Windows of Life (Wednesday Words 4.19.17)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off an occurence prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

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Windows of Life

“Mom! I’m home,” I called through the house as I shut the front door. I didn’t exactly expect an answer so when no voice greeted me back I wasn’t surprised.

Setting my book bag down by the door I wandered through the downstairs, looking for my mother. The floor was quiet though, dark with drawn drapes. I threw a couple of them open, fading light playing off the floating dust particles in the room. In the kitchen I frowned to find there weren’t any new dishes in the sink and the bowl of cereal I had left out on the table when I skipped out that morning for school was hardly touched.

I sighed as I took the bowl of dry frosted flakes and threw the rest out to the animals out back, then put the bowl in the sink and started for the stairs. “Mom?” I called again.

My foot hesitated on the first stair, hand gripping the railing as I took a deep breath. I always feared what I would come home too. Would I find my mother actually functioning by eating or reading or watching TV on the rare days she was doing better? Or would I find her laying in bed upstairs once more, barely having moved the whole day?

Or, worse yet, would I find her dead?

I let out the shaky breath I was holding and ascended the staircase. My eyes glanced over the box of books in the upper hallway, frowning. My mother had refused to leave the encyclopedias on the shelf in her room after my father died. She claimed it reminded her too much of him, too much of how he came alive when he was teaching a class at the university. One day, in a fit of hysterical crying, she had thrown every book off the shelves in their bedroom, and since then they had laid dormant in a box in the hallway.

My mother never wanted to see them again, but that didn’t mean I wanted to part with the set. It was almost all I had left of him now after she broke or packed up every other reminder. She claimed it was too painful to leave it sitting out, but to me it was like she was trying to forget dad ever existed.

I picked up the box of books and moved them into my bedroom, hiding them under the bed. Out of sight, but never out of mind. Maybe later I could read the inscriptions of quotes he wrote on the inside cover of every book he ever owned. Maybe later I could let myself feel the pain again.

A deep breath dropped my shoulders and I started down the hall before I could think too much on the subject. It was easier to deal with my mother if my mind was devoid of every emotional thought.

“Mom?” I asked softly as I stopped at her door and rapped on the wood. A tiny murmur greeted me this time and relief flooded my veins.

Today was not the day I would find her dead.

Pushing open the door I walked in, peering through the gloom to find her huddled up under the covers, staring blankly at the wall. I hated that look on her face. It was like she had become a shell of a person. I wanted to hide from the world and grieve too, but I couldn’t, because if I did then there would be no one left to take care of her, and no one to maintain this house or whatever life they had left here. I hated that she got to be the grieving, deadened one and not me. I was the child, she was supposed to be the strength for both of us. She was supposed to comfort me.

“Have you eaten anything today, mom?” I asked, shoving aside the resentful thoughts.

She didn’t answer, only slid her glassy gaze toward me before looking back to the wall with a sigh. I frowned.

“I guess that’s a no… Have you been out of bed yet?” She shrugged and a pinch of anger bloomed in my chest. “Mom… You can’t keep-” I bit my tongue before I could finish that sentence, knowing it would only fall on deaf ears, then let out a breath. “Never mind. I’m going to go make dinner and come get you when it’s ready, then you’re going to take a shower while I’m doing my homework. You didn’t take one yesterday.”

My mother gave a weary incoherent mumble and turned over in bed, facing away from me. I stared at her for a second before turning away to go start a load of laundry and cook dinner with a heavy heart.

I hadn’t just lost my father on the night of that fire, I lost my mother too.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

Traitor (Wednesday Words 2.8.17)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off an occurrence prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

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Traitor

Two guards bowed their heads and pushed the doors open for him as he came to the room. He gave them a nod of acknowledgement, eyes grim as he stepped inside the room and the door closed behind him. Grey eyes swept over the room, taking in the surroundings. The long war table was pristine and empty, all ten chairs pushed in. None of the shelves of various books and scrolls were disturbed, everything neat in its place. His eyes lingered on the large symbol scorched on the stone floor with a touch of disgust before he turned his expression blank and looked up to see his father standing by the window, looking out with hands clasped behind his back.

“You wanted to see me, father?” he asked cordially after years of perfecting the most placid tone of obedience.

He turned around, red robes swishing. “Yes. I did. Have a seat, Rylan.” He gestured to one of the war chairs and it pulled outward on its own by magic.

