small lined notebook and nodded at Lameschial who was seated in a high-backed chair on the other side of the room who made several chicken-like scratches in his own.

Both men, well that was the form they took here, let their eyes rest on their charge.

Lameschial sighed, leaned forward and placed his impossibly square jaw in the cup of his hand.

“It’s been almost two years, Am.”

The angel of May went to answer when they heard footsteps and the squeak of rubber wheels on linoleum in the hallway. Pressing a small white button on his wristwatch his wings folded into a nearly invisible slit in his suit jacket imitating a letter sliding into an envelope.

Clearing his throat Amriel adjusted his suit jacket just as the nurse hurried into the room tapping at an iPad.

“How’s our patient today?” she asked, never looking up.

“Still sleeping.” He answered as if that fact wasn’t obvious.

The nurse, a girl with light blue eyes and a mess of wild strawberry blonde curls framing a soft round face, was named Jennifer. She lifted Jane’s hand and silently counted a pulse, tapped at the monitors that surrounded the bed, adjusted the sheet and made her way to the door.

“I’m beginning to wonder …” Jennifer stopped before finishing and then she was gone.

Amriel mused about the hospital staff. They thought the angels were Jane’s uncles, lawyers who had been named as her guardians and considering the job they were doing, it was a suitable lie.

Jane’s real family had no idea she was still alive.

Amriel moved to the window, the sun through the slants in the blinds lit the halo above the crown of his head.

He yawned and pulled at the Windsor knot at his throat, loosening the silk.

“Her healing is slow.”

Lameschial shifted in the chair, “I was too late. If  I hadn’t hesitated she might be smiling and making wishes on clocks that read 3:33.”

It was a common lament from his partner but every now and then Amriel indulged him, “It wouldn’t have mattered my friend. He’d confessed everything, spoken her name, satisfied his own soul at the sake of hers. There was nothing we could do after that but make her comfortable.”

“I know.” The other angel said wistfully.  “But you would think that after all this time…”

Amriel turned his gaze back to Jane’s sleeping form, pondering her plight (as he had done for almost two years now) alongside any recourse he had. He knew their world longed to see her smile again but he weighed assuaging that desire at the risk of bringing Jane any more pain.

Of course there was still no guarantee she’d ever be the same again.

Amriel touched Lameschial, who was dozing in the chair, lightly on the shoulder and he stirred.

“My friend,” the angel began consulting his watch. It was nearing lunch time with little time to waste. “Please make a call to the angel yard and request Kabshiel but tell her to hurry.”

The second angel smiled and pulled a small phone from his pocket; the patron of grace and favor was a mindful choice.

Amriel pulled the cord on the blinds, bathing the room in warm, rich sunlight.

The clock read 12:11.

“Let’s wake our Jane and see if she still has any wishes to make.”


This week a line from my last offering was the one chosen to inspire you…

“he’d confessed everything” from Man on a Mission. 

Tara and I would love for you to #WriteWithUs.  Click here. 



The prompts this week from Lyssa and Thomas at  Light and Shade Challenge

were about Angel Yards and a proper quote:

” You pays your money and you takes your choice”

– caption on a Punch cartoon

**Sorry about this being so long my friends, but the story was one I enjoyed telling. (not to mention the research about angels names) **


Amriel is the angel of the month of May. 

Lameschial is an angel who is meant to thwart deception. 

Kabshiel is the angel of grace and favor. 


Man on a Mission

There’d been fireworks when they’d met; loud spectacular bursts of color accompanied by the thump! (awww! ) thump! (oooh!)  of another heart beating in time with his.

Talking over the din and more than a little drunk on the intoxicating scent of her lotion mixing with the wafting smell of acrid after-smoke, not to mention the Yuengling he was swigging from long neck bottles, he’d confessed everything he was feeling.

She’d smiled with  a light behind her eyes that rivaled the color of summer skies, and in that moment he realized he had nothing of his own, nothing that truly mattered if he couldn’t have her.

