![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/c_fill,f_jpg,fl_progressive,h_302,q_auto,w_1512/640efb8aa93664001d8e2c51.png)
S.N. Evans
Bio
Christian, Writer of Fiction and Fantasy; human. I have been turning Caffeine into Words since 2007. If you enjoy my work, please consider liking, following, reposting on Social Media, or tipping. <3
God Bless!
Stories (73/0)
Hellhound Radio
"Of course," John grunted as his truck stopped short of the swollen creek. But, of course, it was too dangerous to cross. The torrential rain the past few days had bloated the usually lazy creekbed into a muddy churning monstrosity. The water would tear his small truck downstream.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
Sleep Paralysis
The dim light of the night washes the room gray; deep shadows twist and pool in the corners of the room—silhouettes of toys and furniture cast ghoulish shadows upon the papered walls. Your wide eyes rove the room, seeking whatever woke you. The house is silent, except for the fevered thump of your heart. Nothing appears out of place; the closet is closed, and your bedroom door stands slightly ajar allowing in the comforting glow of yellow light.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Horror
Blood, Sweat, and Tears
Four-Thirty in the morning, my father rolls out of bed, fixes his lunch, has a quick coffee, and drives the thirty minutes to the nearest city. This has been his routine for as long as I can remember. He works hard for a pontoon boat factory, every job from constructor to painter and foreman. Through recessions and the company changed hands and layoffs. My father has been the backbone of the factory. Even a bummed right knee, injured before I can remember, would not stop him. He worked overtime through pain and exhaustion.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Families
My Backstory
Devourer of books, that was my title. I read every book which interested me in our small-town public library. From third grade onward, I read everything from classic novels to fantasy and anything in between. Finally, when I felt I had read every book I wanted to read, I decided to write one myself. It was 2005, while I was in High School, and I wrote just as voraciously as I read. Much to the chagrin of my poor mother.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Confessions
Melancholy, Wistful, and Nostalgic
I have fond summer memories of being outside when I was a kid. My brother and I spent most of our time wandering the quarter-mile stretch between our home and our grandmother’s. We devoured pilfered cherry tomatoes from her garden, sweet, unwashed, and still warm from the sun. We discovered wild garlic and onions and tasted their stalks.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Feast
Inhuman:
Skirting the city, Aftryn Colm, lithe as a cat, darted from tree to tree. Just beyond Valena was their ancestral home of Lolandil, the source of magic. His sharp elvish eyes scanned the treeline for danger. He might have easily bypassed the city of Valena if he had come alone, but his sister Ellyn trailed behind him, clumsy as a spring foal.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Wanderer
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but you can always find one if you know where to look,” Even after years, Matilda Crooke could hear her grandfather’s coarse voice and smell his pipe tobacco. Her eyes prickled as she thought of him, it had been years, yet his loss still ached within her. He had been the best storyteller in Midvale and Matilda’s best friend. Things had seemed so simple back then; life glimpsed through the eyes of the child.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
Lackluster
Golden skin, golden eyes, and golden hair; she was the picture of beauty and perfection. Every man who had ever seen her was immediately smitten. She would have none of them. She was beautiful, intelligent, and wise the only things they were attracted to. It was her outer beauty. All she ever wanted was a man that could look past all of her beauty and bother to see the person within; none had even tried.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
Dear Mum
Dear Mum, I have a confession; you know that hole by my bedroom, the one I told you I put my hand through when I tripped? It was believable because of how weak leaky gutters had made some of the walls. It was only half true. I didn’t trip. I was angry, so angry that I punched through the wall. I can't recall what made me so angry, but I saw red for a moment. Boom! There was a hole in the wall, and I needed to develop a story to cover it. I remember no one was home, no witnesses, so there was only my word. And I’m sorry to admit my word was a lie. I had never been your angry child. I would like to say this was the first time my frustration took a physical turn, but it wasn’t.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Confessions
Diabetic Ketoacidosis
On May 29th, 2013, I was a senior in college, preparing to graduate and marry the love of my life. My focus was on passing finals, finishing my work week, moving, and my final plans for our wedding. I worked forty hours a week and had spent the previous year dieting and exercising to fit my dream wedding dress. I made sure to drink lots of water and stay hydrated. My hard work seemed successful; I lost seventy-five pounds. I had never felt more beautiful. I had never made healthy choices so easily or felt so motivated. But, in reality, my body was starving. None of the glucose my body processed made it into my cells, remaining in my blood.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Longevity
The Blackest Night
The moonless sky was an obsidian cloak cast with clusters of silver starlight. The planet's surface bathed in abyssal black, an ill omen to the inhabitants of Half-Moon. All was quiet and still as an ancient tomb. The inhabitants barred every door and shut their shutters at this devil's hour. A mordant lake of water lapped along the bank, its sloshing slap the only echoing sound down the grimy cobbled streets. Everyone knew; that anyone caught in the blackness would never be seen again.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
Hero of Dayne
The noxious perfume of smoke, blood and dank cavern floods the giant chamber ahead. Lanky mottled-gray monsters sit surrounding a massive bonfire. Their throats reverberate with a cicada-like buzz at ear-splitting volume. Their too-large milky eyes stare transfixed upon the licking tongues of crimson flame, their razor-sharp claws digging into the cavern’s slick floor. One rises, lumbering into the shadows beyond the firelight. Returning, dragging a man by his hair, the monster tosses him onto the fire with ease. Gut-churning screams join the cacophonous din as a tower of black smoke drifts up toward a tall ominous statue, a pleasing sacrifice to their monstrous god.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
Subscribe to my stories
Show your support and receive all my stories in your feed.
Send me a tip
Show your support with a small one-off tip.