There was something in this steely gaze, something in his tone that set off red alarms through his head. His shoulders tensed, straightening as he reached to clasp his hands behind his back now, lightly touching one against the knife hidden in his belt. “No thank you. I would rather stand.”

His father’s jaw clenched. “Have it your way.” He walked around the table toward him, causing Rylan to tense subtly, hand resting just above the hilt of his knife. “I hear you made a blunder in your last hunt.”

Rylan mentally cursed a string of colorful words and his blood ran cold with alarm. He should have known that was going to get back to him. Well, it proved one thing, his father had been having him tailed for the past few months. Now it was going to catch up to him, in a potentially deadly way.

“You wanted me to deliver my own mother to Lucifer for eternal damnation and slavery,” he replied coldly, eyes not leaving his father’s movements with a calculating gaze.

“Yes. I did. She committed treason to me, to our realm. There was no other choice left for her acts.” He trailed his hand over the table as he walked. “However, I saw to it your lack of…resolve was rectified afterward. Your lapse in judgment in our law could have cost us much had word gotten out. Should rumors have reached the Council’s ears of rebellion in our midst, you could have spun us into a war over petty mercy!” He banged his hand on the table, rage blazing in his eyes now. “A follower of our God cannot show such weakness! You are one of his greatest instruments for hunts because of your title.”

Rylan stilled, now gripping his knife till he was sure his knuckles were white. “What did you do to her?” he whispered, the color draining from his face.

“That is no longer any of your concern.”

“By Hell it is!”

“Don’t you swear to the God you just betrayed by defying your duties! Your mother made you soft.” He sneered, looking him up and down with such disappointment.

Rylan’s jaw tightened now, heart racing. “My mother made me a decent person, that’s more than I can say for you,” he growled lowly.

“How dare you insult me!”

“You take insult to me implying you’re an evil tyrant ruling over this realm? I thought you had thicker skin than that, father, that’s what you always taught me. At least tried to.”

Storm colored eyes flashed with a red sheen for only a second. “You’re a disgrace,” he hissed, balling a fist before opening it to kindle a ball of fire in his palm. “A bastard son would have been better than you.”

“You mean like the one you had killed?” he retorted.

The fireball came hurling at him. Rylan released the hold on his knife and threw his hands up to deflect it around him before it burned away to sparks raining down. “The only good your mother ever did was complete her duties as a wife. She betrayed this realm and deserved the fate she received. I would watch your next step carefully, Rylan, for you are on thin ice and treading treason yourself for defying orders. You have one final chance to own up to your name, your position.”

His fists clenched, lowering his hands. “I don’t give a damn about title and position. I don’t give a damn about earning your favor anymore. You were abusive to her, and she did everything in her power to protect me from your wrath and your ruthlessness! I didn’t want the position you gave me in Lucifer’s hunters, I didn’t want to track down innocent witches or warlocks to damn forever to him. I only did it to try to earn your favor.”

The Head Elder’s nostrils flared in fury, another fireball lighting in his hand. “So you are turning your back on your people too? You are going to be a traitor just like your peasant mother and commit treason?”

“You made that choice for me when you told me I had to send my own mother to Hell. The only person who ever truly cared for me.”

“You disgrace,” he spat. “You’re no son of mine.”

The doors banged back open at the same time his father hurled the fireball. Rylan ducked, eyes pulsing to red as he spun to catch sight of the guards rushing him. Shoving magic out in a blast, he managed to push back the guards. Red smoke curled up around his feet and just as he began to flee in a disappearing act he heard the distinct whistle of something metallic flying through the air, then a sharp pain pierce his shoulder at the very last second before he was gone.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

This Is How (Wednesday Words 11.9.16)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off an occurrence and setting prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

DISCLAIMER: This work of fiction holds basis to the results of the Presidential Election. Read at your own risk and be forewarned for 18+ content implied. I respect everyone’s opinion and their right to vote but I will not tolerate any hate or negative comments thrown toward me for what I have written, and what I believe. If you have one, I ask you to please keep it to yourself and stop reading then.

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This Is How

Samantha sat on the edge of her seat as she watched the television screen. The news reporters were droning on and on, results of the closing polls and tallied ballots flitting across the bottom of the screen state by state. She was biting her nails, glued to the TV despite the fear and dread seeping through her being. Tension lined every inch of her body.

