Tish Cohen's Page

Gelden

Gelden woke up shivering. The temperature had dropped significantly overnight and his bedposts, his digital alarm clock, the leather man-jewelry box where he kept his watch (given to him by his paternal grandfather) seemed to be covered in dew. Frankly, considering the drop in mercury, Gelden was surprised it wasn't frost. He climbed out of bed and stretched, as naked as the midnight hour he was born.

Not a single member of the Gelden clan was raised to sleep in anything b… Continue

Bounder


It was known to any dog who had ever trod and widdled upon the hallowed sod of Highgate Manor as "the love shack." An abandoned lair--perhaps once inhabited by those uncouth neanderthals humans referred to as wolves. It consisted of little more than a hole in the ground at the edge of a Bambi-esque thicket, but inside that hole--about one foot beneath the earth's surface-- was air so cool it was nearly liquid, and sumptuous bedding made of straw and fallen leaves and fern fronds. But b… Continue

Maxim


It was impossible to concentrate these days. What with the DNA lab mucking up Ritka's test. Now it was to be another week before he'd hear the result. Not that he didn't know the answer already. Seriously. He'd never been able to get Hillary pregnant. As much as he hated to admit to any sort of physical flaw--Dear God, was baldness not enough?--Maxim was fairly certain he was sterile.

It should make him happy. Sterility was a gift to the philandering male, was it not?

Sti… Continue

Gelden


He stood beside Hillary in Tesla's stall and thought about her question. Was it, indeed, time to accept the fact that Tesla was not coming back? Ever since her disappearance, Gelden had been getting up early, stuffing his pockets with carrots, fluffing the prized mare's bedding, scrubbing her feed bucket and water basin, clearing the cobwebs by her windows and leaving the carrots as a welcome home treat in her bucket.

It seemed to make Hillary happy.

Today, however, some… Continue

Maxim

Ritka sat across the table, silently tearing the label from her Pellegrino water and piling the tiny paper coils in a in front of Maxim's dinner plate. Nervous indulgences such as this annoyed him and he ached to swipe the debris onto the floor. Instincts prevented it. He wasn't quite sure what to expect from a twenty something Icelandic groom who claimed to be with child.

Her hair fell over her face like limp noodles and her previously flirting eyes darted around the room… Continue