-
The Reckoning: Short Story
As the wind sighed and murmured through the old trees outside her bedroom window, Gina woke with a start. The cottage bedroom was in explicably colder. She saw her breaths coming out in plumes of steam. Not again she thought. How had the duvet worked itself free again, pooling at the bottom of the lumpy four-poster bed? And why was it always exactly 1:35 a.m. when her bladder, without fail, announced its demands? Groping in the dim light, she pulled the duvet back to her chin and stared at the frost spreading across the small windowpanes. Thin white lines like spider silk, stretching left to right in uneven patterns—suggestive…
-
January
January January often arrives like an unwelcome guest — cold, broke, and full of expectations. This poem imagines him sitting down anyway.
-
Real Gone – a Halloween song
What was it you said, that day at the lake?Before he pushed you in.What was it you felt , that day at the party?As she sharpened the knife.What was it you saw, that you shouldn’t have?As they whispered and plotted in that little,dark alley.Who was you touched as you smiled, self-content?As I left my seat, club in hand.What was it you wore , on that wintry, icy day?As he followed , black hearted, behind.And what is it like , on the other side of now?Gone.
-
Halloween Story- The Touch
He didn’t have to turn his head to know it was 2.37 a.m.—the same every night: the nightmare, the waking, and the hopeless attempt to get back to sleep. Outside, the wind moaned like a dying breath, and the frost crept across the windowpane like a web of ice.
