Short Stories and Poems


the pain always lingers

when I am alone

I am pregnant

with misery




His lips massaged my pale forehead,

our legs entangled in the silk sheets

His bony fingers stroked strands of my hair

I giggled with pink dusted cheeks,

gazing into his chocolate eyes

His smile began to fade, he glanced away

from my flushed round face

I clenched his cold hand,

caressing my thumb over his palm

What’s wrong?

My bottom lip quivered

a sigh escaped his mouth as he began to


There’s another. 

A Single Death

I keep running away, feet kicking up the dirt on the cold ground beneath me,

hair bouncing and chest heaving, raspy breaths escape past my lips


A car slams into my frail body,

crushing every bone and living fiber inside of my vessel

My legs and arms turn limp as I inhale my final breath,

blood dripping from every fresh wound and crevice

No longer am I able to speak,

although my mouth is agape,

hanging open while spit dangles off of my bottom lip

Before my eyes, a blinding, golden orb shines brightly,

a womanly voice is calling my name with such vitality and grace

My body is no longer numb, every wound is healed without a trace of bloodstain or trauma

Death approaches me,

clad in a black gown with a shimmery glare,

reaching out to me with open arms, inviting me in

I run towards her dark figure, launching my body into her arms as she drapes her

arms around me, clutching me to her body in a embrace


The Witch

Potions, herbs, spells, magic

The witch is scrambling ideas around her pink brain, huffing and puffing whilst flipping trough her book of spells 

One that turns a cat into a bat

One that turns a boy into a children’s toy

One that turns a book into a hook

She glances at the cabinet to her left, reaches in and caresses an eyeball with her emerald fingers 

Grabbing the eyeball, she tosses it into the couldron causing a splash of violet liquids to hop out 

“and a teaspoon of a widow’s blood and a bat’s left wing,”

The young hectic witch tosses in the rest of the ingredients, quickly grabbing her wooden spoon and swirling around the concoction 

This creation would surely triumph the others, a creation that would make women weep and men to crack 

To emit screams that even the Devil would be able to hear from the depths of Hell




The maple trees outside full of honey colored leaves with thick, tan branches dangling by a thread like an old woman’s brittle fingers
Yellow and orange leaves are blowing through the wind, getting dragged across the neighborhood, house to house
Freshly carved jack-o’-lanterns light up the doorstep on this eve
Here I sit, huddled up in my recliner with a horror film playing on the TV
A cup of hot cocoa rests in my hands as I take a sip from it, burning my mouth from the hot temperature
I inhale the sweet aroma of pumpkin spice
and cinnamon from my newly lit candles sitting on top of my bookcase
Fall has arrived