Mary Catherine Watson
Bio
Mary Catherine Watson, a.k.a. MCV Watson, or, Catherine Watson, is an artist that also writes. You could say she is a writer who also creates fine art. Like the “chicken or the egg” which comes first? Catherine loves challenges, and cares!
Stories (8)
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For Real--The Interview
Resume’ in hand, I walked into the building fifteen minutes ahead of my interview time. I noticed the foyer is empty. It is a grand space with a coffee stand located on the left and a reception counter on the right. An enormous fireplace from the ground floor to the top of the second floor towered over me. A railing above revealed a lounge on the second floor. No one is around. No one is behind the counter either. I see a sign in book. It has large shaky signatures. I look to the top to see this is for “The Residents”. To think, I had almost signed in the wrong book. Glad no one was looking. I gazed around and found a closed book to the far right lying flat on top of the gleaming black marble. I almost missed it because the book was also black. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was labeled “Visitors”. I opened the book, and with pen in hand, found the last page so that I could sign in. There were no available slots left to sign in. I felt the odd presence of eyes. I felt as though someone was watching me. I looked around, still no sign of a human in sight. I couldn’t shake that feeling. Perplexed, I decided to add a line to the bottom of the page and neatly followed the pattern of the line above to sign in. I closed the book and placed the pen down. I saw a chair by a fireplace in the center of the grand foyer. That seemed like a good place to sit while I waited the next 12 minutes. It would certainly be within earshot. So, I sat down. I placed the resume’ in my lap and neatly folded my hands together. I felt a little conspicuous. I shifted in my seat to make sure I had good posture and crossed my ankles, slightly adjusting both knees to the left and ankles to the right. I could hear and see no one. Yet, I had the unmistakable sense of someone nearby. I looked around. I sniffed the air. I listened so that I could hear a pin drop. Nothing. I gazed at my arms extending beyond the suit sleeves. The hairs stood up. It wasn’t particularly cold in the room, but it was clear that my senses were on overdrive. Time ticked on, slowly, ever so slowly. Agonizing—time ticked on.
By Mary Catherine Watsonabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
Edward Scissor-Crow
Scarecrows--They Aren't What They Used to Be! I have always loved challenges, especially when I have a pile of stuff to create something that has no pattern, no real identity, and has never before existed. Give me a theme and a pair of scissors, and I am well on my way. They say, "someone's trash is someone else's treasure" and for me that is absolutely true.
By Mary Catherine Watson5 years ago in Lifehack
Little Black Notebook
Marking a tree with a vertical line for each person that traveled down that trail, I wondered why no one has returned. No one has noticed the shoelace left behind, the cigar put out on the stump, or the half-eaten sandwich left on the picnic table.
By Mary Catherine Watson5 years ago in Futurism
