Kevin Klabon
Bio
I am an artist, a musician, an author, a poet, a magician of the written word.
I live no life without pen and paper, or a paintbrush in hand.
If you could share your love for what I love, I would love you to the moon.
Stories (49/0)
Carolina
Dust motes floated as if they were fireflies in the shafts of sunlight streaking across the barn. The young woman’s one good eye, unblinking, stared in wonderment at the exclusive showing. An unwelcome cough created an intense discomfort in her gut that made the teenager heave. The girl sought to turn her body, but her face appeared to be glued to the wooden floorboards. The young lady heaved; head rising from the ground with a noise similar to that of Velcro pulling apart. It took all she had to hold the contents in her stomach right where they belonged. She moaned against the discomfort, but the cry unknown to her ears sounded very much like a lifeless zombie wailing. Slowly the girl sat up and saw that she wore no clothing. In the limited light she could see that her legs, hands, and arms were covered in cuts and scrapes - they showed to be congealed in a blend of blood and dirt.
By Kevin Klabon2 years ago in Horror
The Clock and the Pink Cubicle
There was nothing special about the clock that hung up high on the cinderblock wall. The second hand clicked loudly and echoed through the small room. Click, click, click, click. For every miserable second that passed, it sounded like two; but the minute hand never appeared to move.
By Kevin Klabon2 years ago in Fiction