With the pop, snap and fizzle of the spectacle above them their foreheads met and he fell.

He’d asked her to marry him every day after that, sometimes serious and others half jokingly but always sincere; kissing her hand or (on more than one occasion) dropping to a knee in the mall, out in the middle of a cow puddle field while out on a walk, on the steps of the small clapboard church in the center of town. She’d blush and laugh, call him crazy and kiss him into a heavenly daze, never really answering him.

It was almost eleven months after that first night of heat, kisses and popping color, on a cool spring evening, when she’d walked into his apartment laden with a pizza box, a cloth bag full of groceries and a request of her own.

He’d taken her to city hall the next day and never looked back.



using the prompt “… he had nothing of his own.”

Taken from Joe Scott and his piece Packrat Red and his Cart o’ Sad Crap.”


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one of the prompts was FIREWORKS this week and it was the one I used.



Coming Around Again

Shelby let the imitation fabric slide through her fingers. The robe could convince you it was cherry spun silk until you touched it and realized rogue bracelet charms or an unfiled fingernail could snag a thread and unravel the whole illusion.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. This should have been one of the happiest times of her life. Grades were recorded, interviews (gratefully) were over and once she crossed the stage she’d be able tack three letters onto the end of her signature and move on with her life. She should have felt like a bud right before it opened and bloomed.

But she missed him.

She’d never expected to miss him.

A tear slid off her cheek, staining the material, when she felt rather than saw a shadow in the doorway.

“Hey.” He said.

Shelby turned toward him, “Gunnar?”

He smiled and opened his arms, “You didn’t think I’d miss your graduation, did you?”

She stepped into the warmth of his arms, allowing the hug to peel away the layers of regret between them.

The last time she’d seen Gunnar his face was a twisted mess of pain and sadness caused by her indecision. He’d left taking his melancholy out the back door  and leaving her standing right where she was currently rooted.

Gunnar pushed back, kissed her temple  and grabbed the robe, holding it open for her to slip into.

“Ready?” He asked, holding out his hand.

Moving toward the back door, she slipped her palm into his and hoped he’d kept the diamond he’d offered before he left.


Have you heard?
Tara and I have taken over the prompt page of Studio30Plus.

WriteWithUs so come over and visit the page.

Since I missed last week’s prompt I used both sentences in my piece this week.

“peel away the layers”

“he took his melancholy out the back door” from Katy


the prompts this week at WRITE ON EDGE were

a coral colored blooming flower

and a this quote:

Why should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom.
― Rumi

Enjoy The Show {Shade and Light Challenge}

I can watch her, from up here, perched like some prehistoric bird of prey while I spoon rocky road into my mouth, metal dinging against my teeth while I lick both sides and swallow.

She is pacing, pent up and anxious today, flitting in and out of the shadows.

Her silhouette shadows her steps;

Three to the right,

two to the left,

when she pauses to twist the ring on her left land, I wait for the heavy sigh I can always hear from here.

The clacking of her shoes starts again

four long strides

three baby tip-toes

a quick peek at a screen; when she looks up the sun comes from behind the clouds.

Their shadows pool, her face obscured because his fingers are stroking her face, cupping her chin.

Their kisses are always prime time worthy.

I love you

He breaths into her mouth until his tongue takes over.

He is lying.

She opens wider.

so is she.


There’s a new prompt in town:
Light and Shade Challenge (my friends Tom and Lyssa’s brain child)

This week the prompts are the picture above and this quote:

She tells enough white lies to ice a wedding cake – Margot Asquith

Soup’s On! (Garglebuster:Yeah Write)

I  bet you wonder how I knew

(Oh dearie don’t you fret).

I have all the evidence chopped and cubed…

So I’ll add a pinch here,

a dollop there,

then I’ll stir the pot,

turn up the heat

and watch you stew.


For this week’s Garglebuster at Yeah Write’s prompt:

Who dunnit?

Read the rules and join them for 42 words of fun!
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