Colleen Ireland

“Love and Madness” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #252

It wasn’t looks that attracted Lydia to Calvin. It was his scent. A mix of remote wilderness, exotic spices, and botanical gardens. “The nose knows!” is what Lydia’s mother likes to say. This saying was one of the few things she and Lydia could agree upon.  Leaning against the kitchen doorway, eyebrow arched, lightly biting a thumbnail, Lydia watched him. Even from across the room, his scent wafted to her, all her senses standing in attention. As she crossed the living room, Lydia grabbed a flute of champagne from the passing host’s tra...

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“slice of pie” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #207

From a short distance, with cylinder ringlets, round saucer eyes, and peachy complexion, she appeared as a historical fairytale dream, a Miss Colonial pageant queen. Her rosebud lips formed rhotic consonant-r’s, all her words moving to the sounds of a Tidewater settler. An accent I was familiar with but couldn’t name until now. In her hand, a scarlet red crayon; the letters, CRO, were written onto a Muslim white wall in the Noix House main room. Turning to look over her shoulder, she caught me watching; wispy curls framed her apple-cheek fac...

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“Party Favor” by Colleen Ireland

Trigger warning: crude humor Ginny hadn’t thought of it as revenge, more like returning a favor. After all, at one point, they had been friends, best friends until the end, Katie always said. Well, in Ginny’s mind, they were at the end, so it seemed fitting they would go out just as they came in, at a crowded party.  No one saw Ginny take the small bottle of lemon-flavored Magnesium Citrate from her black clutch and pour it into Katie’s tumbler, left unattended. Katie was always so careless with where she set things down. The number...

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“white boy” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #203

“White boy, white boy, whatcha gonna do? Watcha gonna do when they come for you?” “Claire, STOP! Not funny or appropriate….” “What? He’s white, a boy, and you called the authorities, so..” “Claire, can you not? How can you joke about it?...” “You know dark humor’s my go-to in stressful times. It’d be yours too if you had a stepdad like  mine.”  Kenna twisted her face, “Ew. True.” Gripping the wheel tightly, Kenna turned onto the street leading to the private community entrance where she had seen him earlier, distressed ...

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“it always comes back to poop” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #202

Raise your hand if you’ve ever said, “I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks,” then act on it.  My hand’s up. Me! Me! Me! I’ve done it, but admittedly, my hand now down, only a few times, so I can’t really flex on it. And even though I like to think of myself as an “I don’t give a shit because I’m just that secure with myself” person, I’m not really. At least I didn’t use to be. And neither was anyone I surrounded myself with, so when my quirky neighbor, Melissa Morris, asked if I wanted to walk our dogs together, I reluctantly agreed.&...

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“Beastie” by Colleen Ireland

“That was fun, getting pedis at hoe-ah. We should totally do it again next month. Dontcha think?” Maryanne sucked down the rest of her white wine and snapped fingers to get the server’s attention. Sighing, I corrected her for the third time, “It’s pronounced wa, not hoe-ah. And yeah, it was fun.” Maryanne dismissed the correction with a breezy, “Then why spell it H-O-A?” then she turned to the slightly sweaty server who answered her beck and call. “Another Chardonnay for me, please. My little beastie’s falling behind!” “Sure thing. H...

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“Willow Rose” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #201

Willow looked more Ghost than Witch. Her wispy silver-blonde hair and pale features blended almost seamlessly into the pearl-white walls of the East Hollywood salon where she worked as a shampoo girl. Invisible until needed, no one noticed Willow when she emptied a dustpan of swept-up hair and nail clippings into the front pocket of her black smock. She would have been chased out with a broom. Willow smiled at the irony of the image, enjoying her inside joke.  Willow didn’t belong in a salon, and she certainly didn’t belong in L.A. Sh...

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“Caroline Crawly” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #200

They were too busy, the women of the town, to notice me when they gathered at the diner, Miss Lolly’s. Every Sunday, it was the church ladies, melty pink mints in their purses, lips pressed tight to hold back curses as their self-appointed leader, Ms. Amy Sprechen, a woman of no personal reflection, would share what no one else dares. Ms. Amy’s limited view of everything new allowed her to stay in the past, the power of her perfect hair and hourglass figure built to last. Ms. Amy’s husband, Mr. Ben, owned the bank, a dress shop, and a lunch ...

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“Different Part Deux” by Colleen Ireland

Submitted to Contest #183

“That’s not what I mean.” “Of course it is. We’re saying the exact same thing, just in different ways.” Sabrina scowled. “No. I’m saying we’re two different people, and you’re saying we’re just too different. It’s not the same.” James laughed out loud, not because he thought it was funny, this Friday afternoon exchange with his girlfriend on a city sidewalk, but because it’s what he did when exasperated; he laughed. It was an annoying tick that got him in trouble on a few occasions, like this one.  Botoxed brows straining to pin...

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