MoriaCavandish
Bio
Born and raised on the beautiful West Coast in British Columbia Canada
All stories, poems, erotica and works are the sole property of
Moria Cavandish 2004- 2023
Stories (55/0)
The Raging River
I know your going through something I don't understand. Just because I can't see it doesn't mean its not real to you. I know your heart hurts and your soul is sobbing, but I promise that the raging river inside you will calm, I promise that one day you will wake up and you wont hurt as much, you wont feel as much anger and confusion.
By MoriaCavandish4 years ago in Poets
When will it get better?
I am broken, I look around and see people living their lives, holding hands, watching the sun go down or sitting together at a cafe planning. Thats not me, and I fear it never will be. I want to be happy, to smile and laugh and wake up each day with renewed faith that something wonderful is coming. Yet I don’t, I am on my sofa curled with a blanket crying, and I cry and cry until my partner comes home.
By MoriaCavandish4 years ago in Psyche
The Admiral and Miss Pots
The Admiral & Miss. Annie Annie wasn't unattractive, per say, but back in the day plumb woman such as herself weren't greatly sought after, with UN-amazing hair, and not so glittering eyes she had no suitors. But she was a good girl, and loved to take care of the Admirals home. The admiral, was the late great Edmond Fitzgerald. He was a practically a saint in the quaint town of Marsbee. Marsbees was a small coastal community hidden smack dab in the middle of thick engulfing mountains. The forests were so old and so thick it was impossible to travel in the winter months. So the Admiral, and his great ship, The Hennessy kept this small community stocked, fed, and of course in the lap of luxury for those lucky enough to be born in higher society. Like the Admiral himself. A century past, and his family continued to keep the community well. Sadly after his death, no one could use his private office. When his future kin had tried to set up office, things quickly got out of hand. Books would fly from the shelves, and if you starred at the life size portrait that sat above the great stone hearth you would swear he was starring into your soul. Lights would flicker and on a particularly bad evening a 100 year old crystal brandy decanter flew across the desk and shattered against the wall. The family decided it was best to just keep it locked up. But out of respect for the Admiral, they cleaned the room once a month. Until Annie arrived as a housemaid. Unfamiliar with town, let alone the house she simply walked in one day smiled up at the handsome man in the portrait. She curtsied and began to clean the room. All the while talking away to the man in the painting. To everyone's shock and amazement. Nothing happened, nothing flew off the desk, nothing shattered against the wall. Books, they stayed on the shelf. The family stood outside the room, mouths open as they watched the rather unattractive woman cleaning a room that hadn't been open in well over 40 years give or take a nervous maid running in to dust and rush out. Soon the house felt lighter, the more Annie cleaned that room, the brighter the mood in the house. The Fitzgerald family started to have guests again, and as long as Annie continued to clean all was well.
By MoriaCavandish4 years ago in Horror
Playing with the Wild Things
Do you ever want to run away? Find that little boy or girl that once slew dragons, flew to the moon, and ran alongside the wild things in the forests of our imaginations. Some days the weight of the world is too much, and I long for the freedom of childhood when life was still, new, and amazing. Every day something would profoundly change you, it was wonderful. When we looked at one another, different yet the same, and we managed to keep our own faiths, beliefs, morals and opinions to ourselves. We would look upon new faces and new cultures with amazement and excited genuine curiosity.
By MoriaCavandish5 years ago in Families
Death
Death, the beginning. Do you ever wonder what death is? Some say we die, and become part of the earth, not in a spiritual way rather food for the many. Some believe we die and reincarnate and do so until we reach enlightenment learning valuable lessons each time.
By MoriaCavandish5 years ago in Futurism