Freelance writer and creative writer. I love to read, write, hike, and explore nature.
Coming Back For You
“Next stop: Fraser, Colorado”, the operator's voice rang out in the cabin. The sound of pressurized doors shutting outside and a slow whirring built as the speed increased. The man in the cabin was stirred awake by all of the unfamiliar noises around him. He woke in a panic, gasping for breath, looking around at the empty cabin and out the window. He felt a stabbing pain in his back as if he’d been sleeping in an uncomfortable position for hours.
The Puppet Master
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It happened a long time ago in a small town in Northern Connecticut. There was a carnival passing through and the townsfolk were eager for new faces and exciting strange acts. There were magicians, strong men, trained bears, clowns, gymnasts, a fortune teller, and a puppeteer.
No Figs for Lollie
The hostess looked through the window at the snow falling. Dusk was giving way to night as the yellow street lights lit up each falling flake. The brown-haired hostess dreamed she was walking home through the snow, feeling the cold sting of wind and ice on her cheeks.
Up From Ashes
The light from the candle was now low, and the pale yellow wax had formed a thick ring around the iron candelabrum. Looking up, the young boy could see his granddad's weathered, wrinkled face. His large, round eyes were the darkest of brown, yet they were bright and friendly. As he closed the large leatherbound book, the deep wrinkles around his smiling face moved as he spoke:
Passing the Gray
Another rainy, bleak afternoon in the city. Gray sky, gray clouds, and the constant rain give the air an almost gray-blue hue, like that of a faded memory or passing dream. Gregory had just left the cafe where he spent the last 30 minutes watching water droplets inch down the big, glass window in front of the coffee shop. Simultaneously tracking individual drops, seeing them race one another to the bottom of the glass while watching their trails of water for pictures, often faces: Gregory was the imaginative type, an idealistic child meeting a weathered, stubborn old man.
The story begins with two friends who like to explore the woods. About 20 miles East of their hometown in Northern Vermont lies a massive plot of land that had been abandoned in the late 1890s. On google maps, it shows only a blob of green, with a small body of water near the center, large enough to be a state forest, yet neither state nor company nor individual owns the land. After some research on the area, the two friends found that at least part of the land used to be an amusement park where people from all over the area could go for only a few dollars. Before this, much of the land was used as farmland, but most of the forest grew back only to be torn down again. By then, it had mostly returned to its original state of forested land.
Year 5, Day 1 I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know if there are others. Sometimes I get the feeling I’m being watched. I think I must’ve come from somewhere or somebody. Every now and then just as I’m drifting into sleep I can see and hear a couple, a tall man wearing a brown coat and a beautiful woman with long, auburn hair. I can’t tell if it’s a memory or a beautiful dream I’ve made up to make myself feel less alone.