Runner Up: Donna Piazza
St. Clair Shores, Michigan
Congratulations, Donna!
Donna’s Bio:
“This is a true work of fiction (or maybe fantasy), being that I live in St. Clair Shores, MI with Joe, my husband of twenty-three years, and my five children, Rob, Joey, Chris, David, and Mary; I do, although, have a sister Jeannie.
To date, I have been honored to have some of my poetry published in various ezines and websites, and I have had an essay published, as well.
I always have several works-in-progress, both mentally and on paper: short stories, essays, poems, rants, and of course, the great American novel.
I am proud to say that this is my first published short story, and I want to thank Angela and Beryl for the opportunities they offer we women who bask in the magic and mystery of the written word.”
(Donna, we thank you too! We're here to support you, and we know, without a doubt, you'll go far and achieve all of your dreams!)
Fate’s Hand
By Donna Piazza
“Pack your bags!” I exclaimed into the telephone receiver.
An exasperated heave came from the other end, “What are you talking about?”
“We're off to Greece, in two weeks. I just made my last car payment; I have a brand new credit card and airfares are reasonable, so I bought two tickets. Clear your calendar for the week and get ready!” I shouted, bursting at the seams.
Silence echoed back, I felt my excitement wane.
“I can't,” came my sister's balloon deflating response.
“What do you mean, you can't.” I fired back.
“What about my life? We're not all single, Donna. And what are you thinking, spending your money like that.” She sounded like our mother.
“You haven't sold a story in months.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Jeannie. Trust me, I know what I'm doing; I have some emergency funds tucked away, and I'm not going to let this opportunity pass by. Besides, I talked to Drew, he said you should go.”
Another blaring silence, then, “I guess we're going to Greece.”
“AHHHHH,” we screamed in unison.
When we landed in Athens, an instantaneous calm washed over me, banishing the pressures and minutia of my life. Traveling through the history-steeped countryside, in a bus that seemed as ancient as the ruins themselves, we giggled and held hands like giddy schoolgirls. All I wanted was to write, and devour every bit of sun, culture, beauty, and food possible for the next seven days. A wondrous island adventure lay ahead.
We hopped a fishing boat to our ultimate destination. Mouths agape, we watched as the turquoise water of the Aegean inlet, the red cliffs, and the black beaches of Santorini Island came into view. I felt my heart and spirit soar.
Everyday we ventured off the beaten path, by scooter or by foot, savoring local fare, exploring blue domed churches, absorbing the earthy aroma of herbs, grapes and citrus with every salt soaked breath. We basked in every nuance of this new, old world.
Inspired by the contrasts, of whitewashed homes built, stair step, into jagged sienna cliffs set against the infinite blue backdrop of sea melding with cloudless sky, I sketched every sight, sound, smell and feeling that happened by. Moved by venerable faces, etched with hardship, belied by timeless, serene eyes, narratives flowed from my pen in effortless torrents.
I felt inspirited by Calliope, herself.
Each evening a symphony of church bells called us from our explorations. We supped, alfresco, in village eateries, we drank wine and ouzo, we danced the Hassapiko and Syrto in local taverns alongside of the natives. Laughter erupted freely from an untapped well inside of me, more salubrious and rejuvenating than a thousand hours of therapy. We became part of the community.
Fate revealed its hand as I packed to leave.
I looked at Jeannie, and said, “Keep my car, it's yours.”
She just nodded, and offered the best smile she could muster.
We shared a tearful goodbye, then Jeannie boarded the plane...alone.***