Illusions & Reality
The work you're about to read has all been the product of my rather overactive imagination,
the culmination of the last five years, of all of the time that I spent in between writing my books.
Some of these have been published in The Writers Post Journal, some have only been seen by
friends and family. But this is the first time I've ever put these together in one book. I hope you
I want to thank you for inviting me into your home. I love what you've done with the place.
May I have another piece of cake while you read?
~ ~ ~ ~
Illusion is in the eye of the believer...
Reality, the eye of the bewitched...
Perceive as you will, young one
But keep thy vision true...
le 19 Juin 1987 upon meeting my namesake for the first time
~ ~ ~ ~
Your Hand in Mine
In Memory of Thom “Fury” Michaud
He hated hospitals with a passion. They were cold and unfeeling places, impersonal and
uncaring. It always seemed to him that he came here warm and left freezing. Has to be the
disinfectant that fills your clothes with the stink of sick, he thought. Maybe it’s that hollow click
of heels on the tile, the one that always echoes and makes me feel so alone and lonely. He drew
a deep sigh and looked around the room. He thought, at least they could paint these walls
something warm. He hated the sickly, pale green—so cold!
He looked over to where she was sleeping and got caught up in the watching. Her face was
pale in the fluorescent lighting, a luminous shimmer to her skin. Her blonde hair fanned across
her shoulders like shimmering strands of spun gold. He watched her delicate lids flutter as she
slept, lost in her dream. He felt a sense of pure love that filled his soul. In all the years and all
the hospitals, he had never gotten over her vulnerable beauty. She was always so fragile and he
had loved that quality in her. It made him want to rescue her, made him feel . . . heroic.
He watched her for a time, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before turning to the
window. It was the wee small hours of the day but the sunrise was still far away on the horizon.
He wanted to watch the moonlight on the lawn. He moved closer to the panes to see beyond the