Short Stories

A letter without a recipient. The day you were gone, the skies cried too. We were mirror images—nature and I—coexisting in a grand letting go. I thought about death often when I was young, even found a certain comfort in the company of headstones. Wars have been fought over the knowledge the bones under my feet understand about the afterlife. Death was never something of permanence to me because everyone who passes lives through the people around them. Memories are stored, st

The cathedral bell tolls, both solemn and authoritative. Its singular chime cuts through the nerves coursing through my body as I approach Jackson square, since renamed Heretic Square upon the new laws. The gray skies above cast gloom onto the scattered crowd, hurrying so they may not be next to meet their fate. I pull my cloak tighter around my face and hope to remain anonymous. Our shoulders brush together as we are corralled in front of the stone wall. We crane our necks

“First leg of the Appalachian Trail. Y’all ready to knock this off the list?” Amelia asks. A crisp breeze floats across my face, rustling my hair with tendrils of autumn. The leaves, in their state of red and golden transition, color the mountains with a promise of adventure. An unsettling chill chases the thoughts of our wistful goal and the nape of my neck prickles with eyes unseen between the trees. “Yeah,” I murmur, sweeping my gaze over the forest. “Do you guys not fee

Awarded to the long list by Creative Writing ink, this is Pieces of Us. “Don’t come back to me in pieces,” I say through a laugh and watch my husband’s motorcycle pull out of the drive. Had I known those would be my last words to him, I would have chosen more wisely, more lovingly. A mere two hours later, heavy thuds pound against my door—the kind that never hold an old friend behind them. The hinges groan as I open the door and my heart sinks with the officers on my front

“The water knows.” Phantom voices whisper in the wind, brushing tendrils of omniscient dread along my spine. Red autumn leaves create a carpet beneath my feet. With every step towards the creek, the tug in my stomach grows painful and insistent. Sweat coats my hands almost as slick as the blood I washed away. Benjamin Parrish deserved everything he had coming—to threaten one is to threaten all. He paraded Sable around town and branded her in the square. There is no mercy in

Piano staccatos rain over the wash of bright lights and towering performers, settling a decidedly mystical chill into my bones. With every turn, a new curiosity beckons my wondrous attention. My eyes widen with each painted face while spun sugar encourages my boundless imagination of what lies behind the red and white tarps boasting never before seen attractions. “Come, lovelies, see what gifts I have for you,” a woman with night-swept hair and impossibly green eyes calls ou

This competition was called A Knock at the Door and we were required to have the story start with a simple knock on the door. Whatever unfolds past the sound was up to us. In this spooky October competition, I wanted to write a precursor to my short story "Inner Demons". While I don't always write about demons (I promise!), it provided a good opportunity to expand upon Lenore and Ophelia's story given that this was submitted to the same platform. Enjoy! CW: Demons, Violence

In this short story competition called "Leave the Lights On", we had to create a story taking place between sunset and sunrise in 3000...

In this mythology short story competition we were encouraged to create original mythology in 2000 words or less. The judges asked for three things: a false accusation, an event that changed the map, and a conversation without words. Enjoy! “They really are beautiful creatures, aren’t they,” Death asks, brushing her ethereal night-swept hair from her eyes and leaning into the looking glass. Life hums and taps her fingertips together, “They’ve done well. What would you say ab