Crisis Mode

Add a dash of complex mother-daughter and sister relationships, sprinkle in a pinch of the almighty family, and you will find yourself having indulged in a serving of 'Crisis Mode', a tasty blend of four novellas which delve into the feminine mystique.

Each story deals with issues that most of us can relate, and that are prevalent in today's society, including unplanned pregnancy, aging parents, spousal abuse, infidelity, and mental illness.

The heroines find themselves in dire straits, faced with life alterming decisions that will change the course of their lives. The supporting cast includes true-to-life characters, some of which will make you laugh, and other will have you in tears.

The stories are titled, What's A Woman To Do, Letting Go, Family Secrets,

and Family Meetings.

Sit Back and Enjoy the world of Crisis Mode

Excerpt from What's A Woman To Do?

Sharita Atkins stood in her small bathroom methodically washing her hands over and over as if in a trance. After rinsing and flickering off the excess water, she slowly dried them on a tattered pink towel hanging on the rack above the toilet. When she was done, she closed her eyes, recited the Lord’s Prayer, then uttered “Amen” and made the sign of the cross across her chest. As metal to a magnet, her eyes homed in on the tube on the sink, which was part of a home pregnancy test kit. She walked unsteadily out of the bathroom and into the living room, allowing the tiny tube time to process the specimen and deliver the final verdict. She sank heavily into the padded cushions of the couch, tucking her legs under her body. Trembling uncontrollably, she wrapped her arms around her upper body. Lord, what if I’m pregnant again, she thought as a soft moan of anguish escaped from her lips. As the trembling got worse, Sharita kept glancing at the old clock repeatedly to see if it was time to learn her fate.

She arose from the sofa, walked across the room, and stood staring out the window. The scenery was truly depressing to her, being a long-time resident of one of the many housing projects on the south side of Chicago. Like many of the surrounding structures, her building was scheduled for demolition early the next year. Bottles, papers and other debris cluttered the sidewalk and sparse grassy areas like polka dots. Children ran happily around the dilapidated playground shouting with glee. In the far recesses of the building, dealers milled about, waiting for the next opportunity to hawk their wares. In the dark corners of the buildings, teenage boys ran game on unsuspecting girls.

"How can I even think of bringing another child into something like this?" Sharita thought aloud.

Rita, as family and friends call her, is twenty-seven years old and the mother of three. She is a petite, attractive, Hershey chocolate woman of color, with a shapely build. Rita possesses a brilliant, twinkling smile, which lights her heart-shaped face. She keeps her coarse, short hair styled in twisties for low maintenance. Her oldest and only daughter Destiny is twelve years old, a miniature clone of her mother. The twins, Devan and Deante, are mischievous, hyperactive boys, who are full of life. They are typical eight-year-olds unable to sit still for more than a minute. They favor their father in looks, as if he spit them out.

Her eyes gravitated to the clock again. Sighing softly, she thought to herself, Finally, it’s time.

She walked back into the bathroom, her legs shaking crazily out of control as if the weight of her body was too ponderous for them to support. No need in putting this off. Her hands trembled as she lifted the tube off the sink. There were two lines, just as she’d known there would be. “Well, the verdict is in. I’m definitely pregnant.” She began wobbling and grabbed the sink for support. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Lord what am I going to do?” she said aloud to herself, letting go of the sink and sinking clumsily to the floor. While beating the floor with her tiny fists, she cried, cried, and then cried some more

After what seemed like an eternity, the tears finally stopped, and she scurried into the bedroom and to the closet. Her hands groped frantically on the top shelf until she came upon her stash. Then she sat lifelessly on the bed and rolled a joint.