Samantha A.R.Weaver
Bio
Hello one and all, please call me Sam! I experiment with any and all genres and styles with enthusiasm and excitement each time. Please see my poetry website as well, www.paletteknifepoetry.com if you are interested in my work!
Stories (6/0)
His Famous Chocolate Cake
A seven-foot-tall, winged man stood atop the tallest tree in the forest. His wavy black hair sat just past his sharp shoulders, his emerald-green eyes peered out, watching for any movement on the ground. Pitch black, leathery wings wrapped around his lanky, suited body, shielding him from human onlookers. Except one such onlooker wasn’t human.
By Samantha A.R.Weaver3 years ago in Fiction
Caught on the Breeze
The rotting wood and moldy hay entered my nose and danced its way down my throat, lingering on my tongue. Scrunching my nose, my eyes watering slightly, I continued, walking in the direction of the barn. The grass seemed like a jungle, growing uninterrupted around the entire building. I could see the corner of the barn poking out from the tall grass, its white paint completely chipped off. As I got closer, I moved around toward the entrance and was met with the looming, locked doors of the barn. What I could only assume was once a vibrant red paint that covered the entirety of the barn, was now faded and almost brown in shade. A vibrantly white piece of paper hung on the door and in bold red letters it read ‘To Be Demolished.’
By Samantha A.R.Weaver3 years ago in Fiction
A Gasp
June 11th 10:15 PM His fingers wrapped around her neck like a snake, desperate and starving. She stared up into his yellowing eyes peering out through his pitch-black hair matted to his forehead. The smell of death lingered on his breath and blew into her face as he leaned in closer, hissing and spitting at her.
By Samantha A.R.Weaver3 years ago in Fiction
Everything But What You Need
Her fingers slinked across the row of books, tapping her chewed nails against each one as she walked down the narrowing aisle. The dried skin of her fingertips dragging along the leather until she spotted a little black book and paused over the spine where the title should have been. The pandemic had really lightened her wallet, but the smell of old books and sting-your-nose-strong black coffee made her feel like things were returning to normal.
By Samantha A.R.Weaver3 years ago in Humans
The Bible Salesman
The grin on his face stretched out across vast kingdoms he had imagined in order to veil the Kansas countryside. Dusty, sweltering plains of quiet crops and half dead landowners sitting in their hand-me-down rocking chairs. In his pockets he carried gems and stars, really just beat-up old bibles and rosary beads.
By Samantha A.R.Weaver3 years ago in Horror
