Tedi Zimmermann

I was a professional singer, vocal instructor,and arts administrator for decades. I retired and decided to pick up my creative writing and began taking classes at a local university. I have published in several anthologies. Creativity is ageless!

Tedi Zimmermann

A Fall Walk

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

Falling leaves a rain of red and gold, neon colored and diverse shaped floating, gliding gently into piles. I pull my hoodie over my head. The air is icy, the wind creeping into all the places not bundled in soft fleece, pulling at me with unseen fingers. Where the heck are my gloves? My walk home stretches before me, the houses shut up, the grass sere and brown, the ferns on the porch long dead. Why are there rotten pumpkins on the steps?

Let Your Mind Roam

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

Find a dark, silent room. Sit and close your eyes for at least five minutes. Let your mind roam and then write a narrative about where your thoughts wandered.

The Lost and Found

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

I lost myself somewhere. It seemed I just didn’t care Whether my life was good Or I was living as I should. I hunkered down in a lair Made of many “I don’t cares” And even more “leave me alones” Until my insides felt like stones. I stayed there many years; Outside stoic, inside tears. I knew I could never be enough. One horrid day I saw the light; A crack in the armor of my fright, And nothing since has been the same. I found the truth, I saw the game. Once seen it could not be undone Everything changes in the sun. What I found when the light came in Was myself, the one I had always been. I knew I had always been enough.

The Reclamation

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

It was the tenth hour of the tenth day of the tenth month of the tenth year. It was time. They crawled out from the caves, the tunnels, the buried places under the earth, the places forsaken in time. They were old; they were middle aged and teenaged and children. Babies were strapped to chests and they were eerily, disturbingly quiet. What they had in common was the pallor of their skin, their bones prominent under the pale skin and those who were robed wore rags and patches. As they moved into the sunlight on that morning some moaned; others cried and the youngest screamed in terror at the pain of the brightness and the strange warmth. They had never known the sun. They were the refugees, the refuse, the human detrtus of the global apocalypse and they were ready to reclaim their birthright on the small blue planet.

Hope Abides

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

He sat there on the stoop Head hung so low His forehead touched his knees. Hands, fisted, scraped The filthy steps And his tears flowed unbidden, Soaking the black trousers; His funeral attire bleak, sodden. No one approached. No one had words. They all grieved. What hope was there When even the best, most loved, Could be taken quickly, violently? He saw the tiny shoes; The frilly socks on the skinny legs. He wanted to reach out; He wanted to comfort this one But he knew he would only see the other On her face, in her eyes, her hair. He felt a tear drop on his head And he shuddered from the pain. “Daddy? Are you in there? Can you hear me? It’s just me. Annie. Daddy? I need the bathroom.” The mundane moments of life, The need of his little child, With her tears and her silly socks Broke through to his darkened mind. “Come, Annie”. He reached out. Her small hand slipped into his, And he stood, his head so heavy. It was her needs, her dependence, And suddenly the future spoke. The pain, the grief were there But hope oozed through the cracks In his heart, unbidden but relentless. He squeezed her soft child hand Then leaned in and kissed her knuckles, The chubby pads stll babyish. When he spoke his voice was ragged. “Let’s go, Annie. We’ll find it together.”

Poetry

Tears

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

Write a poem about the power of tears.

The Change

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

An old man walking the beach with his metal detector makes a life altering discovery.

