Coffee/reading/writing/family–my favorite things in life. I have a degree in biochemistry but my split personality loves creative writing just as much!
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A Step Back
Let me be honest–it's hard to want to continue to help and be nice as of late. Being kind and paying it forward are things I strive to do all the time, but I've encountered so much rudeness, hate, and selfishness or in worse cases, apathy. As one more person lets a door shut in my face, or cuts me off while driving, says terrible things online, or just doesn't seem to care at all, it's a real struggle to want to be better, to give more of myself away.
- Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
A Story with No BeginningRunner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
Of the roughly 8.2 billion people on the planet, Stalone–at least that's what he called himself–had no idea how many bodies he had inhabited. He'd calculated it would take roughly 22.5 million years to transfer to each one, and he was fairly certain he'd never repeated a transfer. That was about as much as he knew.
When Madmen Cry
Along the troubled shores of Lake Onesta, there stood a curious oak. The passing of time having no bearing on its countenance, it looked the same now as it had for the last one hundred years–which was to say, a bit unsettling. No man alive nor mother nature herself had been able to fell it. No limb or leaf ever left its place. It was neither there nor not there. It simply was.
I'm at that age where most of my older memories of the past have that fuzzy quality to them. The finer details remain unfocused, stolen over time. Scenes and images flash by in a blur, the memories fluid. Some I wish I could just grasp in my hands and hold tight, allowing the chance to reminisce a bit, but they slip through like sand. Others I would love to banish from my mind forever, no amount of "lesson-learned" a lure enough to keep them.
An Apple for Midnight
"Maisey Sue," Momma starts, giving my reflection in her gilded mirror a critical once over as she pats her perfectly coifed hair. She can't even bother to face me directly anymore. "What have you been on about? I heard from Mr. Thatcher that you still have an unhealthy attachment to that beast. No daughter of mine will be moping around, spending all her time with a bull. Especially that one. This stops today."
Drops of Molten Sun
Golden light drips and drops, stumbles and slips over the smooth curved edge of mottled yellow flesh. Ready to slide and slough onto the hardened ground like melted wax. An unforgiving resting place, no rest to be found. Withered and rotted, a feast for feathered friends.
A Cardbored Life
My name is Beatrice, Bea for short, and I've had a really strange day. Don't worry, I plan to tell you all about it. And there's a whole moral-to-the-story kind of vibe, so it'll be uplifting too. It ends with my detainment for an unexpected incident and begins with a shameful dissatisfaction of my life.
His breathing was harsh, his legs burning. Brambles and branches clawed his coat, his skin, his heart. The sliver of moon cast a meager glow, shining light on his sins and delivering judgement. Tears shredded his cheeks, leaving bits of him on the ground as he ran. Judd ran and ran and ran, but it made no difference. He couldn't outrun what he'd done less than an hour ago.