Sunday, October 2, 2011


The days are blot outwith tongues made of darkness
Words of ignorance shout
Smug arrogant righteousness
Are far from true

The void overwhelms this place
listen how the music is gone
Lost within the black
All color seeps away,
Years of self-made lies and deceit
The web of the universe
Unravels in the confusion
Binding the light of truth

Listen how the mighty Tree weeps
Bending deep like the delicate willow
Oh how, Gaia, cries for the 'Lost',
Release her wanderer,
the soul built from the stones,
those of his magic, mystery, and perplexity,
stones of black, and white, and unknown

A spirit cries out
Anxious for the sun's return
For his release,
For without the warmth
to the spirit, heart and mind
there is nothing but an abyss of emptiness.

(I dedicate this to a friend that is currently 'lost')

Saturday, February 12, 2011

57th Short Story Entry

This theme we had to start with "It was a dark and stormy night", keep the words to about 600, and had to use a 57 Chevy and a Cat. I think. Here are the two stories that I submitted. (I forgot the chevy part.)


It was a dark and stormy night. Everywhere I looked in the room I saw blood splattered throughout looking more like modern art than gore. A bright flash of light just outside the window followed with the distant crackle of thunder made me aware that the storm was only becoming more intense. I let out my breath looking for the source of the blood. How did I find myself in this place? Was in the middle of a crime scene or something? Where the hell was I? I swallowed back the bile creeping up my throat as the stench began to overwhelm me.

The mew of a cat circling between my legs took my attention away from the blood. The cat and I were also splattered with the blood. My heart could not be contained and cold dread washed over me my hands were also stained with blood. How did I get in here? I wondered picking up the cat glancing at the closed door. He purred loudly as I scratched his chin. A cold paw pressed against my face as he devoured my affection. I looked at him curiously wondering how he had gotten there too.

There was a knock at the door but before I could answer it opened. A man in a brown suit or uniform of sorts walked in. He adjusted his glasses surveying the room. A small smile touched his lips as he pulled a clipboard from behind him. The cat gave the man a hiss digging an affectionate claw into my cheek freeing him from my arms. The man made a couple of scribbles onto the clipboard before looking at me.

“Where am I?” I managed feeling awkwardness using my voice.

The man gave me a nod before scribbling on his clipboard again. He returned behind his back. He scratched his temple then adjusted his glasses as he looked around the room. He nodded a few times before bringing his gaze back to me. I took a step forward and came to an abrupt halt by something hard around my ankle. I looked with surprise at the manacle around my ankle keeping me bound to the floor.

“Where the fuck, am I?” I snarled kicking at the chain glaring back at him.

“Reconditioning,” He said pulling the clipboard from behind his back. He scribbled a few things down then looked at me. “What is the last thing you remember?”

I glared at him. Lightening lit the room and the gore was worse than I had first thought. ‘The last thing I remember was the cat,’ I thought. I brushed my fingers against my cheek where his rough tongue had lapped until I woke up. I looked back to where the cat had gone. There was a deep protective instinct that overwhelmed me that I needed to keep him safe.

“Waking up in this room,” I muttered looking back at him.

He gave a nod and scribbled some more. The fact that he kept writing on the clipboard was starting to irritate me. He tucked it behind him again wondering what he was doing. He shifted and adjusted his glasses. He extended his hand behind him out of my view, but when it returned to view he held a syringe filled with some blackish goo. 

Flashes of screaming and pain flooded my mind. I stumbled backward tripping over the chain falling hard onto the floor. I let out a yelp and the cat began hissing madly from the darkness. I glanced toward the darkness then heard the footsteps in front of me. I gasped with surprise as the man took my arm in a vice-like grip plunging the syringe into it.

The thick goo flooded me with pain. The cat hissed and spat yet he still remained hidden in the darkness. The blackness of the injection was consuming my arm. I looked wildly at the man as he gave my cheek a comforting pat. Slowly he stood giving one last glance into the darkened corner of the room before he left the room.

Just as the door closed behind him I heard him say, “Subject 57, reconditioned.”



It was a dark and stormy night, how’s that for a clique? Yet it was a dark and stormy night when I walked into the lobby of the dilapidated hotel. The stench of musty mold intensified in the rain. I shook the rain from my coat as I looked around the rundown place.