It was a nightmare come true. A literal nightmare that she prayed this country would wake up from. She prayed it was all fake what she was seeing on the news and that at the very end of it all they were going to throw a big “April Fool’s!” joke into it.

This country couldn’t really be that blind and ignorant…could it?

Time seemed to stand still around her as the minutes ticked by into hours and each state’s results was posted for the world to see. The joke wasn’t coming though, the gap was growing wider between the candidates.

How? How can anyone who is a decent human being follow the racism and bigotry this man represented?

It baffled her, it scared her.

Downstairs in the basement she could hear her husband and friends jeering and yelling at the TV in their man cave. Inwardly she cringed from noise, glancing back over her shoulder toward the stairs with worry-filled eyes. She knew where her husband stood in this election: on the other side of her, and with his history — an abusive and arrogant history she tried to hide from the world behind makeup and lies — she feared for her future.

She feared for everyone’s future, for the future of this country.

“Make America Great Again.”

No… He should have made his campaign slogan “Make America Backtrack”.

He wasn’t going to make America great again, he was going to destroy it. The hatred and egotistical nature he radiated made her sick. They had started to come so far as a nation in the past eight years, had accomplished milestones, and this man was going to tear it all away in a matter of a year. Not even that long. Everything they had worked so hard and fought so long to build was going to be blown to smithereens.

“The results are in.”

The voice of the news reporter pulled her attention back to the television. She sucked in a breath, praying it wouldn’t be so. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles were white. The world froze around her in those final few moments, growing completely silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your 45th President of the United States of America is Donald Trump.”

A whimper left her mouth, her head hanging as real horror and terror descended upon her. She was sure there were many others out there feeling the same fear she felt, their just hadn’t been enough of them in this country.

A country that had gone to Hell.

The sounds of her husband and his friend’s grew in volume from downstairs. They were celebrating, and she was weeping. How could she raise her child in a world that supported this man? Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash and before she could think of what she was doing, she got up and rushed down the stairs, fearing they had broken the glass table in their drunken states.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs she stopped, slowing as she looked around. A lamp had been knocked over, but her heart had skipped more when the four of them turned quiet to see her. All of their gazes were on her with an animalistic hunger, like they had a given right to own her person. She backed up a step, putting her hand on the railing.

“Well, hello baby,” John slurred, smiling at her with lust. “Did you hear the news? Come here, don’t go running away now.”

Sam shook her head slowly, her stomach dropping out. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder back up the stairs and she gasped when she felt an iron grip clasp over her wrist. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, John’s body pressing against hers suddenly. A repulsive shiver wound down her spine when he trailed a thumb down her cheek and smelled her hair.

“Now be a good girl and join the celebratory party, baby. It’s just us.” He pulled her roughly into the man cave toward the couch.

She watched with tears in her eyes as one of his buddies got up and went up the stairs, closing and locking the basement door, sealing them in together. She regretted coming down here now, she should have gathered her child and the packed bags she had hidden in the attic and left. She had known this would happen, but she had nowhere to go, and no one to help if she had left.

John roughly turned her chin up to meet his eyes. The smile on his face disgusted her, made her skin crawl. She feared for her life. This was how it had started before. This was how history happened before. She could see it now with this election, the pages of textbooks in years to come being written of history repeating itself because this world did not learn from its mistakes of hatred and persecution.

“We’re only getting started, baby.”

Sam swallowed hard and closed her eyes. He was right, they were only getting started. Their country was doomed.

Welcome to the making of the 2nd Holocaust. Welcome to the start of what could be the first Purge. Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games, America.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

Legend Goddess (Wednesday Words 3.30.16)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction prompt based off an occurrence. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

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Legend Goddess

My fingers trailed along the spines of books lining the shelves. The old, weathered wood sagging under their weight. I breathed in deep the musky smell of second hand books. Cracked spines, yellowed pages, earmarked chapters, worn covers. This was my heaven, my sanctuary.

I could lose myself for hours upon hours inside Treasured Pasts, just roaming the laden shelves. I could pick out book after book, flipping through the delicate pages to fall into the embrace of adventure and fantastical realms.

