Just Beneath The Skin

January 5, 2017

From out of the storm walked the souls, clinging to the masks sewn on at birth and learning their roles.406522_322086917812430_414015272_n

Drenched in tears from the Earth Mother, in their arms treasures wrapped in rags like no other.

Grouping not together but alone or in mismatched pairs, waiting for the roadside snake oil men to sell their wares.

Feet shuffled along on the road of mud that was once dust, heads down low from the rain lest their hearts rust.

The salesman waited with black smiles of glee, ‘We will trap them here, they will never be free.’

When the many souls asked the price of the poisoned vision in the salesmen’s bags, they lifted dirty crooked fingers and pointed at the treasures wrapped in the rags.

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Fiction: Of Light And Shadow | The Doctor Who Companion

December 31, 2016

A little bit of holiday Doctor Who fiction to start off the new year from TomSpy and the Doctor Who Companion.

All shares, comments, and likes welcome. 

http://thedoctorwhocompanion.com/2016/12/30/fiction-of-light-and-shadow/


Of Roots & Fractals

August 6, 2016

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Throwing this out there and it was inspired by this writing prompt on Reddit.

Bob admittedly felt strange as he awoke on that Sunday morning, staring at the blue sky from his bed in his tiny one bedroom apartment, the bright sunlight forcing his eyes and his mind under the covers to try and regroup.

It felt like he got no rest at all, even though he had gotten into the habit of sleeping as much as possible, because it was better to be blissfully asleep rather than think about how lonely and isolated he was every single day of his life.

His eyes burned and his body ached as if he had been on a bender and then proceeded to start a fight in which the odds must have plainly been against him. Bob had vague recollections of a strange dream, of hands reaching out and a voice that kept telling him he had one last chance.

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The Man With the Straw Heart

January 7, 2016

163628_184781778209612_7680246_nThere once was a man with a straw heart who loved the people around him more then he could fathom and certainly more then he wanted to most of the time.

He saw their attachment to the material world, saw how they cared more for personal gain and trinkets then the people around them and although it filled him with fire, fire enough to burn his straw heart for only a moment at a time, and then he forgave them.

The man watched as love and friendship were tossed aside on arbitrary conditions of survival no longer needed, saw them cling to damp perverted animal skins like the caveman clung to the torch to scare away the night and sighed.

For him his love of the world was a mystery; to him the world was cold as ice, no one wanted to know him, no one could get close to the toxic strands that fell from his straw heart, weeping like a wound.

In reality this was only his love of all around him pushing the infection out, cleansing it and protecting the gift he had, which was the gift ever boy receives but a ‘man’ soon forgets.

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Short Fiction: The Perfect Crime

August 10, 2015

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This was originally inspired by a writing Prompt from Reddit.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think of it in the comment section:

“No good will come of this you know”

“I know…”

The couple stood over the dead body, staring down at the lifeless form at their feet. The Body was still fresh, the eyes open and accusing, the hollow stare that will one day happen to all of us when the soul vacates it’s shell.

“So what do we do now?” She asked.

“I guess we bury it, try to make sure she does not see it before she gets up.”

She looked at her watch, then up at the bedroom window on the second floor of the house.

“That only gives us a couple hours…”

“Then we better work quickly then.”

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AW Blog Chain July: Independence and Slavery

August 1, 2012

This was supposed to be part of Absolute Write’s July Blog Chain, which had the prompt, Independence and Slavery.

However, I messed it up, kind of forgot about it and then still wanted to at least show there was something there, even it was written in about two hours.

Following my post is links to the other entries for July…

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Stan & His Wife:

Stan could not believe it.

There they were, arguing out in public like they usually would do after a few drinks, middle of the night on another rainy Saturday, one where the streetlights made the rain puddles in the parking lot seem like small lakes made of liquid silver.

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Second Chances (Short Fiction)

February 10, 2012

This post is part of the Absolute Write Water Cooler’s February Blog chain, which can be seen here. The prompt this month was Second Chances, which lead me to imagine the short little scene that plays out below.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think in the comments and by sharing the posts around your favorite social networks if you like it!

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Second Chances:

The bus shook slightly as it took the turn and Robert’s stomach did a turn with it, rolling and gurgling at the motion. Some days were still like this, an endless struggle between himself and his body. He clinched even tighter to the manilla envelope between his fingers, wishing he had not taken a seat by the back of the bus near the wheel wells.

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