A Life Too Short (Wednesday Words 5.3.17)

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 a three word combination 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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A Life Too Short

In Loving Memory of a Dear Classmate

One of my classmates died yesterday. Unexpectedly; just like every other tragedy that occurs. The sun is shining and birds are singing on this picture perfect day outside, but the beauty is lost on so many today. To us it is overcast by shadow and storm clouds of a different kind. Our worlds have come to a standstill, but life around us hasn’t slowed or stopped to mourn with us.

It keeps on turning, blissfully ignorant to the pain in our hearts.

The clock continues to tick away the agonizing seconds, minutes, hours, transforming them into days and weeks. They say time heals wounds of the heart, but that isn’t always true. Sometimes time only makes the pain worse. It makes days likes this, perfect days, become mockery to our suffering.

Doesn’t the world care?

Of course it doesn’t. At least not all of it. The world as a large whole is unaffected by this tragedy, just like so many others that happen every day, but so many individual lives around me are now grieving and trying to process a loss that is incomprehensible.

How do you deal with the unexpected tragedy of a life so bright, and so full of heart, snatched from a world that was better off with her in it?

The answer is I don’t know.

Maybe you sit and stare blankly at a wall, unable to feel, unable to cry just yet because it still feels surreal. Part of you believes the phone next to you is going to light up and start ringing with a call from your friend, daughter, cousin, sister… But it doesn’t.

No matter how much you will it to not be real it unfortunately is.

Or perhaps the reality slams into you so fast and so hard that you want to find some place secluded where you can scream at the world at the top of your lungs for this injustice. The middle of the woods, a garden shed, sitting in your car, anywhere available where you can let it out. Where you can curl up and cry until you have no tears left, and scream until your lungs give out.

I don’t know how you grieve, how you may cope. Everyone is different. Maybe one day time will scar the wound we now bear, but that day is not today. For when our hearts freeze like an unexpected snowstorm in May, I do know one thing for sure…

The world lost a beautiful soul yesterday. A kind, caring, selfless individual who always smiled and always welcomed everyone around her with open arms. She could light up the room with her presence. I had never met another person so devoted to their family, with such a bright future and a good head on their shoulders. A young woman who touched and changed so many lives with her own. The memories and photos left on her wall speak of a life that was worth every moment of it, and it is a shame it was cut so short at just twenty-two years.

I guess it’s true when they say the good ones are always taken first.

I saw a quote a friend of hers shared yesterday: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

How lucky we were indeed.

Tonight I choose not to mourn anymore, but to celebrate the bright life she lived instead. Tonight I light a candle in her honor. She may be gone but she will never be forgotten for the joy she spread and the lives she forever changed. The world may not have stopped to mourn with us, but know we would have stopped the world for you.

Rest easy now, and fly high, angel.

not to die


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

Tea Party (Wednesday Words 4.26.17)

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 a three word combination 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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Tea Party

Darcy skipped over to the garden patch and reached in to pluck the garden gnome from his post next to the tulips. Then she skipped to her left and plucked the green and brown ceramic turtle from his home by the decorative rocks. Tucking them under her arms she hummed her way back to the plastic table and chairs set up in the center of the backyard.

She set them each on their respective chairs then took her own seat with a giggle, picking up the kid-friendly teapot to pour an imaginary cup for each of them. “So how has the week been for the two of you?” she asked.

The reply they gave was only heard in her head with the power of her imagination, but she smiled all the same to the turtle.

“Oh that’s great, Hooper! It was a big rainstorm we had the other day. I knew you’d like that.” Darcy then frowned and looked to the gnome. “What’s the matter, Grumpy? You didn’t have a good week?”

The gnome stared with a fixed disgruntled expression and Darcy’s face fell.

“Rocco did it again?” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Grumpy. You know he can’t help it. He’s just a puppy. At least the rain washed it all off though, didn’t it? You got a nice bath!” She beamed for a second, then frowned slightly once more. “Oh… I’m sorry. Rocco doesn’t mean it.”

Silence fell between the trio as Darcy sipped at her imaginary tea. The squawk of a crow grabbed her attention after a moment and she looked up to see one streak across the yard overhead, landing in a nearby tree. It preened its wings and a black feather floated to the ground.

Darcy got out of her chair and scurried toward the feather, bending to pick it up before holding it up to the crow in the tree, head tilted all the way back. “Excuse me, Mr. Crow!” she called, “I think you dropped this.”

The bird cocked its head at her, staring with beady eyes for a second. It squawked and flapped its wings.

She frowned in confusion. “Oh? You don’t…need it? But it’s yours. Why don’t you need it Mr. Crow? Doesn’t it help you fly?”

Mr. Crow hopped along the branch with wings out, rustling the leaves as it continued to stare down at her.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

A series of caws left its beak this time before it pushed off and glided into the sky, flying away over her house and out of sight. She watched the crow leave before waving goodbye to it with a smile, starting to skip back to her tea party as she tucked the feather into her hair.

“Goodbye, Mr. Crow, and thank you for the gift!”


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

Time After Time (Wednesday Words 4.5.17)

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 a three word combination 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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Time After Time

The trilling sound of a whistle rang shrilly through the air. A loud, blaring sound cut through his senses, followed by nails on a chalkboard squealing and screeching. He turned his head just in time to see the massive rectangle on wheels barreling down on him. Terror gripped him and he threw his hands up in a desperate attempt to shield himself.

