Semi-Daily Scribbles

I always knew my imagination would save our lives one day.

So began Cheryl Jessup's latest project. She read the sentence a couple of times, then paused as she flexed her fingers above the keyboard. Cheryl planned to alter a few details so her book would read like a work of fiction rather than the harrowing memoir she intended it to be. Cheryl shivered as she took a sip of brandy. She never liked Ms. Vincent, even though she was Buddy's favorite teacher. There was something about the way she smelled. For such a young, pretty, well-groomed woman, Cheryl always smelled peat and wood smoke coming off of Ms. Vincent's skin. Maybe the light had caught Ms. Vincent at the right angle so it just looked like bits of straw were tucked in the strands of her light brown hair. And maybe Ms. Vincent always had mishaps with the Elmer's. What other explanation was there for her sticky handshakes? Cheryl had one hell of a story to tell. Names definitely needed to be changed to protect the innocent which, in all of Townsend Cove, included two people: the writer and her son, Buddy.