Hey

March 18, 2018

Hello followers and new readers, for anyone interested I will be relocating my activity to shortstorylives.com. The new site will have some of my old content but mostly new pieces. I’ve been working on it for a while and I’m very excited to share it with all of you.

My new location will require you to follow using your email address as opposed to the current set up, if you want to that is. I hope you all like the new site and new content. I’ve been playing around with some different things than what I usually post. Different styles.

I hope to see you all there!

This Girl I Knew

March 15, 2018

When I was young I knew this girl
She was pretty
And funny
And amazing
And a part of me
Was hopelessly
Flawlessly in love with her
But she was also
Cruel
And petty
And small
And I resented her for that
And with what I felt
And what I knew
I cast her out
So that I could be happy
And so could she
But elsewhere
Away from me
And those
She’d harmed.

The Girl On the Cloud

February 16, 2018

At the beginning of the universe there was nothing say for a single cloud, the final remnant of the last stars, it being all that remained from the last universe which had stood in its place. The dust sad quietly there for centuries, moving yet unchanging. A constant in a realm devoid of inconsistencies. Until one day, something did change and awoke.

She was the child of the nothing, who had since the beginning grown tired of its constant state and had so brought her into being, desperate to end and creation to begin.

She was small. So small compared to everything else. A water droplet thrown into an ocean. Her eyes were blue, like the oceans that she had not yet made and her lips were perfectly pink, similar to the roses she had not yet brought into creation. Her face and her body were perfect, soft and untouched by time. As they would remain.

She raised her head, unknowing of what it meant to be alive or awake. The surface she laid on was a pool but it did not wet her. She stood, nearly tripping, new to the ways of walking. She would have spoken, but she did not know speech, for man had not yet invented it and so she had no way of knowing it. Instead she walked through the stardust and the blackness until she reached the edge of the nothing and she starred into it. Trying to find within it the faintest bit of light, or of life to accompany her in her solitude. But in the abyss she found nothing. No light, nor life or warmth. The girl let out a breathe of air and she watched it as it formed in front of her and then dissipated.

She looked around at the dust, its shimmering lights being the only sources of such she had ever laid eyes on and she imagined the void to be filled with them. A thousand, thousand twinkling dots painted about the nothingness, but when she looked again at it, it had remained unchanged and she hung her head, disappointed at the consistence.

But then, from above, she felt the steady gaze of something quite unfamiliar and when she looked up to meet its eyes, she found there a single shining star, alone in the black above the nebula. The girl smiled at her lone creation, welcoming it to cosmos with a look, as she would do with the many more to come. The ones she would use to fill the void, and within that procure life and perhaps, companionship.

Ancient Fucking Artifact

February 8, 2018

Something I was told today;
You’re like this beautiful
Ancient Egyptian
Artifact.
Everyone wants you,
But you’re so old
And so weak
You have no idea
How to resist
How to say
No.
                                ∼ Well fuck you too I guess.

The Necromancer – Part 4

February 8, 2018

The cat stood in the center of the village, watching the wood and straw houses go up in flames, all the while subject to the screeches of the towns people, yelling as they burnt. The cat, though, was mostly unmoved by this. Yes, it was true usually he would be made very frightened, if nothing else, of the whole ordeal. But for whatever reason on that particular day he found himself perfectly comfortable in laying back and watching it all play out.

The girl walked up to him and sat down, having walked out of one of the burning houses. She was, however, untouched. The cat huffed, or maybe it was a sigh. He was no longer impressed by the girl’s devil-fueled antics.

“Oh, must you?” she said, half annoyed, rolling her eyes at him. “I know your cross, but I mean honestly?”

“It’s not my fault you’ve begun to bore me.” He said, out loud and for all to hear. Not that there were many people to hear seeing as most of them were in the process of being burnt alive.

“Bore you?” the girl seemed somewhat incredulous at this. “I literally brought the devil out of hell.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He said, lazily, laying down next to her. “It’s just…” at that moment a woman with burning clothes ran out of one of the houses, neither of them paid her notice.

“It’s just what?” she said, tilting her head to look at him, “What?”

“I mean, it’s just getting a bit old, you know?” he said, resting his head, “A bit tiring.”

“You think this is tiring?” she said, motioning around to the fiery buildings and demogorgons which had begun to appear out of the woodlands, eating those few who tried running to escape the fire.

“Just a tad.” He stretched his arms out, making himself comfortable.

The girl scoffed at him, annoyed, and threw herself backward onto the ground to stare up at the demon filled sky. “I hate you.” She said, clearly cross.

“I know.” The cat sighed, “I know.”

To Love The Devil’s Nightmare (Excerpt)

February 7, 2018

“I’m not afraid of you.” She said it so distinctly. Like it wasn’t at all a question whether she would be afraid of him. Like it was a given she wouldn’t be. An unquestionable fact. It was almost frightening and in a way utterly Victorian of her. It was not as though she had known him for a terribly long time. Instead, he was practically a stranger to her. She had met him only days previously and it was only moments ago that she had learnt about his true nature and yet here she stood, unfazed and unwavering.

“It’s alright if you are.” He sounded so genuine as he said it she almost was afraid of him for it. Not that he was paying attention to her in that regard. He was far too busy wondering how so little sunlight could cause her face to look like it was glowing so magnificently. “It wouldn’t change anything.” He added, finally.