Its flat face came within inches of smashing into him before the screeching stopped with a puff of dispelled air and the smell of burning rubber.

“Get the fuck out of the middle of the road, foreigner!”

Henry lowered his arms and peeked one eye open to find the metal beast looming over him. What was a fuck? Was it a thing he needed to move? A sharp burst of sound from the machine made him jump.

“Get out of the road! Are you trying to get yourself killed, you dumb moron?! Move!”

His gaze flicked to the angry person leaning out a window of one of the other, smaller metal things, shaking a fist and yelling at him. He straightened his dress jacket and glanced back to the mechanical beast in front of him, then hurried out of the road. Another metal beast came to a grinding halt as he hurried past, bumping into him lightly. He stumbled, holding his hands up.

“Sorry, sorry,” he tried to apologize to the disgruntled driver, moving past again and making it to the sidewalk where the rest of the pedestrians were hurrying along. He caught a couple strange gazes as he leaned back on a building, looking upwards at the towering skyscrapers in awe. He had never seen something so tall, so magnificent!

Everything here was beyond what he could have ever imagined on his own. Time travel was truly remarkable. He wasn’t quite sure where to look first. There were so many different people, of different color too! Astounding! Then there were these towering buildings, and metal beasts zipping along. Flashing lights and signs. And the noise! My Gods the noise!

It was overbearing, and incredible the types of sounds this futuristic new world managed to produce. He could hear music down the way, the many sounds of the people, dogs barking and cats yowling in response from an alleyway. Then there was the screeching and honking from the metal machines on the road, and those coming from some of the signs or from inside propped open doors to shops.

Remarkable! It was truly remarkable the world he had visited.

“Pardon me, madam?” he asked, reaching out to a passerby.

The woman yanked away from his touch, hitching her shoulder bag further up on her arm and gripping it tight. A stern, wary gaze traveled up and down his person. “You’re wearing some odd clothing, dude. What’d you do? Fall right out of the colonial days?”

Henry blinked. “Well, actually, I have. But might you be so kind as to tell me what year this is?”

The look she gave him might as well have been that of someone who saw four heads sitting on his shoulders instead of one. He could have sworn her heard her mutter something along the lines of “bat shit crazy freak” but he couldn’t be certain.

“Pardon?” What was bat shit crazy anyway?

“Look. Weirdo. Why don’t you run along back wherever you came from before you get yourself killed by running into the street without watching your step. Though you wouldn’t be the first crazy lunatic to do so.” She flipped bright pink hair over her shoulder and turned, walking away before he could stop her.

Henry watched with a combination of bafflement and amazement. Such bright hair! He wondered if it grew in that color. Never before had he seen something so bright, and so pink. He glanced around again, then found a bench not far away, wandering over to sit down. The other patron seated upon it gave him a sneered glance before getting up and walking away, babbling into a little rectangular device held up to his ear. He dismissed the person — though he was curious what the device had been — and pulled out a miniature tattered book from his vest pocket. Flipping through it he glanced over the pages filled with details and notes of the years he had visited, the places even.

A wistful smile pulled at his face. It was like watching mankind and the world grow and evolve, all in one lifetime. He stopped on the next blank page, glancing up to look at a flashing sign on a building that read PNC Bank. The screen showed the weather, then an advertisement for a strange product called a tampon, then to his luck it showed the time. Or, more importantly, it showed the date. He smiled more.

“Hello, 2017. You are quite astounding indeed.”


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

Birdsong (Wednesday Words 3.22.17)

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 a three word combination 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! (Personally, I think this one sucks.)

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

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Birdsong

River sat down along the stream’s edge with her back to the water, bunching her skirts around her legs. Her gaze fell to rest upon the makeshift gravestone only several feet in front of her, a mighty oak shielding it. She remained silent respectively and laid a single rose down over the grave.

Dawn was just barely creeping over the horizon, painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and orange. The light filtered down through the tree limbs, skipping along the ground and twinkling with each light rustle of leaves in the wind. Birds of all sorts were stretching their wings and voices to the heavens around her, warming the morning with their delicate songs.

Everything was quiet. Peaceful.

At least, on the outside everything was peaceful in the woods. Within her heart though she was mourning the anniversary of a loss. A dull ache that beat within her chest, constricting her walls.

After some moments of silence she began to hum a tune, softly at first, then a bit louder. It wasn’t a happy tune, but it also couldn’t be considered a completely sad melody. It was the words of her heart she couldn’t bring to justice by speaking, the words and feelings that could only be completely conveyed by tune. Her melody rose and fell along the chorus of the birds, singing as one.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a small chocolate brown rabbit hopping close to stop near a boulder. It watched her, waiting patiently until she had stopped humming and sat there quietly. When she had been silent for a few minutes it hopped closer, nose twitching.

“River?” the rabbit asked lightly.

She turned her head and gave a small smile before standing to brush off her skirts. “I’m alright, Cinnabun.”

“Are you sure?” Cinnabun hopped a step closer, putting her front paws on River’s shoe and stretching up.

River nodded, reaching down to rub at her ears. “I’m sure. I’m okay. Or, I will be okay in time. Let’s get back to the rest of the clan before Buck sends the wolves to find us.”

Cinnabun gave a quick head shake from being tickled then hopped away so she could walk without tripping over her. River followed her soundlessly back into the forest, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the gravestone.


