Saturday, July 9, 2016


A bit of haiku fun that came about during a car trip with family.

Waterfalls of tears
Slowly dripping down my face
Such sweet ecstasy

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Tell Me A Fable

This is something I wrote about seven years ago as a funny little thing for my friend and, at the time, roommate. For Laura.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful maiden known as Le Fop. Day in and day out she was forced to make beautiful music for hard, distrubingly amusing, task masters. She dreamed of being rescued one day by a handsome man who had hot maple fudge syrup, and was an S. G.

One day she came upon an evil but kind person called Le Fantome, who was cursed to listen to the inane chattering of a fruit cake. Le Fantome made a deal with Le Fop; if she would break the curse the favor would be returned, freeing her from her servitude.

With a mighty swish of her hair Le Fop sent the fruit cake tumbling back. With a loud thwock the fruit cake crashed into the ground, knocking herself out. Freed from the curse, Le Fantome told Le fop in three days the debt would be repaid.

As the third day drew to an end, a handsome man named J.D. appeared. Le Fantome had told him about Le Fop. Striken by her plight, he rushed to rescue her. They married and lived happily to the end of their days.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Rabbit in the Dark

This is something I wrote some time ago. Found it today, added a bit of a touch up.

I sat on the chilly balcony at two in the morning, head tipped back, looking at the cloudy sky wishing for some stars. Two dogs shuffled around, snuffling at birdseed as they followed the smell of squirrels. It was my last night house sitting my Uncle’s cozy two-story on the edge of town. He lived in the final house on a dead end street spitting distance from woods that made a small portion of a highly forested area.
I was determined to take advantage of his balcony, since my apartment didn’t have one, and enjoy the night sky in all its starry glory. Unfortunately, that was looking less and less likely as time dragged on and the temperature dropped. Drooping with disappointment, I decided to give up when a loud rustling came from the woods below. A stomping trample of branches and leaves had my heart racing as I quickly sat up in my chair, watching the tree line for movement. It was probably a bunch of teenagers, I decided, embarrassed by how easily I startled. As the rustling got closer, I heard a voice. Straining to listen, whatever sound the voice was making got drowned out by the crunching of the plants and the undisturbed snuffling of the dogs. Quickly, I tried to surreptitiously quiet them so I could hear better, but they ignored my shushing.
The voice disappeared into the woods as the trampling started to grow distant, much to my annoyance. Giving the dogs a sour look I brought them into the house, closing the sliding glass door so I could hear undisturbed. Stealthily creeping back to my chair, I winced at every scuffling footstep, certain whoever was in the woods would hear. Straining, I listened for any sound. The thundering steps and voice had stopped, muffled somewhere in the woods. With a frustrated huff I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the chair’s cool metal. So much for that diversion.
Might as well go to bed, I figured, heaving myself out of the chair. A shrill squeal erupted from the woods. Pausing, I looked over my shoulder towards the dark trees below. Another frightened whinny split the air. Whirling around I pressed a knee onto the chair, leaning over the edge of the balcony. Eyes transfixed on the woods where the trampling was last heard, my heart thundered madly in my chest as I whispered in horror, “Is someone slaughtering a pig?”
Minutes passed as the sound faded and I lingered, full of coiled tension, staring into the darkness. Then I heard it. A sharp shrill screech followed by terrified screams. Each echoing shriek was louder and more desperate than the last.
Suddenly it stopped.
I waited. Listening intently, I ignored the stinging burn in my horror wide eyes, holding my breath so I wouldn’t miss the tell tale sound of movement. A heartbeat. Two. Ten. Nothing. No footsteps or noises of life permeating from the forest, just an eerie silence pressing down around me. Shivering against a sudden chill as my heart took up a new jumping rhythm in my chest, I decided it was time to for bed.
Hurrying across the balcony I went inside, locked the glass door behind me with a reassuring thunk of the deadbolt and pulled the shade shut, cutting me off from outside. With a trembling sigh I stepped back, checked to make sure all the windows were locked and the shades were drawn, locked the door to the hallway, and shut off the light before climbing into bed. I lay in the dark listening to the soft whispery breathing of the sleeping dogs. Something outside had been screaming. The shrill, scared sound reverberated in my mind sending my adrenaline spiking. Wave after wave of horrifyingly gruesome images assaulted my mind, each gorier than the last. Something had been murdered in the woods. Whatever killed it had come disturbingly close to the house.
