Madelyn Boughter
Bio
Writing to fill the void.
Stories (3/0)
Symphony of Shadows
Ewan sat up from his bed, drawn from his nice, warm sheets and faced suddenly with the chilly early morning air seeping in through his open bedroom window. He rubbed at his still-tired eyes as they adjusted to the first rays of morning light. He stretched his arms upwards for a moment and climbed slowly out of his bed, making his way across creaky floorboards to the window. The view from his bedroom was nothing short of breathtaking. Across Ewan’s little patch of lawn, which wasn’t good for much apart from a small herb garden, lay hundreds of acres of magnificent forest, stretched across miles and miles. They were as mysterious as they were beautiful. Other than the occasional berry picking he did along the forest’s edge, Ewan stayed out of the woods.
By Madelyn Boughter28 days ago in Fiction
What Is Hers
It had become hard to hold her hand, the colder her skin became. My mother, the very woman that breathed life into me, was coming face to face with death. The hard, wooden floor creaked beneath her weight as she writhed and flailed, her body hopeless in it’s final efforts to free itself from the pain. Her movements were jerky and unpredictable. Her legs twisted and her back arched. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth each time her lips parted to give way to a harrowing gurgle. My attempts at comfort were futile, but still, I brushed my free hand across her forehead, gently shushing, not unlike one would hush a crying baby.
By Madelyn Boughter3 years ago in Fiction