I glanced over my shoulder at the number painted on the door. ‘57’ that was the right street number.

I gaze when to the short round balding man standing behind the counter. He mopped the sweat from his brow as I walked toward him. My heels echoed each step giving an eerie kind of sound accompanied by the rain behind me.

The man gave me a leering smile. I shifted bringing my hand to the opening of my blouse and clutching it closed. I cleared my throat as he looked at me with anticipation.

“Is there a reservation here for Jones?” I asked clearing my throat glancing once more over my shoulder uncertain the number was right.

“Of course.” His voice was soft and it sounded like a sigh. “You did not make the reservations.”

“Uh, no.” I shifted unzipping my purse. Nervously I pulled out my phone. My heart skipped a beat that I hadn’t heard the text message, but from an unknown number.

“Oh you need a key.” He made a couple of key stroke into the computer then began shuffling through some things for a key.

I shivered at the cold that pricked at my neck. I just wanted the key and the room number so I could relax but until then I would be a bundle of nerves. He turned to face me and slid the keycard slowly across the counter. His finger pressed firmly against it as I looked at it.

“Do you need anything else?” I was breathless feeling awkward as I reached for the key.

“Everything has already been paid for.” He said with a shrug. “The Champaign, chocolate and fruit were delivered only a few moments ago.”

“Champaign, chocolate and fruit?” I frowned.

I glanced down at the text message and read. ‘Treats are waiting for you, angel, as am I.’

I gave a nod toward the man behind the counter and started to turn. “Ms Jones?” the man said with a chuckle. I looked at him and he pointed toward a hallway. “Room 157 is that

I nodded my thanks and walked numbly toward the room. I screamed at the sound of a screech and a hiss a blur of black and white fur went scampering down the corridor. “Stupid cat!” I growled. My heart was pounding twice as hard as it should. I glanced at each door as I walked nervously glancing at the keycard.

I walked faster until I found the room. I stood at the door uncertain if I should knock or not. I held the keycard in my clammy hands I had been anticipating the cloak and
dagger getaway for months. Now, the time had come. would it be a thrill once I
wanted through that door or a let down? I could heard the television on in the room part of me cringed that the television worked.

I slid the keycard into the slot. The red light flash then turn green and the mechanism in the door release. The garbled noise from within instantly became mute. I shivered taking a quick breath before I pushed open the door hoping the television would remain silent. I feared a battle.

“Hello, angel,” the deep voice said the moment I closed the door.

I smiled as I looked at him. “This is silly.” I said dropping my purse when he pulled me into his arms kissing me anxiously.

“Silly to want to be with you?” he breathed softly into my ear.

“Silly that we went through all this.” I breathed. “We could have just stayed at home.”

His fingers nimbly worked my clothes to the floor. “No, Tara, my angel,” He breathed his kisses down my neck. “It’s about spice.” His breath tenderly caressing my flesh. “I need to give you more spice.”

“After all these years you still surprise me, darling.”

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

My 6th Writing Contest:

The topic for the 55th Short Story Challenge is: Family History.

ᏅᎾ ᏓᎤᎳ ᏨᏱ  (Nunna daul Isunyi—“the Trail Where They Cried”)
The journey to the West had already been long and treacherous. More people died each day. There were those of the White nation that wore white and black that walked with us as if it were a badge of honor. I despised them. They could go to their homes of wood and stone when we could no longer worship Yowa, the Great Spirit. 
I was witness to many families and homes of my clan destroyed by the law givers of the white man. I did not understand how my clan of the Cherokee Nation was not recognized as a sovereign and independent nation. For as long as I could remember we lived in harmony with the white men. My father traded with them, and had many that would come and share our food. 
When the soldiers came herding us like cattle I knew the great Nation I had known was no longer. I just did not expect to be forced to leave our homes. Least of all lead by the very same men that we befriended. It was they that released our cattle to the fields then would beat the young men for trying to contain our livelihood. Some were beaten to their death. The medicine man blamed the Nun'Yunu'Wi for changing our friends to our enemies.
I was too stubborn to cry but I also had hope. Hope that forged from the tears that were cried we would be a stronger Nation. We had to be stronger. Too many had already suffered for us not to be. I hated that the innocence of the children were lost. I had to be strong for them and because I would also be part of that new Nation in the West. 
I did my best to keep my head high and proud because I was the future. Yet I worried that I would die too. The winter was cold and bitter and I was one of the few that had moccasins. Blankets were given to the children and Elders from a hospital, but we soon learned they were infected blankets. We were not allowed to go into any towns or villages along the way because of the epidemic they had given us.
Most nights I would gather the children close to the fire telling them our ancestor’s stories so they would be strong. Their favorite story was that of the Cherokee Rose. A plant with seven leaves for the seven clans of the Cherokee. It was a delicate white rose with five petals, in the center of the blossom would be a pile of gold to remind our people of the white man’s greed for gold they found on our homeland. The plant would be sturdy and strong with stickers on all the stems defying anything which tries to destroy it.
Several soldiers ensured the relocation of my people. There were some that would give extra provisions to those women that would warm them at night. I would not favor any man wearing the fancy clothes of blue and gold. Even though they tried. I ignored them and they ignored me usually. Except for the new ones to the regiment. 