I kicked off the covers and hurried across the room to grab a hefty metal flashlight from my bag. Bringing it back to the bed, I slipped under the covers, flashlight resting next to me on the pillow in easy reach. I felt a lot better knowing I had something I could use to defend myself. It was ridiculous, I knew, behavior fit for a young child instead of an adult, but as I lay in the dark, eyes slowly closing, the reassuring cool of the metal made me feel much safer.
Drifting, almost asleep, the sound of an uneven gait crushing foliage in its path caught my hazy attention. Slowly, ears reverberating with every crunchy step, I realized the disturbingly familiar sound was likely what had walked by the house earlier. The same thing that killed something in the woods. Eyes snapping open as that thought drifted through my muddled mind I grabbed the flashlight, sleep forgotten. The snapping crackle of plants dying underfoot gave way to the heavy clicking grind of steps on pavement. That thing was coming towards the house! Sitting up in bed, attention fixed on the balcony door, I bit my lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh as the heavy rattling steps drew closer.
The steps stopped. Swallowing with a painfully dry throat I listened as a soft snuffling began on the street below. The sound grew louder with each heaving breath as I sat, transfixed in horror, hoping it would leave. Away. Away. Away. Please, God, please make it go away. But my prayers went unanswered as the deep huffing breaths were joined by a terrible screeching SKEEEERFWUMP!
Roused from their sleep the dogs shot up with loud growling barks. Running across the room they stood in front of the balcony doors in a snarling frenzy. SKEEEERWUMP! SKEEEERFWUMP! SKEEEERFWUMP! Each loud bang had the room vibrating with impact. The deafening noise was drawing closer. Hackles rising, the dogs became more irate, little bodies vibrating with barely restrained fury as the rattling blows sounded just outside the sliding glass doors.
It was on the balcony.
Chest tight, my heart thrashed crazily; blood roaring in my veins as fear consumed me. Low guttural panting began in earnest on the other side of the glass completely ignoring the deafening barks of the dogs. Eyes stinging, tears ran in salty tracks down my face as I watched the door. Constricted, my lungs burned but I was paralyzed. Unable to breath. Unable to blink. My entire world had narrowed to the sickeningly deep huffs trailing along the sliding doors. A faint tinkling sounded. Plink. Crick. Tink. The sound of cracking glass. It must be leaning against the glass trying to get in, I realized as my heart gave a strange painful flutter and my throat closed. Eyes rolling, the world turned dark. The last thing I remember was the cool feel of the flashlight falling from my hands.
I woke to thin beams of light streaming through the gaps in the blinds. As I blinked gummy eyes, the events of the night before flooded my hazy mind. Gasping, I pressed into the bed, eyes roving the room for any sign of danger. Nothing was changed. The dogs slept peacefully at the foot of the bed, I was snug under the covers, flashlight rolled painfully under my ribs. Gingerly, I got up and went to the glass doors leading out to the balcony. Gripping the flashlight tightly, I pushed aside the blinds. Nothing. No cracks. No smears of something pressed close. Just smooth unblemished glass. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped as I looked out at the balcony finding everything as it should be.
A dream! A stupid scary nightmare brought on by an overactive imagination. I laughed again, feeling silly and light. It was a wonder I could watch horror movies without having a coronary. Humming, I took the dogs downstairs, letting them out in the yard to do their business. Standing outside the door my gaze drifted to the street, lingering on the space in front of the house where the thing in my dream had stopped. Well, I thought, as my pulse sped up, better safe than sorry. With slow determined steps I walked to the pavement, searching for any sign of life. The street was fine, the grass un-flattened, and no gouges marring the side of the house. Eyes drifting up, I smiled in relief, feeling terribly foolish. Gaze reaching the balcony I paused, blinked, stared. A scream tore from my throat as I scrambled back. Heart pounding, legs wobbling, another terrified wail escaped as I began to hyperventilate. Along the side of the balcony was a dark red smear of blood.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Loyal Love

This was a very quick write that I did at work. Characters can be found in Branded, A Beautiful Life, and Tremayne's Dream.

