Samantha Ortiz
Bio
Wife to an awesome husband, mother to a gorgeous boy and girl, pastor, writer, dreamer!
Stories (9/0)
Treachery Runs Deeps
The moon and stars littered the sky so completely, it almost felt like day. That was good. There were times when the trek was pitch black that it took ages to get ten feet. Not that the light changed that much; even with the ground visible beneath him, it was unnerving being that far out on the lake.
By Samantha Ortiz3 years ago in Fiction
Verde
It’s not fair, I mean it’s completely arbitrary actually, that he would end up in his position, and I would end up in mine. A couple twists of the wire in fact, and things would be completely reversed. But things weren’t reversed, they were the way they were and there was nothing to do about the way they were.
By Samantha Ortiz3 years ago in Fiction
The Bull from NE5
Josie nervously rewove her left pigtail into a tighter braid. Her dad used to say they’d made her look young, but a tight braid could also mean business. Truth was she wore braids because they stayed put. She didn’t think much about how they looked.
By Samantha Ortiz3 years ago in Fiction
Mary's Golden Stitches
“A quilt?” “Mmmhmm.” “A quilt.” “Yes, Rosa, a quilt.” Rosa stared at her sister from the kitchen, trying to think of something positive to say. She was often trying to think of something positive say. It was proving difficult at the moment.
By Samantha Ortiz3 years ago in Fiction
Opposites Attract Suspicion
They say that opposites attract. That was crap. It hadn’t been the strange things about her--the foreign, incomprehensible things that tied his mind in knots--that had attracted him to Frankie. At least not directly. For years now he’d come to realize it had been the possibility of changing them, that had really set his blood on fire. He thought he could ground her. Show her some sense. He thought he’d be good for her. And if she’d changed him instead, well, even that he could’ve lived with.
By Samantha Ortiz3 years ago in Fiction
Look Up
DAY 1 6:30AM Jacob steadied his hand and lifted the razor to his cheek, staring into the opaque glass as he did. He didn’t see the mirror anymore, though it technically was a mirror. Instead, his practiced eyes searched for the green lines that assessed his strokes, the red ones that assessed his pressure. He hadn’t had a nick or a scratch since it had been installed. Truthfully, he missed sticking the little bits of paper against the congealing blood, like his dad had taught him; but he supposed it was better this way. She’d certainly thought it was.
By Samantha Ortiz3 years ago in Futurism