The Omega Top 10

Tedi Zimmermann

4 min read

Sometime in the night his fever broke. Rolling over and peering at the clock through his sticky eyes, he moaned. 5:00 a.m. The sheets were soaking wet, and every joint ached, but he had stopped sweating; surely a good sign. He had no idea how many days he had been laid up, alternately freezing cold or burning up. Feeling as if he had just run a marathon, exhausted and suddenly starving, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Lying beside his pillow was his phone with a smidgeon of life. Blinking a couple of times to try and focus he looked at the date, flabbergasted at what he saw. “Jesus,” he said out loud. “I’ve been battling this monster for days.” There was only static from the phone; not unusual in this area. Losing a signal happened regularly. He tossed the phone back on the bed, gingerly pushed off the covers and slowly got to his feet. He desperately needed a shower and some food. “Life goes on,” he thought to himself as he stood on his wobbly legs and slowly made his way to the bathroom. The water was tepid as usual, but he stood under the shower head until there wasn’t a drop of hot water left, found clean clothes and dressed, amazed at how his jeans hung on him. Exhaustion overtook him and he had to sit on the bed for a moment. What he wanted was just to go back to sleep but he needed to eat and call into work. He vaguely remembered telling them he was sick and would be out for a few days, but he hadn’t contacted them since. God knows what was going on at the bookstore with just those two knuckleheads in charge. They might be university students but between the two of them there weren’t enough brain cells to make them dependable. His shoes were by the door of his apartment and he slipped them on and locked the door behind him. Grasping on to the railing and going step by step he made it down the stairs and pushed open the front door. It was quiet on the street, but then it was still early. His head hurt and he had to force himself to put one foot in front of the other. All he could think about was a lot of good hot coffee and a cheese omelet. If he could just make it another block, he could finally sit down in a booth at Chick’s and get himself together. He felt like he’d been run over with a truck. The city was oddly quiet; no comings and goings of people and a couple of cars came speeding by him as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “What the hell’s the rush,” he muttered. “Idiots need to slow down.” The walk took everything out of him and he had to concentrate to just put one foot in front of the other. Every few feet he would stop, lean against a street pole and just breathe deeply. The thought of a pot of coffee and a plate of eggs kept him going like a carrot dangled before a race horse. Trudging on in his walking, rresting pattern, he saw the blinking “Open” sign of in Chick’s window, and the inside lights were on. It looked warm and welcoming but no one was going in or out and he couldn’t see much movement. At this point, all he wanted was to sit. He was in the middle of the intersection, crossing over to the diner when suddenly everything went dark.He stopped dead. No street lights, no “open” sign, not a single light anywhere around. It was dark as pitch, and somewhere in the distance he heard a metallic crash, most likely a couple of cars. Standing there and looking around it was not only dark but eerily quiet. Why didn’t people rush out to see what was going on? “What the hell?” he spoke out loud but there was no one around to hear him. It was dark as pitch. “Just a power outage,” he mumbled. It really was incredibly dark; not a traffic signal or a neon sign, just darkness with a faint hint of light from the crescent moon and the scattering of stars. Unsure of what to do, he did nothing. Then it came. Out of the inky night there was a monstrous screeching sound unlike anything he had ever heard before. He threw his hands over his ears but his brain brain felt like it was exploding. It went on and on and just as suddenly as it had started it stopped. The immense quiet, the deep black around him made the hairs stand up on the back of his head. Then came the voice; eery, robotic, mechanical, the timbre so deep the windows rattled in the buildings around him. “THREE MINUTES REMAINING.” What did that even mean? What the fuck was going on? He was beyond terrified. What had happened while he was so out of it? What had he missed? Exhaustion forgotten, charged with adrenaline, he turned around and began running, running, running. But where to go? What was he running from or where was he running to? Finally his body gave up and when he saw an alleyway he ducked down there. It was so damn dark, so quiet, so eerily quiet. There was a short staircase on the right side that looked like it led down to a basement room in an old brick building. Feeling his way down, he rattled at a locked door but there was no salvation there. Horrified and now hysterical, the tears came unbidden. His fevered brain kept beating the mantr - Three minutes. Three miniutes. Three minutes. How long had it been? How far had he run? He curled up in a ball in the tiny stairwell, moaning and crying. Lifting his head he let out a primal scream that echoed off the walls of the buildings. “HELP ME!” In that moment he heard an enormous roar, and the world lit up around him. The air was sucked out from around him and he was in a primordial void; no light, no air, no life. “MAMA!” He cried into the abyss with his final breath. It was over in seconds. He would never know what hit him, what happened, but it was over for him. It was over for everyone. It was over.