“Are most people frightened of you?” She asked, not looking at him, but continuing instead to look out off the balcony at the children playing in the snow below them. Building snowmen and throwing snow balls at each other in a playful game of war. In the meantime, he could not for the life of him keep his eyes off of her.

“For them I am everything they have ever been afraid could happen.” He said it like it was fact, like he could read the villagers minds and foresee their fears. “Me-I am the worst case scenario; I am what hell spit out. And I’m the only one. The only one that survived. They look at me and their hearts stop. So yes, they are.”

He looked at her, at how the expression on her face had remained the same. She was still and calm and poised. Not at all phased by the prospect of him. Of the thing the devil threw away. The thing not even Lucifer could think to keep. Was it possible to fall in love with someone you had only known for a few days? He wondered silently.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” she sounded to utterly sincere, he didn’t know exactly what it was she wanted him to say. She looked at him. “Aren’t you afraid of hell?”

He sighed, and it was almost a laugh. “I can’t be afraid of who I am, love.”

She turned back away, “Yes, you can.” The way she said had that same sort of finality to it. And it made him think that, perhaps, she knew a little too well what it meant to be afraid of oneself.

Marlet #1

February 7, 2018

At the entrance of the Marlet school there sat a single wooden door atop a flight of three stone steps, all of it surrounded by a bungle of flowery, thorn filled bushes one had to make sure not to touch or else risk being poisoned by. The steps of the entrance gave off the impression that instead of having been carved they had been bunch of rocks which had for some reason been pushed together to make stairs and had since simply stayed put, with lack of anything better to do. The door was ancient looking, with a smooth texture and faded coloring and the distinct smell of firewood, as though someone had once thought to try using it as lumber but the door had refused to burn. On the door there was no handle but instead a small window with bronze bars and a glass panel on the other side of it to keep the warmth from inside from escaping. Underneath the window there was a single golden knocker clenched in the teeth of a lion’s head, his eyes accusatory and unmoving, as if daring whoever found himself standing in front of him to knock. On the right hand side of the door there was a small, silver tray with the appearance of a miniature birdbath. But at the bottom of its bowl instead of water, there sat flower petals and stranger still, ashes. What was even stranger is that when one entered the space the noises heard from every other area of the school; the sounds of birds, chirping of crickets; they would disappear and whoever stood there would find themselves in total, unwavering silence. The only noise being that of the knocker falling on the door and of the person’s own breath leaving his lungs only to breath in that same faint hint of firewood, and ash, and smoke.

Excerpts From My Mind #1

January 25, 2018

She was a beautiful corpse. The remnants of a lost soul fallen to the darkness and it was not the woman who had been who was precious but the body she had abandoned among the living. Still and empty, without flaw of character or grayish morals to tie her down among the ranks of normal men. This shell, though to many it might seem morbid, even ghoulish to say so, was an amazing spectacle in that she was societies one and only example of the perfect woman. Quiet, un-opinionated and overall unwilling to put up a fight against those who wanted her carnal being for themselves and their own purposes.

The Death of Creativity

January 19, 2018

For me happiness was the death of creativity.
When I was sad I was inspired.
When I was depressed I was Picasso.
I was Shakespeare, I was Mozart.
But then you came along,
And suddenly my unhappiness subsided.
My anxiety reseeded,
My confidence grew tenfold.
And all with those things my mind grew cloudy.
My passion waned,
My love of the written word forgotten.
You made me better,
But at the same time  
You made me worse.
The thing that had kept me alive
Suddenly and without warning
Was unimportant.
                            ∼ and i loved you for it

Madeline

January 18, 2018

It was Chicago, 1926. Gangbangers and showgirls and gin and pizazz! The city streets where dank and cold and neglected but step into the nearest rat hole and you could find yourself a party. The city was more alive than it had ever been and it was almost like a secret that it was. For the first time in ever drunkards dined with fat cats and their wives drank with their mistresses. It was a blur of gin and smoke and feather boas and no one was complaining, least of all me. This was my town, my space. War, famine, rich, poor, none of that mattered here. Chicago was one big fiesta and something like that could only mean well for a girl like me, wanting to show off her lipstick.

Now, you might be wondering who I am exactly. My name is Madeline, pleasure. Or that’s what people around here call me, anyways. I’m the kind of girl that falls in with the showgirls, likes hanging near the fat cats. Not that I don’t enjoy the occasional drunkard, who doesn’t? But I like the things the fat cats buy me best, the drunkards are more good for a nice laugh, maybe a sweet compliment now and again, and plenty of other more helpful things too. The showgirls I like best cause they don’t judge, not that many people do. But thing with the showgirls is most of them are sluts dressed like goddesses and the sweet things know it. If I had to write down all the times at Shelby’s when I’ve walked into that dressing room of theirs and found one of them getting felt up by some degenerate, well there wouldn’t be much paper left in this city, now would there be?

Me, I’m no showgirl. I can’t dance to save my own life and I feel sorry for the poor fella who’d hear me singing in the morning, Id probably ending up making the poor dear’s ears bleed. No, me? I’m more of a working girl myself. Yes, I know, it’s very scandalous. A pretty girl like me working as a fancy lady, a streetwalker. A lady of the evening! Ha-ha!

Oh come now, don’t look at me like that, if you were a girl like me in a town like this you’d have ended up doing the exact thing then, just worse probably. But don’t feel bad for that, I’m pretty good at what I do. Had to work at it lots too. Practice, that’s all it takes. Day in and day out. It’s just like I said, the drunkards are good for lots too.