C.T. Piatt

Thank you. I like to think that the story will tell you what you want/need to hear, rather than me explain. The power of words is that each word, sentence, story feels different to each person who reads it.

Why thank you.

“What about me?” He looked directly at the man before him. “What about what I want?” His fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. He felt them dig, felt the points of pressure. Tried to relax, but it didn’t work. Silence. Silence filled the room and that was enough of an answer. He turned away. Felt a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t.” He shrugged the hand off. “Just don’t.” He turned back. And stepped backwards, closer to the wall, trapping himself. Like he wasn’t already trapped. “Don’

When duty and circumstances override who you are you are left wondering if anyone can see the real you.

So glad you enjoyed it.

Thank you

Enjoying this story immensely, with its twists and turns. part of me can't wait for the finish, but part knows that I'll miss it when it does.

Thank you.

Thank you - I was reading another story and came across the 'cutting-in' line and the scene flashed into my brain.

Heat laced with the scent of sweat, beer and artificial flowers etched its way down the back of my throat as soon as I walked into The Bear Club. A club despite its name wasn’t a gay club, although no one minded if two guys danced on the parquetted floorboards in front of the DJ. It was my go-to spot when I felt the need to expend energy dancing rather than pounding the pavements or hitting the machines at the gym. It was my go-to spot where I could see those courageous guys who held hands with

Taking to the dance floor was his release from the real world, but even then he couldn't totally let go.

My fingertips traced the names carved into the joined headstones. First Elizabeth's, then John's; their deaths no more than a year apart. It was a habit to visit the cemetery every Sunday evening, as the light faded. One I started at the first church I was assigned. I walked the cemetery, looking at the headstones, reading the names, the dates, the inscriptions. Linking those gone to God to those still living, to those a part of my congregation. A habit I kept long after I knew everyone.

Father Allen is one of the few whose duty it is to visit Heaven and hear the confessions of the fallen angels. To give absolution if he feels the regret is sincere. Without the priest's absolution, the fallen angel cannot go before God to ask for forgiveness.

Although I've posted I figure I should ask for a beta reader and/or editor. I keep finding references to Writing Support Requests to visit to find what I need but can't find the forum, nor do the links work. Help how do I find myself a beta reader or editor? Cat