Fiction

Everything was surpisingly calm after Death had an emotional breakdown in Cleo's kitchen, although the window was still broken. Cleo was at work, and Death was looking through her old Martha Stewart Living magazines.

I wake up to a vast, open land. Or maybe I'm dreaming. Rubbing my eyes, I see nothing familiar. Where am I? Ok. I think to myself. Wake up. But, I don't. I splash myself with the cold water from the lake in front of me.

Fuming, I head outside. Why did my sister have to get into this?

I tiredly stumbled down the hallway.
Gently swinging the bedroom door open.
I peer down over the paint-chipped baby blue crib.
I look into the the soft face of my son.
He opens his eyes.
This isn’t my son.
Where has he gone!

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way. Her long auburn hair fell across her back, and she held a wicked-looking sword in her left hand. A short, dark purple cape lay across her shoulders, coming to a point in the middle of her back.

My hair is long, black, and mysterious. It has always been this way for as long as I can remember, but it was time for a change. I wanted my hair to glisten in the sun, not hide me like dark shadows.

A Rose for my Rose

Small girl
Age of six.
Placing her tiny fingers upon the huge piano and gaping up at the swallowing blackness.
The keys don't sound good underneath her light, unexperienced fingers.

 I don't know how long this has been happening. Days, hours or even seconds. Huddled in the basement, all of us. We all are crying softly, like if we cry louder, the storm will raise its voice too.

I walk into the store with my head high and my shoulders back. I walk down one isle and don’t shy away from people looking in my direction. My walk is steady, but my heart is racing.

Restless, I open my eyes. Weird. I do not hear Hazel’s soft breathing. Instead, I hear footsteps. Deciding to go back to sleep, I lie down again, urging myself to just fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Just fall asleep…