My heart always seemed drawn to the section of books labeled by a wooden sign hanging from the ceiling, the word FANTASY painted delicately across its dark surface. I would find a stack of five books or so that caught my interest and curl up on the old reclining chair to pass the hours of day by reading. The shopkeeper knew me by now and had no qualms about me spending my hours reading by dull overhead lights, dust mites floating in the rays of sun that streamed through the paned glass front window shop.

Today though, my hands and feet were pulling me to a different section of the books. The mystery and adventure sections, looking for a thrill of excitement in my reading for the day. Once more my hands trailed over the worn spines until I felt the pull to a certain volume.

I stopped at the prickle of finding the right book and pulled out the dark green hardback book, glancing to the cover to see what it was called. However, my attention was quickly diverted back to the book shelf as I saw something else stuffed behind the volume I had selected.

Curious, I tilted my head a little and set the book down on a stool, pulling out the volume next to what I had taken and placing it down as well to see what had been hidden behind. Reaching into the dark crevice, my fingers brushed against worn leather and I pulled out a black leather bound book, the edges decorated with sewn cord in a spiral pattern. It looked less like a book and more like a journal as I turned it over in my hands, being gentle with the aged pages and cover.

Forgetting about the original volume I had pulled out, I walked to the cushioned chair and sat down, dust fluffing up around me as it wasn’t my normal seat. Opening the journal, I found that it wasn’t blank. The pages were written on, the handwriting neat and poised as it scrawled across the aged pages fluently. The pages didn’t have any lines on them, but whoever wrote in the journal kept the lines of words neat and straight, as if they had had tons of practice. Something I myself was never good at. My writing looked like waves if I didn’t have lines to follow.

I thumped through the yellowed pages carefully, my eyes scanning the entries, each one dated a time before I was even born. Let alone thought and planned out. Once I reached the final entry, I paused as a certain line caught my interest and then began to read the whole entry.

June 5th

Everything is dying. Crops are failing, the hillsides are browning. Rivers run dry, the earth cracked in their beds. The animals are eating decayed grass, and our food supplies are running low now too. Everyone is losing weight. If we do not get a break from this blistering weather, if rain does not fall soon, we will be nothing but shriveled, burnt corpses upon the earth.

Legend tells of a hidden cave somewhere in the mountains. A cave that supposedly belongs to a Goddess, a woman of grave beauty that was banished away for the storms she would create when she became angry at the men flaunting around her. It is said that if one can find her, and if one can offer her what she wishes, then she will grant a single wish for their good fortune in season.

I fear this legend is but our only hope of survival in this dire drought. It has been bone dry for too many moons now. Though I have only a clue of what it is this Goddess may want, it is the only choice presenting itself to us. For desperately praying for rain has not yet given us a measly tear from the sky.

We must do more before it means our slow deaths.

I must do more.

I fear this journey may not see my return to home, so I ask whoever finds this journal to simply not follow. This is my bargain to take, my willing sacrifice for our land, our town, our families, children, and animals.

I set out tomorrow at dawn, and should I not return, I bid you all farewell.’

My brain whirled a little as I set the journal down in my lap. I couldn’t help but wonder what year this had been, years had never been listed. Not to mention who it even belonged to. There had been no names listed though, no page for a dedication of ‘property of so and so’. It was a complete mystery, an intriguing one at that.

I flipped through the journal once more and this time as I ran my hand over the leather cover, I found a lump. Carefully flipping to the front of the journal, I ran my fingers over the material until I found a small slit in it. Being gentle so as not to destroy the journal in its delicate state, I fingered the opening and pulled out an old, small brass key with an inscription on it.

I held it up to the light, turning it around and looking at it curiously. It seemed I had found more adventure and mystery than I had set out for at the beginning of the day.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

Cover made by @_teenagers on Wattpad

One Little Secret (Wednesday Words 3.9.16)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction prompt based off an occurence. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

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One Little Secret

“Are you sure about this?” Bethany asked as the pair climbed through the cut fence onto the condemned and banned property.

The young man looked back to her, holding the wire fence to the side for her to squeeze through with her journalist bag. “This is where the real story went down, not the coerced version the big media news is spreading like a plague.”

“You honestly believe that is all a lie?”

His green eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. “I’m sure of it.”

“How? Jeremy, how can you be so sure if no one else is leaking any sort of answer other than what we have heard on the news?”

