Tag Archives: Fiction

Her Favorite Show

When I first got home the TV was one. Probably one of mom’s favorite shows. But I couldn’t find her. She wasn’t on the sofa and she wasn’t in the living room.

As I traversed through the mess of clothes and old food on the floor, I still couldn’t find her. I was yelling her name and running up and down the stairs. Still nothing.

I finally thought to look out back. Maybe she’s in the garden again. I made my way back down the stairs. I entered the kitchen and opened the back door.

I began to walk the grounds. She had so many beautiful plants.
Her roses.
Her petunias.
Her tomatoes.
Her hand.

Wait, Her hand?! Sure enough, right there squished between two ripe tomatoes was her severed hand. I could see where her wedding ring used to be. But the question is, was it stolen, or did she take it off before hand. Hand… oh god. Why did I use that phrase.

I kept going to try and find more body parts. I found an ear, an ear of corn. Then I found her actual ear. Strange. And right there, mixed with all her lettuce was her head, just smiling up at me. Her eyes closed.

“Oh mom, why? What happened?” Right as I asked I felt a cool steel slide into my spine. Sharp but smooth. I could feel my blood running down my back. I dropped to my knees and fell forward. I tried to turn to see who it was but there was no one.

The last sight I saw before I died was my mom’s face. Just smiling back at me.

“It’ll be ok now sweetie.”


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Too Cool For School

And for today’s yesterday’s prompt, we have “How important you think education is.” I’m not in love with this prompt and I’m quite tired, so I might write a longer post on it later. But for now, have a haiku!

Her school desk was blank.
Washed time and time again to
rid it of the blood.

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The Blue, The Red, The Green.

This was supposed to be up yesterday for the 30 Day Blog Challenge. So here it is now:

His stomach turned in tumbles and fits. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead, some fell from the tip of his nose. He readied his cutters, but with shaking hands he wasn’t truly ready. The blue, the red, the green. All wound tightly around each other. He took the group in his hand and untangled them ever so carefully. He was going to stop this thing, whether he died in the process or not.

His eyes were focused, pupils as big as the moon. He breathed heavy and harsh, trying not to put any extra tension on the wires. His ear piece was already on the table. Too much chatter to concentrate. All that mattered was the device in front of him. The timer moved quick, yet felt slow in the same breath. Continue reading


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The Abominations Next Door

She clutched her head, a dreadful noise ringing through her ears. The only time she’d come this close to wanting to die before was when Bobby Jay threw gum in her hair on the school yard.

Infuriating racket, coming from the abominations next door no doubt. Always out for trouble. Never missing a moment to catch a ball right in her flowers. Her short blonde hair scrunched under the pressure of her hands.

This was her final tipping point. Her pot was full and she was ready to boil. With a swig of her juice she strutted out the front door and to the neighbor’s house.

Her knuckles were red. Two minutes knocking and not an answer. Finally though, the door opened and out came Mrs. Hampton, the mother of the two sewer rats she kept as sons. Continue reading

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Yeah, I’m a Published Poet. So What?

We’re half way there! September is half over and so is this 30 Day Blog Challenge. For today’s prompt I must write 15 interesting facts about myself. Let’s see if I can find that many.

1. My favorite book is 1984. I read it a year or so ago just for fun and fell in love with it. I’m getting ready to read it again once I knock some other books off my list.

2. I’m a published poet. When I was eight my school had a contest in the fall to write a poem about Halloween. Well, I wont and it got published in a sort of young peoples anthology. Ready for the poem?
“Most people don’t like mummies, because most mummies are dummies.”

3. I have two dogs, two kittens, and a new found Garage Cat. He was a stray that I fed one night and now he has adopted us and hangs out in the garage with me all the time while I write.

4. I really enjoy video games. I’m an avid gamer and have more games than I wish to say. Many of which are on my “To be played” list. I’m currently working my way through Skyrim.

5. I used to co-host a college radio program with two other friends of mine. It was about world music.

6. I like to draw. And I like to convince myself I’m good at drawing sometimes. I did just draw a ballin’ minotaur the other day though. (Balls not included.) Continue reading


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The Broken Wagon

A prompt inspired by Taylor Eaton on Twitter.

There wasn’t anything more that could be done about the broken wagon wheel. The broken venture. The broken marriage. Marie Fanturn was a simple farmer’s wife. She cooked, she cleaned, and she kept the kids from killing each other. Tiger Fanturn on the other hand was anything but simple. He never truly had a passion for farming. He just stuck with the family business to keep his own family a float.

The farm was old and had not much land left. They had just a few cows and only enough horses to pull a wagon. Their crops were suffering from the draught and their marriage was suffering from their lack of communication. Not to say Marie didn’t try, it was rather that Tiger was out most nights after farming his land at the local watering hole.

That is where he came up with the great idea to head west. Follow the front runners and become one of the richest men in the gold rush. He had it all planned out. They’d sell the farm and supplies to stock up on food and then take the journey out to the west territories. It didn’t matter if they would fail, it didn’t matter that the farm was their only income. All that mattered was finding that gold and striking it rich. Continue reading


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Writing In The Cold

It was the middle of November. I was outside in shorts and a t-shirt, sweating. That’s when I knew I couldn’t stay in Florida. Heat and I didn’t get along to well. But cold, now cold and I go back a ways. I grew up with cold. I knew cold and cold knew me

We knew each other’s fears. We know each other’s likes. We knew when the right time to come around was and just the right time to leave. Cold was always there when I needed it. But heat, heat would come in and ruin it all. In Florida, heat never let cold stay for a long; a few weeks, maybe a month and a half at most, then heat shoved the cold away so it could be center stage.

Try writing a story taking place in the Alps while you’re out back in December sipping some ice water and wishing it wasn’t eighty degrees. It was writing that exact story that I decided to more. I didn’t care where or how far, as long as it was cold. And good and cold. They say you’re not dead until you’re warm and dead. Well, I wasn’t alive until I was alive and cold. Continue reading

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