A screech of tires, a screech of a woman, an impact and I’m flying. I land in the gutter, and people begin crowding around me, pressing close and muttering.

I wave them away, push myself up, then stand. I’m not injured, of course. As I brush the gutter dirt out of my clothes and face, the circle of bystanders around me groans and disperses.

“Oh, it’s just an immortal,” says the woman who screeched.

“How boring,” says a young boy.

The driver is climbing out of his car, shouting “You dented my hood!”

Can’t I get any sympathy?

Crooked Fingers

The man’s crooked hands struggled to flip the book’s pages. His frame shook with excitement and the infirmity of old age.

“Here it is.” He pointed with a twisted finger. “This is the incantation. The spoken words, the hand signs.”

Geoffrey looked at the words and the drawings of hand sigils the old man could no longer perform. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

He was terrified.

He was no caller of demons, but the old man wanted so badly to see the things. He would have to do this. For the old man, he would do anything.

Shy Shy

Shy boy, I am just a shy girl. I could never talk to you. I can only take your picture, as you dress, as you leave your house, as you stop at Starbucks, as you walk to the very street I live on. To the very house I live in. To my backyard…

Shy girl, I am just a shy boy. I wish I could speak to you. But I can only grab my morning coffee and journey to your yard, hide in the tree outside your window. I can only wait with my camera for a glimpse of you.

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An Old Weapon

Concept for this based on an awesome dream I had.


“I have something to show you.”

The old man moved boxes out of his way, dust puffing up around him. Whatever it was, he had kept it well hidden. Or well forgotten.

“It’s an old weapon. We’ve lost the knowledge of how to create it. But it is powerful.”

“More powerful than a gun?” Bernard asked. “Or a lasershot?”

“In the right hands, incredibly dangerous.” The old man held up a large box, setting it on the table.

Bernard opened it, and couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d heard of the weapon, but never seen a sword.

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A Long Story

This is a long story I have to tell you. It could take years, decades, a lifetime.

People won’t listen when you have a story this long. They start talking over you. They leave in the middle of it.

They don’t understand; this story’s important. It has to be told.

I have to make sure you won’t interrupt. I have to make sure you won’t leave. I have to tell this story. It’s eating away at my insides and wants out.

So sit there, no sounds, get as comfortable as you can with those bindings.

This is a long story.

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Yes, my eyes are wide.

Yes, my teeth are long.

Yes, my scales are dull and coarse.

But my light is the brightest down here, down in the deeps. See how it bobs, weaves, and lights up the dark. Does it not entice you? Does it not make you want to look closer? To come closer? To come see me and my eyes and teeth and dull coarse scales?

I may not be as beautiful as my sisters, but I can still attract a human.

I may not be as beautiful as my sisters, but I am still a mermaid.

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Das Gift


In German this is called Gift. So this is a gift I give to you. I would never be able to hold you so closely, wrap my arms around your heart so entirely. I would never be able to mesh with you in every muscle and vein.

Can you feel it embrace your heart tighter with every beat? Can you feel it grasp your lungs so strongly you can’t take a breath? Can you feel it overtake you?

This is how much I love you.

This is how deeply I feel you.

This is the only way to show you.

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Inktober prompt 2 “Divided.”


The blast of the gun tears through my ears, as the bullet tears through my heart. Even as I fall the assailant is running away – an accidental murderer. He doesn’t see me die. He doesn’t see me divide.

I breathe again, and sit up. My division is sitting up too. We look at each other, gazing into each others’ eyes, and we both feel that loss of a part of ourselves. But nothing can be done. We are forever separated.

He stands and walks away from me, and I from him. This has happened before. It will happen again.

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I like Inktober’s prompt list, so I’m using it for drabbles.


Something chases me, as it chases all of us. I haven’t seen it, but I know it is just behind me, concealed in clouds, darting from star to star. The sun doesn’t frighten it. The moon doesn’t lull it. As my mother did, as her mother did, and far back into history as we have all done, I must eat, drink, sleep in flight.

Should I stop, it will capture me in its claws and rend my bones. Should I stop, its teeth will tear my neck.

I cannot fight it.

I cannot face it.

I am only a swift.

The Screech Owls – Chapter II Part I

Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter! I’m putting together lots of new stories to give away in it.

I’ve realized chapter two should probably start when they find the food, but we’ll go with this for now.

Novel: Fantasy Horror

They spent the rest of the night wide awake, the screech owls roaming in and out of the floor beneath them, trilling and coming close to the stairs, but not climbing them. In the morning Cole found words on the wall, right beside where the two of them had huddled together. They were etched into the stone, but old and faded, the reason they hadn’t noticed them at dusk. They weren’t in English, and yet Edward understood the words perfectly. At least the words he could read.

Don’t take……GO BACK…….

And then below that, in Chinese,

Keep going.

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