He gave a shrug as she made her way through and he let go of the fence, it springing back into place with a clang. “Just one of my gut feelings that–”

“You are never wrong on,” she finished, rolling her eyes. He always had that excuse.

“Come on, how often am I actually wrong on one of these feelings? We get the biggest stories and breaks out of following my gut’s instinct. Lighten up a little.” He nudged her with his elbow lightly and she gave him a mock glare.

“Your gut may have never steered us wrong yet. YET,” she emphasized at the way he wagged his eyebrows smugly, “but this is the first time your gut is leading us to traveling to another country and trespassing onto a banned property. We are asking for trouble here if we are caught.”

Jeremy gave a chuckle, shaking his head as he led her to the perfectly sound house and picked the lock on the back door. “We are just going to snap some photos, take some notes, and find some clues and then we do the rest of our sleuthing back home in our studio in the safe, rural part of Los Angeles. Stop being so paranoid, Bethany. What could possibly go wrong?” he asked, grinning as he heard the lock click back and stood up, opening the door and gesturing her inside with an overdramatic bow. “Ladies first.”

“You’re horrible,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him flatly. When she didn’t budge he just shook his head again and went in first, her following on his heels as they surveyed the home.

It was an ordinary home; a kitchen, bathroom, living room, dining room, bedrooms and all — but what was unordinary was the walls. Instead of painted walls with hanged family photos and art and decorations, the walls were entirely covered in words written in black sharpie. Line after line of them, flowing around every single room from floor to ceiling. There wasn’t a single bare patch of white drywall anywhere in the home.

“What is all this?” Bethany breathed, her eyes wide as she walked through the rooms, turning in circles and scanning all the walls, reading snippets of the words.

Jeremy was just as observant of the writing on the walls as he walked through. “Look,” he finally called from the entrance hall by the front door. “It all starts in here. Come see.”

She turned her head and then wandered to his side where he pointed out the beginning words written above the doorway. One phrase, like a title, was written in a scrawling cursive, larger than the rest and sitting at the ceiling level. Underneath it was a bit smaller notation, one that made her frown in puzzlement.

“One Little Secret,” she read from the ceiling level, then looked to the line underneath it. “Chapter One? What? What does that mean?”

Jeremy was starting to look elated as he followed the lines of words around the rooms. “Look, here’s Chapter Two.”

“Did the owner of this house write a story on his walls?” she asked, sounding disbelieving and dumbfounded.

Her companion didn’t answer her as he followed along the rows of sentences, his lips moving silently as he read to himself.

“Jeremy?”

Again she was met with no response as Jeremy followed the walls and lines of literature up the stairs and disappeared. She sighed and begrudgingly followed him upstairs, finding him standing in an office-like room, turning in a circle in the center.

“Jeremy?”

He held one finger up to her, his eyes scanning the walls, then he slowly smiled, eyes alight in discovery and amazement. “It has a secret meaning in it,” he breathed.

“What?” She raised a puzzled eyebrow.

“The writing,” he motioned. “There’s a secret message hidden within it. Look.” He walked to the wall, pointing out a letter that was bolder than the rest, and also seemed to be written with a more defining cursive. One wouldn’t have seen it at first glance, but Jeremy’s eyes always picked out the abnormalities fastest. It was what made him such a successful journalist. “There’s letters, all capitalized, that are slightly different. If you follow them with the chapters, like you’re reading a book, they spell out something. A hidden message.”

That started to pique Bethany’s interest and she walked in the room with him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he exclaimed. “I bet it explains what happened to the owner of his house, how everyone says he so mysteriously disappeared.”

She still seemed skeptical, but she followed him back downstairs as he started at the beginning and watched his enthusiasm as he traced his hands over the sharpied walls and picked out the letters.

“Write these down as I say them,” he told her excitedly, reciting out the letters he came across. “O-N-E-L-I-T…”

He kept going, circling the room and following the chapters, then going out in the halls and other rooms as he tracked down the slightly different letters, Bethany following him and writing down each one in order as he went until they found themselves back in the same office room to the final words ‘The End’.

“D,” he finished up, then turned to Bethany, going to her side to peer over her shoulder at her notebook. “What does it spell?”

She studied the letters for a second, picking out where the spaces were supposed to be. “One little secret can overthrow the world,” she read slowly, then frowned and looked to him. “What could that mean? What secret?”