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

Dragonstone (Wednesday Words 3.15.17)

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 a three word combination 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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Dragonstone

O’Malley’s ear twitched at the crack of a branch breaking under soft footfalls. Bending backwards out of his handstand he sprang up to his feet with a small hop, settling gold eyes on the elf through woven bars of vines.

“Well, well,” he purred, adjusting his top hat and raking his gaze over the man. “Lookie who came to see their trap sprung.” He grinned, revealing a set of sharp pointed teeth.

The elf paused in a slight defensive crouch several feet away from his cage of thick, sturdy vines and roots. He was a burly built man with massive muscles rippling under his tunic sleeves, carrying a half drawn bow in his hands. O’Malley had to give him credit for not having heard him sneaking up sooner. For his size and build he was a rather quiet one; perhaps he was both a hunter and trapper then. Strictly trappers never knew the importance of stealth like a hunter does.

“Hold your tongue, lepper.”

He gave a little hop and cackled. “Lepper? Oh dear me. Here come the offensive attempts at my gold-loving, mysterious and mischievous species. I’m so dreadfully terrified.”

“Quiet. Or I’ll put an arrow through you.” His voice came out like a low, cold growl.

O’Malley simply grinned in return though, wiggling green fingers at his sides as he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. Silly elf. They never did fully understand a leprechaun’s abilities, did they?

The elf stepped a hair closer to his cage and lowered the arrow toward the ground. He didn’t release the tension on the bowstring though. “Now. You know how this works. I managed to snare you, so that means you have to return the dragonstone to my kingdom. So where is it?”

He snickered. “And what makes you believe I have the dragonstone? There are many talented leprechauns out there capable of…pick-pocketing that precious blue gem.” O’Malley watched his jaw clench with satisfaction.

“Stop playing games, vermin. Where is it?”

Dark gold eyes appraised him up and down, then he casually turned away and sauntered around the perimeter of his cage. Clasping his hands in front of his chest he tapped his fingers together in a grand show of plotting, humming to himself and biding time. His ear twitched.

An arrow zinged through the air and lodged quivering into one of the thick vines of the corner of his prison, only inches in front of him. One more step would have impaled his shoulder, but he knew the elf hadn’t been aiming to harm him. Not yet at least. That had been meant to scare him, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Answer the question. Where is the dragonstone?”

O’Malley flicked burning eyes toward his captor and tilted his head. “Even if I had it I wouldn’t be foolish enough to keep it in my possession now, would I?”

“Where did you stash it, you lying thief?”

“Oooh…”

He swirled a hand in the air, then suddenly vanished in a blur of movement and dark green light. The elf jumped back in surprise as O’Malley appeared visible again right in front of him, body pressed up against the earthly tendrils of his prison. He wrapped his gnarly hands around two stocky vines, eyes locking on the black cord around the elf’s neck. An orange heartstone hung from it, bright and pulsing with the life of his dragon.

Baring his teeth in a feral grin he asked, “What’s that, trapper? Your lucky charm?”

The elf’s eyes snapped downward, then he hurriedly shoved the cord and heartstone back under his tunic. Pointed ears slicked back and the creases in his face hardened. No wonder he was so stealthy, and so well built. He wasn’t just a trapper and hunter, he was a Flamer. An elf with a dragon bond and the ability to bend their dragon’s fire in battle. They relied on the dragonstone as part of the power that held the bond intact between dragon and Flamer.

“So that’s why you’re so intent on retrieving the dragonstone,” O’Malley taunted. “Because you and your dragon need it. You know your kingdom doesn’t much care for Flamers and their steeds anymore. High court probably don’t even care the dragonstone is missing.” A crazy, high-pitched cackle escaped his lips. “In fact, I bet they’re happy it’s gone!”

Emerald eyes narrowed at him and the elf bared his own teeth. He lunged forward and reached through the vines, grabbing O’Malley by the front of his jacket and lifting him off his feet a foot or so to be eye level. “You know where the dragonstone is, and you’re going to tell me. This prison is made from and resides in the enchanted forest, which means you can’t blitz your way out of it. Unless you tell me where the dragonstone is I’m going to leave you in here to rot. What’s one less lepper stealing from our kingdom to deal with?”

A low rumple of thunder drowned out O’Malley’s chortle. The sky was darkening rapidly overhead with storm clouds rolling in seemingly out of thin air. Trickles of lightning from cloud to cloud illuminated the dimming forest with ominous flashes. Cold rain tapped through the leaves, sporadically for a second then fast and steady. It dripped and slithered down through the greenery, drenching the two figures at an alarming rate.

He caught a flash of movement in the brush behind the elf and slowly grinned sinisterly.

“Best be running off now,” O’Malley taunted. “Haven’t you heard leprechauns have friends in low places?”

Satisfaction struck him when alarm flashed across the elf’s eyes. He dropped O’Malley back to his feet and spun agilely. Just as he reached for another arrow in the quiver across his back, O’Malley’s hand shot through the vines and grabbed his wrist to stop him. The elf grunted as he jerked him off balance to fall against the vines.

“Let go!” he snapped.

O’Malley only laughed and snaked his other hand through the vines, snatching his free forearm and holding tight. Despite their smaller size and build, leprechauns had some unnatural strength to them and he used it to his advantage.

“You really shouldn’t have trapped the Leprechaun King, Flamer,” he whispered, leaning in. “It angers my kingdom, you know. It also effectively makes you guilty of an attempted kidnapping. That arrow from earlier too…” He tsked. “Attempted assassination. I don’t think your dragon is going to see you again. Poor thing will probably die of a broken heart and bond.”