“Are you Laura?” A young soldier asked slowing his horse next to me. “I was told you see things.”

I glared ahead and quickened my pace. The man jingled getting off his horse. I kept my pace brisk but he still followed. I despised the new ones. 

“I had a dream,” He said walking next to me. “It is about these two brothers. They are identical except one in gray and one in black. They are battling over a scrap of bread on the table. While fighting the bread is lost and they destroy their home by fire. Can you tell me what that means, Laura?” 

He gave me a smile, but I gave him a glare as I stopped. “I am Uyetsasgvi Ama. Your people’s words say it Laughing Waters, not Laura.” I hated how the white man’s language felt strange in my mouth when I spoke. 

“I see.” he said with a timid smile. “I think Laughing Waters is pretty.” 

“It is honor not pretty.” I said flatly. “Your dream simple.” I flick the gold rope on his shoulder. “The brothers you speak are your brothers. It is a war not a battle. The reason forgotten until fire comes.” I let out a breath. “Your sorrow will be greater than ours.” I gave him one more look before I returned to the journey with my people. I felt a renewed strength as I walked. Strangely I pitied the man but I did not look back. Everything was going to be different for him soon too.

Friday, December 17, 2010

My 5th Contest Writings....

In the last contest there was a rule we had to choose three items on the list to use it however we wished. There was also a word limit of 600.

1 - a jar of frogspawn
2 - a tattered photo of a distant galaxy
3 - a snowflake on a fingertip
4 - a zombie survival guide with brain stains on the cover
5 - a ragdoll with pins stuck in its head
6 - a broken lightsaber
7 - a newspaper dated August 7th, 1945
8 - a battered copy of 'Twilight'
9 - a radio station playing 'don't stop believing' by Journey
10 - a tin of sunflower yellow paint
11 - a three-legged dog
12 - a packet of M&Ms with all the green ones missing


I came in a VERY close second. Difference of one or two points. (just to give you an idea of the word limit there were over 220K words in my book)

So here is one of the three I sent in but this was the one that got the most votes.
Zombies, again

Zombies, why did it have to be zombies?

I looked out the window again hoping that it was only my eyes playing tricks with the shadows. My gut told me the truth, it was zombies, again. My boyfriend was muttering curses as he looking through is duffle bag again. I heard the thump, thump, scrape on the street just before the hoard emerged from the darkness.

“Ah-ha!” Derek said as he jerked a book out of the clutter packed in his bag.

“That? You were looking for that?” I frowned as I looked at the battered copy of ‘Twilight’.

He glanced at it then muttered. “What is that doing in here?” before returning it into the depths of his bag.

“What do you have in there anyway?”


“Oh, really?” I looked back out the window. “Do you have anything that can be useful right now?”

“I was in a hurry, but I know it’s here.” He muttered rooting deeper into his bag.

“Biscuits!” growled grandfather from the other room. “Kellee! I want Biscuits!”

“I’m a little busy, papa!” I hollered back in a sweet calm tone despite my racing heart.

“Kellee!” grandfather shouted. “Do you hear that noise?”

I looked a Derek as he crawled half in the duffle bag. “Do you have a flashlight?” I asked as I walked away from the window.