“A secret you two renegades shall never know.”

The two journalists jumped and spun to face the stern voice that greeted them from the doorway. A broad-chested muscle man in a suit stood in the doorway with an unamused frown on his face, his eyes cold. In one hand he held what looked like a can of gasoline.

“Who are you?” Jeremy asked as Bethany’s eyes traveled down to the can, widening slightly in fear.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied gruffly. Suddenly, he tipped the can of gasoline, spilling it all over the floor in the doorway and the hall as he backed up, careful to not splash any on himself.

“W-What are you doing!?” Bethany screeched in fear.

The strange man dropped the now empty can and reached in his pocket, pulling out a set of matches and lit one, looking back up to them. “Isn’t it obvious? We can’t have you two going anywhere with this information of yours, and we can’t have this evidence stay around. It’s bad for our country. Imagine the new headlines. ‘Condemned house burns to the ground by faulty wiring with squatters inside.’ Oh, wait, that won’t make a headline at all.”

“No! Wait!” Jeremy yelled, going to jump forward to try to stop him.

But there was too much distance between them and the man dropped the lighted match as he slipped away. The gasoline went up in a plume of heat and fire instantly, eliciting panicked screams from within the room of the two now trapped journalists as the flames quickly spread. The burly man didn’t even flinch as he walked calmly back down the stairs and out into the cool night air, listening to the crackle of the fire as it started to spread and engulf all inside the house.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

Cover made by @_teenagers on Wattpad

Little Box of Horrors (Wednesday Words 3.2.16)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction prompt based off an occurence. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

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Little Box of Horrors

A car horn blared as another driver sped by him yet again. They always seemed to go faster when they passed him, like they thought he was some mass murderer.

“Jackasses,” he muttered to himself, letting his hitchhiker’s thumb fall back down to his side with a huff.

He turned back forward and kept walking, shoving his hands in his pockets and adjusting his pack slung over one shoulder. He kicked a rock in frustration, his shoe scuffing the ground and wafting up dust. The desert sun was scorching hot, sweat beading his brow. His water supply was also starting to get dangerously low and there wasn’t another town in sight for miles and miles. It didn’t help that evening was creeping in and soon the temperature would start dropping to freezing proportions.

He’d have to find a way to shelter soon, for water and for survival. Curled up on the side of the road shivering in some ditch listening to the howls of coyotes was not how he wanted to spend another miserable night.

Eventually, after what felt like another hour of walking, he heard the telltale signs of another car rolling along the deserted highway. He paused and glanced towards the direction of the sound, turning to walk backwards now as he once more held out his thumb. He prayed this passerby would be nice enough to pull over and give him a lift.

He saw a truck barreling down the highway this time, its noisy muffler sounding like it was about ready to fall off and tumble away, making him instinctively take a couple steps back off the side of the road. The vehicle was upon him in seconds, and just like the countless number of cars before this one, it sped right by him without even slowing a fraction.

He frowned, his hand smacking his thigh as it dropped once more, though not before flipping off the driver of the truck as they got further and further away.

Frustrated, he once more shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching up and started walking in the direction he had been going all day, kicking at the ground. It was starting to get darker and he could feel the cold chill seeping into his bones.

“Bunch of lousy, selfish, para–ow!” He broke off with an exclamation and a colorful curse word when he stubbed his foot on something heavy in the dense desert brush along the side of the road.

Stopping out of curiosity, he crouched down and pushed the scratchy brush aside to reveal a large box. Puzzled, he pulled it out, finding it was rather heavy and ornate. The box was a dark wood with leather straps binding it. Odd symbols that he had never seen before, and an inscription in another language, were carved along the top of the box. A heavy duty lock held the box clamped shut tight. It looked old, very old, whatever it was at least.

He set his pack down on the ground, shifting the box to one arm as he sat down as well and examined it with a keen eye for something of value. He shook the box but didn’t hear anything rattle within.

“Odd…” he muttered, setting it down on the ground in front of him.

Curiosity won the best of him and he reached into his pack, pulling out his lock pick kit. He nearly chuckled in spite of himself.

“Maybe everyone passes me by because they can sense I’m a thief.”

Carefully, he started to pick at the heavy lock on the box, his brow furrowed and tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. It was silent around him which made it easier to focus as well. Within moments he heard the distinct click of the lock springing open and he smiled deviously, putting his tools aside to dismantle the leather straps and open the box with a twinge of excitement.

