HERSTORY
Fiction
Honoring Women’s History Month
By:
Various Authors
Blurb
In
ancient times, women were regarded as sacred. They were thought to
hold the mystical power of creation—responsible for the
continuation of our species. With the rise of Science and Religion,
these myths were dispelled and their plight began.
HerStory:
Fiction Honoring Women’s History Month is a collection of Flash
Fiction and Short Stories from today’s top authors featuring female
characters that exemplify strong strength of mind, body, and
character. Some of these tales are based on real people while others
are purely fictional. However, all are standing up for themselves and
what they believe in.
Grab
yourself a glass of wine or favorite hot beverage and get comfortable
as you read about the lives of women who will light the fire in your
soul.
This
anthology features stories by Alexandra Chauran, Angelique Mroczka,
Dahlia DeWinters, Danielle Villano, Dianne Hartsock, Dorothy L.
Abrams, Gina Tonnis, Mary Terrani, Jodie Baptie, Justine Dee, Laura
DeLuca, Lisa A. Adams, Lisa Cerezo, Lisa J. Yarde, Lori Beth Johnson,
Lorraine Nelson, Marie Antonia Parsons, Megan D. Martin, Michelle
Cornwell-Jordan, Mirella Patzer, Morgan Summerfield, Becca Diane,
Lacey Wolfe, Sarah Cass, Shelli Rosewarne, Tara Chevrestt, and Toni
Rakestraw.
Link
to Follow the Tour:
http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2013/05/now-booking-tasty-virtual-book-tour-for_524.html
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Excerpt
From
A Pit Story by Shelli Rosewarne
“Who
has authorization on-site at the moment then?”
One of
the foremen shifted uncomfortably.
“We
have two first-aiders underground, but we don’t know if they might
be injured too.”
Maud
shook her head. “If they’re badly injured, they can go into shock
when they get moved. They need a shot first.”
He
glanced away. “There’s no one who can do it,” he said simply.
Before
she realized what she was saying, Maud replied, “There’s me.”
The
yard almost turned as one to stare at her.
The
foreman coughed. “Er, ma’am, you know that’s not possible.
Women aren’t allowed underground.”
She
glared. “Are you prepared to let people die because of that? Robbie
Stanham, I knew your mother and God bless her soul, she would be
ashamed.”
He
flushed under the layer of coal dust and looked away.
“It
ain’t safe, ma’am,” he muttered, but she knew he was only
saying it for show.
She
paused—was she really going to do this? Not only was it dangerous,
but even if she made it out again safely, she would be in world of
trouble … maybe even lose her job. Harry might be down there … or
Danny. Even if they’re not, it’s someone’s husband, someone’s
son … you owe it to them.
She
squared her shoulders. “Someone get me a helmet.”
By the
time she was decked-out in overalls three sizes too big for her with
an overlarge helmet weighing down her head, she doubted her sanity.
This was crazy—she’d never been underground before. While she
supposed she might have been a little curious, both the rules and a
well-placed sense of self-preservation had kept it at just curiosity.
She
carefully checked her pack—that was the main thing, getting the
first-aid supplies down to those who couldn’t be moved safely
without them. Focus, Maud. Lives are at stake here … this is what
your job is about, remember? She stepped gingerly toward the
entrance, where half a dozen waited to go with her. She was grateful,
knowing they could be risking discipline as well simply by helping
her.
Lord,
it looks dark. She peered into the gaping hole in the earth. As though
he read her thoughts, one of the men stepped forward and gently
flicked on the light on top of her helmet. She smiled a little
sheepishly at him and muttered her thanks. The small bulb gave a pale
watery glow, only seeming to deepen the shadows. You volunteered for
this. No backing out now. She shook herself and stepped into the
blackness.
It was
like stepping into another world. The darkness was so thick she could
barely see a few steps in front of her. The lights from their helmets
and the lantern one of the men carried reflected off the gray walls.
As they moved away from the entrance, the passages became narrower,
the roof lower. Maud could almost feel the dirt and stone pressing in
on her. The light of the day didn’t penetrate here and she could
feel the cold and damp seeping through the heavy overalls. She tried
to take deep breaths, but that just seemed to fill her lungs with
dust and she found herself coughing.
The
man ahead of her turned back. “Are you okay?”
She
forced herself to nod and he smiled briefly at her.
“Always
bad your first time down. Turn your collar up and take shallow
breaths.”
She
did as he suggested and although it helped a little with the dust,
she felt the cold settling into her bones. She tried to concentrate
on the broad back of the man in front of her.
Lord,
she couldn’t imagine doing this every day!
She
focused on the monotony, the stepping forward, the lamps set at
intervals down the passageway, the stamping of their footsteps and
the constant grayness around them. She didn’t even notice the man
in front of her had stopped until she nearly ran into the back of
him. He turned to her and gestured to a slumped form on the ground.
Maud carefully stepped round him, gesturing for the man with the lamp
to come forward, as she crouched down beside the fallen miner. The
warm glow of the lamp glinted on his blood-stained form and the white
shine of bone poking through his shin. She gently touched his
shoulder and he turned pain-filled eyes her way.
“Am
I dead?” he whispered.
She
tried to smile reassuringly. “No, pet. The angels are a great deal
prettier than me.”
Thank you.
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