“Nope, just a broken lightsaber.” He muttered holding it up for me to inspect.

“Did this thing work?” I was surprised by the weight. I expected it to be made of cheap plastic with a stamp ‘made in china’ somewhere near the switch.

“Used to,” Derek muttered. “Here!” he retrieved the book and handed it to me.

“Are you kidding?” I growled. “this is a work of fiction.”

He shrugged. “he knew what he was talking about.”

“I cannot believe you bought a zombie survival guide, what is this?” I flicked at the stains on the cover. “If you tell me that is brains I will cram this up your—”

“Kellee!” grandfather shouted again. “I want Biscuits and gravy!”

“Just give him M&Ms,” Derek handed me the bag. “Tell him the yellow and brown ones are Biscuits and gravy.”

I poured the chocolates into my hand and frowned. “Why are all the green ones missing?”

“Oh,” Derek flushed. “Those were his veggies last night.”

I groaned. “I should just give them all to him and tell him the red ones are—”

Thump thump scrape thump thump scrape

“So what are we going to do?” I frowned as Derek opened the book. I put my palm against the pages and glared at him. “What did you do last night?”

“Oh,” he flushed. “I sang.”

“You sang?”

“Yeah, it was what the radio station was playing.”

I smack my forehead with my palm. “The radio hasn’t worked in years.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “well there was some music on.”


I gripped the M&Ms in my hand. “Well you might sing again if it keeps them away until morning, Derek.”

He gave me a growl looking down at the book. “Can’t we try something in the book?”

I shook my head. “Sure, but do you have a…” I took the book spinning it toward me. “…machete?”



“No, but—”



“Gasoline powered chain saw?”

“Uh…” he frowned then shook his head. “No.”

I shoved the book at him. “Seems like singing wins.” I shrugged. “I am going to make papa real food. It is diner time anyway. I won’t take long.”

“Fine.” He muttered before stepping out onto the porch. Suddenly applause erupted and Derek proceeded to sing along with the music playing.

“Damn, papa, I never knew he was good at Karaoke.”

Grandpa began pounding his knife and fork on the table with the beat. Dinner and a show what a great way to end the evening, I thought.

another submission:


“If that three-legged dog comes limping in here one more time I swear I am going to make it walk on two legs.” I muttered under my breath snatching up a tin of sunflower yellow paint from my table. “Oh! No, this is all wrong.” I glared at the paint before returning it to it’s place on the table.

“Meg?” Jerry asked as he limped in with the dog. “What are you doing?”

I growled feeling more frustrated. “What do you think I am doing? Making a ragdoll with pins stuck in it’s head? Yes! That is what I am doing.”

He held up his hands and backed out of the room muttering to the dog. “You should have known better than to ask...she’s been edgy lately.”

“Edgy!” I screamed storming toward him. “What makes you think I am edgy?”

His eyes widened as he looked sheepishly at the dog. The dog looked at me and whined.

I growled at both of them as I continued to walk out of the room. I snarled a curse slamming the door behind me. I took a deep breath and sat on the porch of the house. I could hear the radio station playing ‘Don’t stop believing’ by Journey just soft enough to grate against my already frazzled nerves.

“Meg?” Jerry said softly before opening the screen door completely.

“I don’t want to talk, JR,” I muttered without a glance.

“Why not?” he slowly crept out of the house and reluctantly sat next to me on the top step. “I thought you were going to work on your painting again.”
I glanced at him. “How?” I tried not to sound the way I felt. “I can’t find anything anymore.”

“It’s a new place,” he said before putting his arm around my shoulder. “I thought at least if you were painting again the move wouldn’t be so dramatic.”

“We moved a million miles away from everyone to the end of the world.” I sighed looking at the empty landscape.

“Meg, we will get everything set up just the way you like it.” He said softly.

I glared at him. “I don’t think UPS delivers out here in the boonies.”

“We get mail,” he frowned. “UPS will deliver.” after a pause he added, “AND FedEx.”

I looked at him for a long moment then said, “JR it takes a half hour to get the mail.”

He frowned. “We still get it. And you have internet and…” he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the radio. “They just played that song.”

“Welcome to the boonies JR.” I muttered sarcastically.

