Weblog » Tags » shortstory (all)

  • Soldier's Conscience - II

    Fuck, it’s hot. I was covered in sweat, and though the breeze on my skin felt cool, my insides were boiling. I wanted to scratch my skin off, go back to the ocean I loved so well and throw myself into its icy depths. S…

  • The Soldier’s Conscience

    You ever wonder why you don’t hear any grandiose, romanticized stories about Empaths? Why we’re not some fetish worthy trend crazing through society? It’s because we all end the same way without exception. We all commit …

  • Temptress 101

    [This story was one I wrote a very, very long time ago, as you will be able to undoubtably notice while reading it.] So, I’ve been around for a few millennia, I wouldn’t say that makes me all that old. Since the firs…

  • Dhampir Short Story Contest Entry

    Vampires have such a twisted history, but who doesn’t, right? Family trees… they’re specified histories, they give you tangible proof of where you’ve come from. It’s why we don’t keep them. You see, contrary to popular b…

  • Forgotten Leprechauns

    Sirens and spotlights were blaring through my window. I suspect the neighbor finally did her husband in. My mouth feels like I made out with a litter box and my head is tearing itself apart. Wait… sirens don’t sing… Sl…

  • Sleeping Soldiers

    The is won, and all that means is that I’ve survived a few more hours, I can return to the barracks, pretend I’m sleeping, get up and test my fate again. I pour the blood from my boots, let my helmet fall to the floor, …

  • Under a Lonely Sky

    I fell asleep today to the quietly settling children of a darkened cloudy sky. My son played quietly in the world he created out of oversized lego’s, stuffed animals, and vacuum cleaner attachments, adding an occasional …

  • Mindscape

    I stand there, on shifting anonymously familiar ground, the wind tearing at the ancient swaths of fabric draping from my shoulders and hips. Here, I am ageless, here I am drawn up into the stars of newly born thoughts a…

  • The Quiet Child

    There is a child who sits upon the grass, beneath a parkland's tree; quiet. She runs every now and then, kicking up her skirts, dirtying her hems, but she will always turn, as if hearing upon the wind, someone calling …

  • What Makes a Writer.

    A writer's eyes see past the embellishments. There is something about people watching that is mesmerizing. Just watching people walk by, hearing tiny bits of conversation carried on the wind, seeing expressions, watching…

Recent Weblogs