His friends in low places burst from the surrounding brush and leapt forward with fury and murder in their eyes toward the elf. O’Malley let go and stepped back to watch a set of his guards expertly try to take down his captor in the pouring rain. Being a Flamer he put up a small scuffle, but the odds weren’t in his favor.

“Your Highness!” someone else squeaked out of breath as they scurried forth on short legs to his cage. “Are you alright?”

O’Malley glanced over and smiled. “Quaver, my good aid, I am perfectly fine. However, it would be quite helpful if you could find a way to lift or open this prison.”

He was met with an enthusiastic nod as Quaver hurried around the outside perimeter looking for a way to unwind the roots from the vines and lift the prison back into the air. Gold eyes strayed back to the scuffle between elf and guards, smiling to see a blow double him over. His guards were quick to respond with ropes and binds until the Flamer was on his knees, disarmed, with hands tied behind his back and a cluster of lassoes around his chest and arms. At that moment he heard a twang of twine tightening and the cage began to lift, uncurling its fingers from the roots that shuddered back into the earth.

“Ah,” he sighed. “That is much better. Thank you, Quaver. Guards.” He gave a nod of approval. “Impeccable timing.”

The elf tried to stand and lunge forward as he stepped to join his men but was quickly yanked back stumbling. O’Malley chuckled, watching him with amusement.

“You’re going to regret this,” he growled. “Innin will find me and we will burn your city to the ground until we get the dragonstone back. You’re making a grave mistake by taking me.”

“Your dragon isn’t going to find you, Flamer. Dragons can’t fit underground.” He grinned savagely and began to walk off, motioning with one hand for his men to follow. “Come along now. There is much to be done, and we must find a nice, sturdy prison for you first, elf.”


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!

Since I missed the last month of posting my Shards to my blog, you can find the last four Shards — The Trouble With Warmongers, The Clone Exhibit, Balance, and Betrayal in Duty — on Wattpad.

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

A Shadow’s Grip (Wednesday Words 2.1.17)

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 a three word combination 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.)

If you’ve never heard of Hoia Baciu Forest in Romania, I dare you to look it up after reading this.

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A Shadow’s Grip

Jezebel stopped in the center of the deadened, clear-cut circle of forest. The ground was cold under her bare feet, a chilling breeze ruffling her skirt and black hair. A full moon provided the only light to see by as she turned in a slow circle, dazed eyes fixated straight ahead for the moment.

Fingertips slid down her arm starting just below her shoulder, gently at first, then with pain as sharp nails dug into her flesh and marred it with scratch marks. Someone, or something, breathed on the back of her neck, sending ice water down her spine. Then it was gone.

She turned her head toward the lingering negative energy of a poltergeist’s presence, but saw nothing, just as she expected. It left goosebumps to rise along her arm, though she wasn’t afraid.

Strangle flashing white lights bobbed within the trees, zipping along and fading among twisted trunks. Some stayed in one place, floating around aimlessly; while others played hide-and-seek and catch me if you can. One could be gone the same moment another appeared as pulsing white orbs waist high and higher.

Discomfort began to creep over her in a suffocating cloak while she stared. Her ears began to buzz from an onslaught of dizziness that left her feeling lightheaded. She could have sworn she heard a disembodied laugh follow the sensation before the air whooshed from her lungs and frigid temperatures sunk into her bones.

Everything went black within her vision like a blindfolded falling over her eyes, and all thought ceased to exist. The last thing she felt was her legs move forward without subconscious command before memory eluded her.

-*-*-

A cold tingle began to bleed back into her body, grey spots popping in her vision. Jezebel blinked slowly. She could see eyes, and opened mouths poised in shrieks before her. Another long, drawn out blink. They were gone. Air rushed back to her lungs and it felt like a shadow unhitched itself from her own. Nausea rose like hot lava in the back of her throat, the taste of bile on her tongue.

Pure exhaustion made her sway on her feet as her energy bottomed out hard. The grey in her vision returned to normal and she looked around slowly. She wasn’t standing where she had been last she recalled. Now she was on the edge of the trees, on the opposite side of the clearing she had walked in on, and she was facing inward as if she had just come out of the trees instead of walking across the clearing.

Stinging flesh pulled her attention away from her new position and her gaze fell down to exposed skin. Red, jagged lines beaded with crimson blood disfigured more than one arm now. Pockmarked burns dotted her skin like a disease with unexplainable rashes outlining it. They reminded her of the land she stood in: perfect circles and disfigured rings resembling twisted trees.

Thunder rumbled overhead suddenly, followed by icy splashes of water. Looking upward she saw darkened clouds of a storm rolling over the moon. Judging by its position now, she had lost hours in which she remembered nothing other than a nails-down-a-chalkboard laugh and a dip in liquid nitrogen.

A twig snapped to her right, then a slinking shadow passed through her peripheral vision. She heard a ghastly shriek, followed by a choking sound echo around her, then felt a wave of cold energy like something had burst. Jezebel turned her head.

“Ghost?” she whispered, searching the growing darkness no longer penetrated by the moon’s eerie glow.

The shadow slithered through the other side of her vision and she turned her head again. Her eyes landed upon a darkened outline of a figure that oozed like black ink dropped in water. Blood red eyes were the only noticeable feature within its wispy, partially translucent mass as it took a step toward her.

“Ghost…” she whispered with infatuation, a hint of a smile gracing her cracked lips.