“Meg, it is an adjustment for both of us, can we just be happy?”

“Yes,” I muttered letting out a breath. “You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you.”

“Are you sure you’re not here for the dog?” he smiled waving toward the dog sitting inside the house looking at us through the screen door panting cheerfully.

“Him too.” I looked at the tin of paint in my hand. “I guess this can work until we dig out the rest of the stuff.”

“Good.” He helped me to my feet then kissed me.

The house was nicer than anything we had before. I knew my family was a phone call away, it was just an adjustment I wasn’t ready for. I thought I was until we got there. I gave him a hug and patted his chest.

“Okay, JR, let’s unpack and live for a while.”

“I like the thought of forever with you.” He whispered leading me back into the house.

and the last submission:

Only a Dream: 

Swinging his feet off the bed Michael failed to notice the bag of M&Ms still sitting on his lap until they spilled across his floor. He growled noticing that that the green M&Ms were missing, again!

He sputtered a curse running his fingers through his tangled hair. He pushed himself off the bed before slowly shuffling through the mess on his floor colorfully speckled with the chocolate candies, minus the green ones.

“Mom!” he hollered as he opened the door. “Why are you messing with the M&Ms?”

“What?” she sang in reply.

“All the green ones are gone!”

“Hmm?” Her voice was a cheerful hum. “What dear?” She asked twirling like a ballerina down the hallway toward him. “Oh Michael,” she looked at his room. “I can’t believe you wasted all those M&Ms!”

“What?” he snapped, “I didn’t—what happened to the green ones, mom?”

“Oh that!” she giggled before spinning in a circle. “You really shouldn’t eat those. They cause brain damage, you know, that’s what I hear. Brain damage.” She sang her last two words.

“Mom, what’s wrong with you?” Waving his hand at her clothes, “You look like Donna Reed or something.”

“Oh this?” she sounded disappointed, “I was hoping to look more like June Cleaver. You did love those shows,” Her voice was breathy before she skipped away humming.

He watched her returned to the kitchen in complete confusion.

“You know,” his sister said softly, “She hasn’t been the same since you tacked up that photograph to your door.”

“What?” He growled. He glanced at the tattered photo of some distant galaxy. Gently he brushed his fingers across it before giving it a quick thump. “That’s nonsense Nancy. We’ve never had a so-called normal life.”

“Who’d want that?” She gave him a bright smile. “Your room is bad. I’d do something before mom does become ‘Donna Reed’ or ‘June Cleaver’.”

He glanced at his room, “I like it. It’s my self-expression.”

“Rrrrright.” She said as she left.

Before he could reach the porcelain sanctuary his mother sang sweetly. “Oh sweetheart!”

He growled turning to face her. She did a pirouette in the hallway making him wonder what she was doing there in the kitchen. She was humming a mish-mash of several songs before slipping past him into the bathroom.

“Mom!” He growled but she quickly emerged holding a jar in her palms. He pinched his nose tightly as the stench struck him. “What the hell is that?”

“Michael there is no need for swearing.” She giggled holding up the jar a little higher as if he needed a better view. “It’s just frogspawn.”

“Frog what?” his stomach lurched.

“A jar of frogspawn, sweetheart.” She said before humming merrily away from him back to the kitchen.

He let out a frustrated breath slamming the door. He gagged at the stench that lingered. He hurried to get out of there.

“Oh dear will you let the dog out?” she sang, “I can’t find him now.”

He rolled his eyes then gave a whistle. The three legged dog came racing toward him. He noticed the dog looked unusually distressed as he ran out. “Hey mom!” he shouted without looking, “I think there is something wrong with the dog.”

“What dear?” she said quietly from behind him. “Don’t shout.” She looked over his shoulder. “See?” Her tone confident. “Will you stop complaining now about the green ones?”

“You gave the dog the M&Ms?”

She laughed lightly, “Well yes and the frogspawn.”

“Why?” he groaned feeling nauseous.

“Well, that’s just wasteful. Besides, what would’ve the neighbors thought, dear?”

He backed away from her retreating to his room. He locked the door before shuffling to his bed. He climbed back in pulling the covers to his neck. He could hear his mother singing in the hallway. Closing his eyes he tried to convince himself it was only a dream.