Red Rage Rising

Tedi Zimmermann

5 min read

Blood stained her face, loved ones looking at her warily as she stared back at them menacingly. “This is who I am, and there is no need to be afraid,” she said, stepping forward. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ONE DAY PREVIOUSLY It was the eve of the rest of her life. She would be turning eighteen, and she had felt herself changing in ways that were difficult for her to express. There was a fire building in her, a rage that she had not recognized before, and the power of that rage was consuming her. What in the world was happening to her? She stood looking into the mirror, trying to see if what she felt inside could be discerned in her features but she just saw the same girl she had always been. She was tall, willowy, her hair a shocking red that flowed down her back in curls and caught the sun and seemed to set it on fire. Her green eyes were large, translucent, and ringed with a darker rim in an unusual and striking way. She knew she was beautiful. How could she not? She had been the object of male attention since she was a wee girl; men fawned and women…..well women didn’t quite know what to do with her. She hated that some saw her looks as a threat, but she had learned to be funny, and accommodating, and friendly. Always the good girl. Mostly it worked. Now here she was. This was the night before everything was to become clear, or at least that is what she had been told. It was The Awakening. The rage, her mother had told her, was the symptom, not the result , of her maturation. Tomorrow she would understand the power of the rage and her destiny would become clear to her. She had been meeting with the elder women for months now, and she had been learning how to contain the rage; to use it to her advantage and not let it overwhelm her. But why the rage at all? It was all such a mystery still. She stripped off her clothes, donned her nightdress and climbed under the covers. She had been warned of the dreams, but when they came she found herself trembling with night sweats, and she tossed and turned, in and out of sleep. The dreams were dark, disturbing, and that inner rage consumed her as she slept on. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ON THE DAY She woke early to the birdsong and sat up, remembering this was also the day of the pageant and she would be expected to do her part. It was all about her this time. So many times she had watched other girls take part and she had learned her lines to perfection. She dressed in her new clothes, the fine linen shift with the leather vest over it and picked up her quiver of arrows and her bow, slinging them over her shoulders. Her hair she braided and clipped back with the new combs given to her by her mother and her aunts. She glanced in the mirror again. Did she look any different? Maybe some change would show after the ritual and the pageant. She paused, taking stock of her emotions and felt reasonably calm, although the rage, the red rage, was there just below the surface. It was starting to feel like it was a part of her now. With a tilt of her head, she smiled at her reflection, wondering where the day would take her. The rehearsal for the pageant would be the first item of the day, so she made her way to the open air stage. It was just her and Bodric, the other eighteen year old who would represent the male side of the ritual. He grinned when he saw her, his eyes roving up and down her body, and she saw the heat behind his eyes. This is the way it always was with every man in their tribe when they spotted her. It was exhausting, and it kicked the red rage up a few notches, this deep anger that threatened, increasingly, to take charge of her, but she held it in check and ignored him. They went through their lines and Brodic behaved, only touching her when he absolutely had to, which was the correct etiquette. They finished, and she turned to walk away and he reached out, grabbing her ass as she left the stage. She whirled around, and slapped him, shrieking at him to leave her alone, and he laughed and walked away. The red rage burst in her; running through her from her middle to her extremities and into her brain, clouding her vision but oddly clearing her thoughts. She had formed words to attack him but he was already out of sight; she bit the inside of her mouth, willing the rage to abate, and ran back to her rooms. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE EVENING The whole tribe was gathered as the sun began its descent. They stood in rows toward the stage while she and Bodric went through the ceremonial rites of passage and then on to the pageant. She was dressed impeccably, her hair flowing down her back, her arrows and her bow strapped around her. She was the very embodiment of the Warrior Goddess, strong and beautiful, stunning and glowing. Bodric, too, was wearing his finest clothes and had his newly forged sword strapped to his side. He behaved himself throughout the drama, both of them aware of their respective roles, but she was only going through the motions. Inside, the monster rage had been growing since the morning. She knew now that she had a purpose in this clan. It had become crystal clear to her when Bodric dared to lay hands on her. She knew who she was. The enlightenment had come. The rituals came to an end and they began to leave the stage. Bodric paused for a moment to watch her walk away, leering and grinning. She heard the feral growl he made as he stared at her. In that moment she drew her bow, wrenched an arrow from her quiver, whirled and in an instant shot him through the throat. His mouth dropped open as the blood spurted out and he gurgled a moment before he dropped and bled out on the stage. With blood staining her face and her loved ones in shocked silence, warily watching her, she glared at them menacingly. “I always hated that creep. This is who I am, and there is no need to be afraid unless you disrespect those who cannot stand up for themselves. Then you shall experience the wrath of The Red Rage,” she said, stepping forward and down the stairs and into her future. Destiny had spoken.

Eventide

Tedi Zimmermann

1 min read

Most evenings we sit in our special spots; Me in a corner of the couch, Him in the Eames knock-off With his feet propped on the footstool. We’re engrossed in the usual; A book, a magazine, the iPad, And it’s quiet and warm around us. He chuckles quietly at something, And I look up and he smiles at me. I know eventually he’ll share the joke And we’ll laugh together, But we are good with the silence And our eyes smile just for a moment, Then all is again quiet and warm around us.