For more than two years now I have been participating in the weekly flash fiction challenge set by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch. As well as the challenge, I enjoy the camaraderie and support from other writers, especially Charli who ropes us in with her prompts and encouragement.
For the last little while I have been posting my flash fiction responses on Tuesday evenings, just scraping in before Charli’s deadline. But not tonight. Tonight I am sharing Charli’s post, the post that would normally include a flash fiction prompt, but instead this time included a plea for help. Charli is in crisis mode, kicked out of home and in transit.
Often when friends are in need we can lend a hand by cooking a meal, offering a bed for the night, assisting with chores, and listening. But when that friend is over 12,000 kilometres away, helping out is not such an easy thing. For that reason, this evening I am sharing Charli’s post. Maybe one of you is able to help her out in her time of need.
Thank you for reading. As always, I appreciate your feedback.
Crisis. I don’t like word. I don’t like the circumstances. I don’t want to ask for help; I’m in need of help; I feel bitter if no one helps and embarrassed if anyone does. Let me back up because this began four years ago.
After fighting in court against a fraudulent mortgage, my husband and I lost our home to foreclosure in April 2012. Over the next few years I watched my husband unravel. Last year I began in earnest to get him in the US Veterans Affairs (VA). Even though his knees were destroyed by the time he was 25 years old (a hardship we’ve dealt with on our own since 1988), the VA finally recognized his disability in 2015. To this date we still don’t have an appointment to evaluate his PTSD.
After we lost our house and Todd took a job in Idaho (where he lived in…
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