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Archive for the ‘The Innocent Prince’ Category

Malleable – Flash Fiction Winner

Also, I received some much needed validation, by being awarded a winner in their on-site flash fiction contest. The prompt was (and could be paraphrased) "Adversity is the first path to truth." more

Coffee Shop Notes

Flash Fiction written on the back of an envelope.

Click on the link for purchasing the card or postcard. Mail style, Old School... more

Why Do I Write?

A cyclical addiction that I cannot deny, I am lured by the mixing of reality with hope. I binge on the emotion, wallowing in its depth. The endorphins give me the texture, enable the distorted visions, and find the purpose in tragedy. Touching the places in the soul that are held private; protected.

The motion is not graceful and feels sudden when I urgently purge all of these senses onto the canvas. Notebook after notebook of scratches, words barely legible in the intoxication of the moment. Moving the pen to the muse. more

Very Nearly Almost Recognized

The Survivor's Pack

The snow was gone, but the air was still bitterly cold. The ground remained too hard to dig into, so the bodies stiffly lined up on top of the frozen earth.

The calendar in my mind did not match the one etched to my soul. Was it one week ago that I bolted from Kaylee’s tent, gagging over the sight of her bloody nose?

Jacob used a clothespin to stop the bleeding. What good will that do? None. She died only an hour later. more

The Wave Goodbye

That day from the moment he awoke beside me, I knew everything had changed. Something in the way his eyes looked through me said, “Things will never be the same.” There will be no more lazy days. I could see in the determination on his face; there would be no more picnics under the Cottonwood. No more secret meetings after the sun had set, when we watched the moonlight and the tree’s dancing shadows. He didn't twirl me around as he ran past; he didn't even brush my hand. more

Naked Garden

She was nude, but no chill had ever been felt to her skin. The softness of her innocence mirrored the purity of the garden. The dawn broke and the sun scattered light in prisms. Each blossom turned, blooming and bursting with the invention of color. Every creature motioned the fullness of life. She moved peacefully. The air stood and waited, ready to give her next breath. There were no lines on her face, no evidence of fear or despair. Her skin had no imperfections from toil, sun, or time. She reached unabashedly for an enormous grape on the vine. Her teeth sunk through the skin and juice fell from her lips. It slid down her neck to her breast. more