Hi! My name is Scott and I'm an author, editor and copywriter. When I'm not adding to my never-ending TBR pile, I'm either salsa dancing, forgetting a great story idea, or writing my next book. I hope you like my short stories and poems! :)
Once Upon a Lie
The castle prison cells are cold and damp. Moss grows through the cracked cobblestone walls and mice nibble at the remains of unfortunate prisoners who did not see the light of day again. It is certainly no place for a princess, and yet here I stand, looking at my husband through iron bars. He is chained to the wall by his hands and feet, a wooden mask strapped to his face. The mask is rough and splintered with two eye holes but no mouth, made especially for him and his crimes. As bad as things ended between us, he is still my husband and I still love him.
A Grimm Mistake
So many souls, I think, so little time. I’ve worked myself to the bone for nearly seven centuries, give or take a few decades. And in all that time, I’ve never had a break. So naturally, I thought I’d give myself the holiday season to relax and live a little. Well, as much as the Grim Reaper can live.
The Final Job
42 was good at his job. In fact, he was the best. Working for The Agency certainly beat any typical nine-to-five, not that many of them existed in the year 2381. The Agency was an organised society tasked with ensuring the best outcome for humanity, sending agents back in time to trim any errors and tie off loose ends. Whether this meant eliminating tyrannical dictators, tipping the scales of the stock market, or inspiring world-altering innovations, The Agency ensured that humanity would out-survive our sun. But in his recent years, 42 had begun to feel a longing for something more; for something that The Agency did not account for.
Mother Nature Knows Best
A wall of ticking timepieces follows the frost growing across the shopfront glass. Alex bursts through the door, heaving two overflowing shopping bags in his arms. Shoving his shoulder against the main panel, he manages to shut the door and silence the bell ringing wildly to announce his entrance.
Charlie’s bedroom is cold. His eyes slump to the bottom right corner of his laptop screen. It’s 2:47 A.M. His last auto-pilot breath leaves him as he becomes conscious of his lungs expanding and contracting in his body. Standing from his desk, his knees and elbows crack.