Tag Archives: creative writing

On Writing: Beginnings, coping & expression

I can trace a handful of defining moments back to my days in high school. Maybe it shouldn’t come as surprising, being that mixing pot of awkwardness, doubt, and a pinch of disorientation to taste. Writing, for fun, was one of them.


“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.” 


― Neil Gaiman
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Short Story: Brew

Honey’s on the run. Mainly from her mother’s witch boyfriend. 

She’s still not clear on the specifics of disposing the previously possessed cat.

A now very dead cat currently in her rucksack being jostled as she wove her bike with break-neck ferocity through Erin’s doused back alleys. 

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Short story: Doctor Kebab. Shish Kebab.

Story contains swearing

He scoops me up like one would a small sleeping child. I am neither. I scramble for bars of my cage frame but he was stronger. Thrashing wildly as I can the fucker holds on like I’m nothing. Not always a happy person, not particularly strong, but I meant something once. I could again.

“You’re making this worse, sweetheart, more than it has to be,” his breath comes in puffs of fetid peppermint.

Screaming was moot, the basement took care of that. The two men that still breathed roused from their cages, their teeth bared in feral grimaces. One throws himself against his door, the other follows suit.

I know he’s hauling me to the steel table by the incinerator where Carter’s corpse had slept. Chest split open. Organs harvested. I feel the wince crack apart dried up riverbed of tears. Hell wasn’t the destination it was just a passage to something worse than the tales, and ours had its jowls laced with ashes and flames for teeth.

I may be nothing in this moment but I’m not stupid. Faked injuries facilitated recovery time. He’d wanted to have some fun with us before he got down to business eventually. The slime was considerate enough to let me off the hook so he could start all over again.

The plan, need to follow the plan. I go lax in his arms. I sing a lullaby with my body, arms like wilting flowers and breaths leafless trees in the wind. I feel his grip ease, only a little.

Got it. My hand closes around cool metal at his hip. I need to act quickly.

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