You returned. The deep, husky voice floated along a sudden gust of wind with prolonged efficiency.

Jezebel reached her hand toward the apparition. “Of course I did. I promised I would. I love you…”

She could have sworn she saw the inky darkness underneath those piercing eyes pull upward in a feral grin, could have sworn she saw the points of two sharp-pointed fangs glisten. Death’s fingers raked through her gut and down her spine. She didn’t move as the shadowy figure approached and stopped to float only inches from her. She shivered when the air around her turned to that of an industrial freezer. Despair clenched her heart, as did an overwhelming terror.

Still she didn’t move save for pulling her hand back when he neared.

Blood red eyes locked on her grey ones and suddenly all the fear and despair fell away. All that was left was an overwhelming need to satisfy her master. Her hand reached up for his shadowy face but an unseen force stopped her, forcing it back down to her side.

My pet… The voice purred along the wind with heavy possessiveness, resonating with misplaced pleasure in her bones. Your life is only mine.

Jezebel stood rigid from the force locking her in place. The shadowy figure closed the gap between them and planted what left like an overly large mouth on her lips, parting them for it. Her body temperature plummeted and her knees weakened until they knocked together. The gasp she uttered never left her throat while her eyes fluttered closed. She could feel herself withering away on the inside, numbness creeping along her limbs bit by bit until her vision began to waver. Her heart thudded then slowed until she could hardly tell it was beating at all. An uncomfortable sensation pulled up from her toes and left through her mouth, quaking her soul in the process.

Blackness crept into her senses faster now, then all sensation snapped and disappeared at the flick of a switch. The touch she felt on her lips pulled back and she just barely focused upon a clearer image of something demonic standing in front of her before her eyes closed and she collapsed.


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

 

Rebellious Jade (Wednesday Words 1.25.17)

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 a three word combination 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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Rebellious Jade

“Now where the devil did I put that…?” Paige’s mumbling trailed off as she rifled through a stack of growing papers upon the table. “Jade!” she called, tilting her head up toward the stairs for a brief second. “Are you ready yet?”

“Oh I’m ready,” her daughter replied as she meandered down the stairs with a backpack slung over one shoulder. “The better question is, are you ready?”

Paige huffed, frantically sorting through more papers while Jade joined her in the kitchen and leaned back against the brick-oven stove, one hand shoved in the pocket of her black skinny jeans. Her eyes flickered up and over her daughter’s choice of clothes, biting her tongue from saying anything to her all black attire, or the numerous wrist bands, couple rings, and the necklace adorning her. Not to mention the makeup and green-tipped black hair…

Why couldn’t her daughter just be normal and proper like the rest of the family? Not this rebellious, punk rock phase.

“Have you seen my list of possible donors to call? I was working on it last night and I know I left it on the table here somewhere…” She paused, glancing up. “Today is Tuesday, is it not? I didn’t miss the meeting, did I?”

Jade rolled her eyes a little more dramatically than her mother cared for and looked to the hand-picked, hand-made family portrait calendar hanging on the wall. “Yes, mom, it’s Tuesday. You’re meeting is at ten. Dad’s meeting with a possible resale client is at one. You’re having dinner with your boss at five to go over logistics, and dad is going to pick up Billy on the way home from school while I head off to my study group for biology. And your carefully crafted list is on the dining room table, not this one. You’re at the wrong table, and room.”

She blinked once, twice, just staring at her daughter. Sometimes she honestly believed Jade had it more together in life than this whole family put together. Heck, she could probably run this family more efficiently than her and John. Without a response though she hurried off to the dining room. Sure enough, laying upon the table was her list and with a whisper of gratitude she picked it up and shoved it into her portfolio.

An action she probably shouldn’t have done for she’d probably spend the half hour before the meeting searching frantically and panicking once more.

Paige rushed back out to the kitchen to grab her coat and eyes, kissing her daughter on the forehead despite her disgruntlement as she passed by. “You’re a lifesaver, hun. What would this family do without you?”

“You’d probably all lose your heads,” Jade replied calmly, pushing off the stove to walk past her mother who was now looking for her keys shoulder deep in her purse. She scooped them off the hook on the wall and dangled them in the air. “Looking for these?”

She looked up and smiled lightly, stopping her search to pull on her coat. “We truly would lose our heads. Let’s get going before we’re late.” Ignoring the subtle amazed shake of her head her daughter gave, she hurried past with Jade in tow to the garage.

“Yeah, we know, mom.”


 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

A Moonlit Find (Wednesday Words 1.18.17)

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 a photo 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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A Moonlit Find

Justin sat within the only patch of moonlight flitting down through the high windows, legs pulled up Indian style underneath him upon the hard wooden chair he sat on. Various notebooks and old, dusty textbooks were strewn about the table he leaned over. Shadows cast long and eerie depictions over everything by the moonlight.

He tapped the nub of his pencil on his open notebook, one hand propping his head up as he stared down at the musty smelling history book. A yawn threatened to pull him further into the throes of exhaustion but he stifled it. Hours had gone by with almost nothing to show for it but more scratched out notes than helpful ones written down.

It was late into the early hours of the night’s prime and he was ready to call it quits.

With a weary sigh he dropped his pencil and sank back in the chair heavily, rubbing at his face. “This is impossible,” he muttered. The sound of his hands slapping his thighs rang out in the still silence of the archives when he dropped his arms. “No textbook is going to give me the answers to finding some ancient rift from colonial times that sealed up and blocked off the damned of the supernatural from infesting our world hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. I’m looking for something that probably doesn’t even exist and was but mere myth.”