Alita doesn't remember much about her parents. Sounds, flashes of images, smells, a fading feeling of love. Mostly, she remembers the night they died. The terror, hatred, and self-loathing. A child's heart within her crying, “I could have saved you!” But, there are some things that remain once forgotten, unconsciously.

They're trapped on an island. The entire town. It appears deserted but their powers, everyone's powers, have turned sketchy and something can be felt lurking just out of sight. Alita and Tremayne seek refuge in the woods. A small clearing away from the chaos of too many heroes trying to be heroic. They'll return once the posturing is done and people are ready to work towards a solution. Usually, that won't happen until Hector has gone storming off and things get worse. Experience brings wisdom; for now they wait.

Alita sits, back against a tree, thinking about the situation as her hands absently move. Tremayne stands, back partially to her, watching the woods for danger. After a time he turns, the question he plans to ask dying on his lips. A small smile curves the corner of his mouth. Crouching, he runs a gentle finger over the crown of daisies she's weaving. Alita stops, fingers frozen in the tangle of flowers, seeing them for the first time.

“I didn't know you could make these,” he says softly, careful not to spook her.

“My mother taught me,” Alita says after a long moment. Twisting the stems with deft fingers she completes the crown. “Daisies have many meanings; one is loyal love.” Carefully she rests the crown on his head, fingers trailing down to cup his face. Silver and amber connect behind sunglasses. “That's what she wanted for me.”

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Creamy Murder Eyes

For Fred, who asked me to write her a story about creamy murder eyes.

It would be nice to say that this sort of thing didn't normally happen to him, but it wouldn't be true. J. M. Hatter had a knack for getting into this kind of situation. This was, at least, the fourth time. Hatter woke to find himself tied to a chair, in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by gruff looking men. Most people would find this terrifying, but he was feeling rather chipper. Compared to some of the things he saw growing up, this was practically tame.

The leader of his kidnappers came forward. A short man with a strong build, the dim orange light glimmering off his bald head drew Hatter’s attention. Privately, Hatter dubbed the man McGleamy.

“Glad yah could join us,” McGleamy said, lighting up a cigarette. “When yah fought back da boys gave yah a pretty good whack on da noggin.” Hatter had noticed a painful throbbing in the back of his skull. “Truth is, yah didn’t wake up, I’d ah hadda shoot Jimmy. Now that yer ‘wake, I don’ hafta.”

“I ‘preciate that, Boss,” Jimmy piped up from behind Hatter.

“Glad to help!” Hatter said amiably, tugging on his bound wrists. “Now that Jimmy’s safe, if you’ll untie me, I’ll be on my way.”

McGleamy shook his head. “We can’t do dat. Yah’ve got info I need.”

“Is it where to find wax for your head? Because, it’s pretty shiny already,” Hatter quips.

WHAM! Ears ringing, blood pounding through his aching head, Hatter wobbles precariously on his chair, reeling from the sudden blow of McGleamy’s meaty fist.

“Dat’s funny. We got us a funny man,” McGleamy mocks. Grabbing a handful of Hatter’s hair with a jerk, he leans in close. “Yah tell me where yer partner is, Funny Man, or I’ll make yah wish yah’d never been born.”

Staring into the light grey eyes of his captor Hatter said with a lopsided grin, “You’ve got rice pudding eyes, and the pupils are raisins.”

McGleamy blinked, looked at his men in confusion, turned back to Hatter. “Yah makin’ fun ah me?” he asked. “Are yah really that stupid?”

Hatter chattered on, ignoring his captor. “Maybe not rice pudding. I never liked rice pudding. Tapioca eyes? Isn’t tapioca just rice pudding? I don’t think it is. I can never remember. Maybe your eyes are more like the cream filling in a Cadbury Egg. Or a cherry cordial!  No, you just have these dreamy, creamy murder eyes.”

“Hey! I’m talkin’ ta yah. Listen ta me yah stupid freak!” McGleamy yelled, shaking Hatter, to no avail. The mindless prattle continued uninterrupted.

“I think yah broke ‘im, Boss,” Jimmy suggested.