That excitement suddenly died out though as he lifted the lid.

His eyes widened in terror and shock as the inside of the box glowed outwards in an eerie green hue. He screamed as black, spindly hands reached out the box’s depths and grabbed his shoulders with a disturbing cackle. Then the green hue flashed like some UFO around him and he was yanked into the box by the creature, his scream dying out as the lid snapped shut and the box disappeared with a pop, leaving his pack and tools to rest abandoned on the side of the road.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

Cover made by @_teenagers on Wattpad

Accident Twin (Wednesday Words 2.17.16)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction prompt based off an occurrence and setting. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Accident Twin

Rain pelted the car’s windshield in sheets, the wipers going a mile a minute to try to keep up with the storm. Lightning streaked across the sky, zigzagging and giving an eerie green glow across the pitch black night sky. The storm had been raging for miles now with not an end in sight. Cars along the highway crawled at no more than twenty-five miles per hour to try to see two feet in front of their hoods. The glow of headlights and taillights was nearly impossible to see, even if you were right up on someone’s bumper.

“I can’t see a damn thing…” Melanie muttered to herself, leaning forward in her seat to try to see better. Her knuckles were white on the steering will in nerves and tensions. She couldn’t wait for this storm to pass. It was so unnaturally long, so widespread. She had never seen anything like it.

The next flash of green lightning that lit up everything for a split second had her slamming on her brakes too late with a scream. She could see the high winds whipping the signs along the road, but what really made her eyes widen was the white Subaru directly in front of her.

Tires squealed, rubber burning as she plowed her little hybrid car into the rear end of the stopped Subaru with their four ways blinking. The storm was so bad that she hadn’t seen the car until the last moment.

A moment too late as it was.

The airbag deployed as she felt the rear end of her car actually come up off the highway’s blacktop. She was jerked forward against the seat belt with a cry, the material locking and knocking the wind out of her, bruising her ribs. The two cars skidded forward along the pavement, glass shattering as the slick ground made them spin out in puddles on the road.

Her entire world seemed to flash before her eyes; regrets, dreams, wishes, memories, and all the people she cared for and suddenly wasn’t sure if she had told them she loved them enough. She could have sworn she saw a flash of a woman who looked just like herself as well, yet it wasn’t her. The whole crash only lasted about ten seconds before the cars landed in a ditch off the road, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. She gave another cry as her car hit the largest ditch and tipped sideways, shattering more glass as her car rolled onto its side, dangling her in her seatbelt.

When everything stilled her ears were ringing, her heart pounding, broken glass tinkling around her in the pattering rain. She tried to calm herself, taking in the fact she was still alive at least. She could feel blood trickling along her skin from the broken glass raining around her, her head pounding from hitting the airbag and steering wheel.

The next set of lightning brought her an unclear vision of someone pulling off the side of the road, getting out and waving a flashlight around as they ran to the vehicles.

“Is everyone alright?!” the voice called.

She vaguely heard a reply coming from the car in front before she heard more than one set of footsteps in the muck coming to her car and someone peered through the cracked windshield at her.

“Hang on there, we’re going to get you out. My husband is a firefighter. Just hand tight.” The voice sounded almost…familiar. Had she spoken to herself and just thought it came from outside the car? Unless that was her pounding head making everything wonky and delusional.

She barely had time to register much before she felt the car rock a little as someone managed to yank her driver side door open. Arms were supporting her, a soothing voice calming her before she found herself being pulled carefully from the vehicle and carried a safe distance away.

“Meredith, go get the medical kit.” It was a male’s voice this time.

Melanie was set down gently on a patch of grass away from the road and the crash and she heard the footsteps approach again as the other good Samaritan came back. The cold rain stopped pounding against her face as someone leaned over her.

“Can you open your eyes? Can you hear me?” That voice… It was so familiar. It was…herself, almost, with a slight difference in pitch. Had she not imagined that this time? Was she hearing herself talk?

Groggily, she managed to open her eyes, not having even noticed they had closed earlier as she had been carried out of the vehicle. Another flash of lightning overhead allowed her to see double of the woman leaning over.

A woman that looked exactly like herself. Her mirror image twin.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

Cover made by @_teenagers on Wattpad