Even as he said it he knew he was wrong. His eyes drifted lazily to the brass talisman sitting on the table. Or, at least he was half wrong. Such a rift existed, or did at one point. He had the proof of it in his possession, along with the journal of a three-hundred year old vampire bent on preserving the race deemed evil and needing eradicated.

It was fascinating in a way, to read of supernatural races living right alongside humans for so long and no one ever having noticed. Of course, some did notice when the it came to the formation of myths, legends, and unexplainable instances, but most never had any idea the person walking down the street next to them could be a werewolf, or a vampire, or even a banshee.

Justin knew it was going to be a long shot to find anything regarding that rift in regular old history books. That was why he traveled from archive to archive of the some of the oldest, most prominent supernatural cities in the world, searching for answers.

He had spent months, years, tracking down dead ends, new leads, bits of facts that weren’t always fact. It was a whole new level of a treasure hunt, one that wasn’t turning up much gold and jewels.

With another sigh he decided to call it a night and started gathering up his materials. Perhaps a fresh start in the morning after some sleep and a cup of coffee would freshen up his mind to find the answers he sought, most of which always happened to be well hidden within the words of the text like a code he had to break. As he was putting his things away exhaustion made him slip and drop one of the history books. It fell open onto the floor with a dull resounding thud.

A curse slipped from his lips as he bent over to pick it up, one hand extended. Then he paused, his eyes catching upon a yellowed envelope falling out of its pages. With a new spark of adrenaline and excitement, he scooped it all up and set it back on the table, abandoning the rest of his things to pull out the envelope.

In the shaft of a full moon’s light he examined the envelope, fragile with age. Careful hands turned it over and over, holding it up to try to look through the thinning parchment to see what lay inside it. He could just barely make out scrawled writing inside. When he finally looked to see if there was an address to the envelope he found two sets of words that sent a thrill of excitement down his spine.

The words were in Latin but he understood them perfectly, and recognized them as the same set of words written within the vampire’s journal. A set of words that were the key to creating and maintaining the rift. With careful quickness, he unsealed the wax symbol using the tip of a pocket knife, then fished out the letter that lay within to read it.

Justin unfolded the weathered parchment on the table, eyes scanning over the words and not even reading full sentences just yet. His lips began to part the further he skimmed the text, eyes widening fraction at a time. Finally he began to re-read it, slowly, carefully this time while he picked apart its meaning.

This was it. This was every answer he was ever looking for.

He had found his gold and jewels.


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

Semper Fi (Wednesday Words 1.11.17)

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 a photo 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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This story is dedicated to each and every man and woman who has ever served, is serving, or will serve our country. You have given more for our country than many of us ever will, and you will never be forgotten in our hearts for your sacrifices. Our world may be backwards and shitty in some aspects, but there are still many out there who will have a hand on your back and a presence at your side. There are still those out there who support you wholeheartedly, for we owe you much.

Semper Fi

In the wee early hours of dawn, winter’s breath was frigid and blustering through the park, ruffling drifts of snow in twirling ballerina dances. The wooden bench underneath him was rough and worn, and hardly comfortable to lay on. Another gust of cold air had him reaching shivering hands for the edges of a tattered, dirty wool blanket to pull it closer over his huddled frame. It was nearly impossible to stay even remotely warm in the midst of January’s squall, like it was every year.

When sleep would no longer grace his mind with peaceful ignorance to the world around him a weary sigh escaped him. Shifting around on the bench he sat up, shivering more and pulling the blanket tighter. Grey gloves covered dry, cracked hands as he reached for the paper bag that held a five dollar bottle of whiskey, the fingertips of almost every finger frayed and missing from years of use.

Lifting the bottle to his lips for a quick swig he found nothing left. It was empty. Irritation creased his face, wrinkles becoming more prominent. With a huff and sneer he tossed the bag and bottle behind him into the snow, grumbling as he huddled down. His shoulders pulled forward, back hunching up.

Displeased, angry eyes swept over his surroundings, coming to rest on a snowman across the path. He remembered the children who had spent the afternoon running around flinging snowballs at each other and building the lopsided thing yesterday. Parents had stood stomping their feet, hands shoved in pockets, and hoods up trying to stay warm while the munchkins ran around like a pack of wild dogs.

For a moment his eyes softened slightly as he thought back on them. He had watched them play, having nothing else to do to occupy his time. One small girl had accidentally thrown a snowball that went wide and had smacked into his shoulder. Poor thing had been nearly horrified at her mistake, had come rushing over to apologize.

“Mister, mister,” she had said in a rush, cheeks flushed with play and cold. “I’m so sorry. Daddy has always tried to teach me aim, for softball, but I cannot get it.”

She had shaken her head, looking at him with such innocence and shame that he hadn’t been able to stop the tiny smile quirking at his lips. Even now he couldn’t stop that smile. He had brushed the snow off himself and assured her it was no worry. He had even given her a few pointers on follow through to help learn her aim. As he was telling and showing her though — well aware of the mother’s eyes resting on them and thoroughly surprised she didn’t pull her daughter away — the little girl had seen something glinting in a rare patch of sunshine within the folds of his coat.

“What’s that?” she had asked, pointing to the pendant pinned over his chest.