“No kiddin’, Nimrod. Get the pliers. Maybe a few broken fingers will get his attention,” McGleamy announced with a grim smile.

“No, once he gets on a roll you just have to wait until he stops,” a new voice said from behind McGleamy.

He turned, seeing a young, dark-haired woman. The same person he’d kidnapped Hatter to find. “Hey!” he exclaimed, a little stunned.

“Hullo,” she replied with a wicked smile.

“I’ve got it! You’re eyes look like cheese soup, if it was the white cream filling from a donut that was melted, and not actually cheese soup,” Hatter announced triumphantly. He realized, belatedly, that he was no longer with McGleamy in the warehouse, but sitting shotgun in a car. Hatter turned to greet the dark-haired woman driving. “Hi, Belle! Did you get the information you wanted?”

“I did,” she said with a satisfied smirk. “Your bald friend knew more than I expected. Thank you for being the bait.”

“Not a problem,” Hatter assured her, gingerly leaning his thumping head against the cool window. “You meet the most interesting people that way.”

“I suppose you do.”

After a few minutes of companionable silence Hatter piped up, “Y’know, his eyes did look a little like creamy mashed potatoes.”

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Inspired Imagination

This was an entry I wrote for Sparkler Monthly  for a contest they had about how people share their worlds. I didn't win, but I'm still very proud of this slice of my childhood.

It began with Sailor Moon. Two girls, eight and nine, bonded during recess as Sailor Mars and Sailor Jupiter fought against the Negaverse. Battling imaginary monsters, Salina and I would save the world day after day as our two favorite scouts. Then, with a set of seven Sailor Moon Adventure Dolls, our games expanded in bigger, better ways. No longer limited to our bodies, the scouts went on madcap adventures that sent them bungee jumping off the second floor stairs, tumbling over rocks, and desperately running along the wheel of a bicycle, trying to stay alive. The dolls made our games more exciting, but the rough escapades took a heavy toll on the toys, putting us in a bind. How to continue our daring adventures when our beloved heroes were breaking?

The answer was Barbie. Far easier to replace, we decided to transform our Barbie dolls into Sailor Scouts. Our games began again with exciting new life. No character from Sailor Moon was off limits. But, we didn’t stop there. Using Barbies opened us up to a world of characters just waiting to be discovered. Our imaginations had no limitations. We began to build a world beyond Sailor Moon, creating original characters and picking characters from our favorite shows, movies, and anime. Soon, our creation took on a life of its own.

Minor characters in one world became the heroes of their own stories, finding friends, and forging new lives for themselves in our world. Characters from completely different stories never meant to meet, crossed paths in our town becoming so entwined it’s impossible for one to exist without the other. As the years passed, our world expanded from a dollhouse with seven characters to a town of forty-seven, each with unique lives and personalities.

Now at twenty-five and twenty-six we live on different sides of the country and no longer get together every weekend to play dolls. Despite the distance and responsibilities that come with age, the town we created seventeen years ago still exists. It lives on, beyond the dolls, in illustrations, short stories, comics, radio plays, and continues to grow with us. The world two kids created from their inspired imaginations now kindles the dreams of a younger generation.

When my cousins ask for bedtime stories I tell them about the adventures of our beloved characters and their little town. It’s a place where friendships are made, hearts are broken, villains seek redemption, and the weak find strength. I tell them of heroes triumphing over evil, sometimes at a heavy cost, and the enduring power of hope. Looking into their enraptured faces, imaginations beginning to blaze, I know by sharing those stories our world got bigger and a new one was born.

Friday, March 28, 2014

He is...

It’s been years since I last wrote a sonnet. But, I was given this challenge and, though it took me more time than it should have to post it, I’m happy with the results.

Vengeance and justice all rolled into one
Brewing, consuming, one man’s lonely soul
Silently screaming, that poor orphaned son
Forged in an instant for one tainted role

He stalks through the darkness, born of the night
Hunting through shadows for dangers and crime
When people cry out in desperate plight
He always answers; a hero in time

Facing down criminals thriving on pain
Fighting for justice to break evil’s sway
Beating back villains with noble disdain
Protecting his city, always to stay

Haunted and driven by ghosts that won’t rest
Though only a man, he’s simply the best.