And he had paused, following her gaze and motion to rest weary, grey eyes upon a medal of honor. A small stripe of purple ribbon with white trim, and an elongated heart-shaped gold pendant with a purple center. The face of George Washington himself sitting center in it with the coat of arms.

He had become solemn the moment he laid eyes on it, eyes go distant and body stilling. Even now a mistiness tickled at his eyes as he looked down at the medal, recalling so many memories. Some pleasant, but most horrific and unspeakable. But he had forced on a smile for the small girl, and unclipped the medal from his coat for her to see.

Then he had told her, “that there, little lady, is simply a token of appreciation from a fellow friend. I helped pull some buddies out of some tough spots as we made a run for it in life and that was Sam’s way of saying thank you to me. It was some…trying times.”

By then the mother had come to stand on the walkway, watching them with a saddened gaze, a touch of respect deep within. Her daughter was admiring the Purple Heart in her hands before she looked up at him and handed it back, then said, “sounds like quite the story, mister.”

“Lissa,” her mother had said softly, calling her back. “Let’s not disturb the gentleman now.”

The disappointed look that had crossed her face had nearly crushed his heart. She had looked from her mother to him and asked, “maybe sometime you can tell me that story, mister? I’d really like to hear it.”

His heart throbbed double time as he recalled her words, both in a lingering ache from the words of yesterday and a new stab of guilt. She was but a child, and war stories were not bedtime tales for small children. Perhaps though, if she ever returned, he could make up some gallant tale of dragons and knights in shining armor as a disguise.

“Ay,” he had replied though, clearing his throat against the rising lump that choked him even now upon remembrance. “Perhaps sometime I can.” Then he had pinned the medal back to his coat and told her to run along and play with her friends once more, and to keep up practicing her aim.

She had made him a full hearted promise to do just that then skipped off back to her friends to play. His eyes had remained innocently on her for a moment with a deep regret and longing, for he had lost his family some time ago. It wasn’t until he had realized the mother of the child had stepped up to him that he had looked away from her happy, glowing face so full of life and potential.

To his surprise, the mother had reached out and taken his hand, pressing a fifty dollar bill into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Thank you,” she had said with tears in her eyes. They were two simple words, but held a heavy weight, loaded full of emotion and laced in more than one meaning. It had nearly brought him to tears as well. She had given his hand a squeeze and then gone off to join her waiting friends.

He reached into his coat pocket, feeling the crumbled fifty dollar bill as if making sure the act of kindness hadn’t been a dream. He had yet to use it on anything. Despair and depression had darkened him the rest of the day after the encounter, knowing he would never again have a life like they did, and would probably die on the streets. For that was the thanks his country gave him for his service. The loss of his family, his home, the lack of treatment and medication he desperately needed for his sacrifices.

The ache that chipped away at his left leg seemed to intensify just by thinking about it. Shrapnel from an IED was never a thing to joke about. He rubbed at the aching soreness and looked back to the snowman smiling warmly at him with pebbled teeth.

His mind wandered back to the family he had watched, the little girl. Then back to his own family, wondering where they were now, what they were doing. If they were warm and happy without him. His heart throbbed and cracked in his chest, eyes tearing up until the saltiness slid down dirty cheeks, nearly freezing upon his skin in the frigid temperatures.

Snow crunched next to him and he gazed up, expecting a light shining in his eyes and another police officer to tell him he couldn’t squat here. At least if he was taken into holding he would have a warm place to stay for a few hours.

To his utter surprise it wasn’t a uniform of blue he looked up to though, it was a family. The small girl from yesterday smiled warmly to him and held out another blanket. “Mister?” she said kindly. “Mommy and daddy told me more, about what that token of yours means, and I…” She looked up to her parents than back to him. “I wanted to help. No one deserves to live like this. Will you…let us help you get back on your feet?”

At first he could form no words, staring in disbelief. He was touched beyond the ability to function. Finally he tore his eyes from the girl’s face to look at the parents. They wore the same brand of kindness and desire to help him upon their features. A lump caught in his throat, hardly noticing the fresh set of tears slipping down his cheeks.

“You…really mean that?” he had to ask, voice catching and cracking.

The father nodded, putting one arm around his wife’s waist and the other on his daughter’s shoulder. “I have connections through friends to housing projects committed to helping homeless veterans reclaim their lives. I can get you into one, help you get settled in. What do you say?”

He sniffled, a light laugh of pure relief spilling from chapped lips. “I think…your daughter’s aim was my saving grace.” She shrunk a little in embarrassment and it nearly made him chortle in amusement, but he nodded. “Yes, I… I cannot repay you though…”

The girl’s father stepped forward, holding out a hand to shake. “Sir, you have no reason to repay us for a simple act of kindness. You have already repaid that debt a thousand times over to this whole country.”

He clasped hands with the father at the wrists, looking up to meet his eyes with a somber gaze as he unsteadily was helped to his feet. The father never let go while he gained his balance and suddenly he realized something. “You’ve served to, haven’t you?”

One stiff nod was his answer before he stood to attention and gave him a salute. “Welcome home, soldier. Semper fi.”


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

King of Thieves (Wednesday Words 12.28.16)

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 a three word combination 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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King of Thieves

“Hi, how may I help you?”

Amanda stepped up to the counter as the customer in front of her walked away, setting down the bag for the cashier to see. “I’d like to return or exchange this for either a smaller size or something a little different. It’s a bit too big on me. Apparently my mother still has not realized I’ve lost a few pounds.” She laughed bitterly at her own joke. “Am I able to get a store credit to go shop with?”

“Certainly.” The cashier smiled and took the blouse from the bag, going about her routine. A minute or two later she was handing a gift card over to Amanda. “There you are. Just sign here on this copy of the receipt for the return and you’re all set.”

“Thank you.” She signed off and handed it back, tucking the gift card into her jacket pocket then began to turn away to go shop.

“I hope you find something you like.”

She smiled to the cashier. She was a bit too cheery for her liking but hey, that was her job, to essentially kiss up to people in the customer service department. Though she was also sure she wasn’t going to find something she liked in this department store. “Thanks…”

Walking away, she wandered around aisles and racks of clothing, just browsing for awhile. She wasn’t finding much of interest, it wasn’t exactly a store in which she was happy with their selections and styles. Her prim and proper mother loved it, but she…not so much.

“Amanda?” A voice spoke up while she was eyeing a pair of jeans way over her price range of the gift card.

She stilled at the voice, a trickle of dread winding down her spine. No… It couldn’t be.

“Amanda, is that you?” they asked again, then laughed a little as a hand clapped her shoulder. She cringed in response. “I’ll be damned! It is you! How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

“Do not call me that, Jake.” Her tone was cold and dismissive. “I take it you finally got out of jail?”

Jake let out a low whistle, looking her up and down in a suggestive way that made her skin crawl. At one time, it used to excite her with like electricity zinging across her skin. Now it disgusted her and made her want to get far away from him. She hadn’t seen him in probably ten years. Not since she got clean, and by the looks of it, Jake surely hadn’t gone clean in that time frame.

“Woooow… Uptight much, babe? Don’t go taking after your female dog of a mother now. You’ll get your panties in too tight a knot and need someone to help undo them.” He wagged his eyebrows while his eyes fell to her cleavage.

Subconsciously Amanda pulled her jacket over her front more, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you want, Jake?”

“Nothing much.” He shrugged, leaning against one the racks with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I just happened to notice you and thought I’d say hello. It’s been quite some time. What’s it been? Six, seven years?”

“At least ten.”

He whistled again. “Damn… Time sure flies, baby. I sure do miss you though. You were one hell of a wild chick back then until that family of yours ruined you.”

Amanda scowled and turned away from him with a huff but he sidled into her way like the sleaze ball he was.

“Hey, hey, don’t go running so quickly, babe.”

Brown eyes glared at him furiously. “Stop calling me that. I’m not your babe anymore. What are you even doing here? You can’t afford a place like this, and it certainly isn’t your style. Oh wait, let me guess, shoplifting again, are you? What babe is it for this time?”

Jake laughed, playing bumping his fist into her shoulder in a way that was a little too hard. “There’s that old fire you always had! Good to see you still got it.” He sobered quick. “I mean it though, Mandy, I really do miss ya hanging around.”

“You got me addicted to drugs and arrested for trespassing and shoplifting,” she replied coldly. “You left me to take the fall for it all. Thanks to you, I lost a good few years of my life I’ll never get back. Get away from me, before I call security to tell them you’ve got a sixty dollar bottle of perfume on the inside of your vest, right hand side, underneath your jacket.”

Before she could try to step away from him, Jake backed her up against the rack of clothes behind them, leaning over him. One rough hand grabbed tightly at her wrist in a warning. “Careful, Mandy,” he threatened, then backed off a little again. “You’ve got a good memory. And oh, so, so close, baby. It’s an eighty dollar bottle, not sixty. You still got it…”

It took her a second to find her voice, swallowing her heart back down into her chest. “No thanks to you.”

A smirk pulled at Jake’s lip, showing that one gorgeous dimple. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, then turned her palm up and placed the warm object in her hand, closing her fingers over it. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “If you ever want to see another good time like the old days, hit me up at Winter’s Bite. This will get you in no questions asked straight to the VIP lounge.”

Jake gave her a crushing kiss to the lips in which she shoved him away roughly for. He chuckled and smacked her ass, letting go and stepping back. “Hope to see you there sometime, doll face.” Winking, he finally snuck back off among the aisles and racks.

For a moment she simply fumed, watching him until he was out of sight. She wiped his kiss from her mouth, sneering, then looked down at what he placed in her palm. It was a token in the shape of a snowflake. The words Winter’s Bite were written in glossy silver lettering along the middle of the blue and white glittering snowflake.

Amanda glared at the token then dropped it to the ground, smashing her heel on it before turning away to leave the store empty handed. She’d be damned if she ever went down that path again in her life, not when she was finally making it back steady on her own two feet.

However, she should have expected Jake to use her as a scapegoat once more. She should have stopped and felt her pockets to make sure his quick, sticky fingers hadn’t slipped her any other parting gifts. For as soon as she stepped past the doors the alarms went off, alerting security of a shoplifter. She watched as Jake slipped out of the doors to her left at the same time she was stopped from leaving, pretending to be with an older lady and helping her carry her bags. Bags that she knew were full of his stolen goods. There was a reason he had donned the nickname Aladdin on the streets, for he was the King of Thieves.

He tipped his head to her with a grin as security found the bottle of eighty dollar perfume in her coat pocket and escorted her back into the store.


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!

I know I’ve been quite silent the past week, I blame the holiday madness, but it’s finally over. Sort of. Since I missed posting for last week’s Shard here, you can find Trial of the Solstice on my Wattpad account if you wish to see what I came up with for last week’s prompt.

Shards of Imagination Cover Final