Tag Archive | sad

The Day After – A Poem

Though I haven’t done poetry challenges for a long time, I got invited to one on good old MySpace, so I gave it a whirl. The theme was the day(s) after Valentines Day.


I pass like a ghost among the gravestones
to collect the remnants of the flowers,
those I left for you just days before,
lying cold against the granite,
petals dried like the memories
that still linger, pale valentines I cannot forget
from a time when we never thought
that death could touch us with his icy fingers.
But he came and I remain
so every year I leave you roses
to remind myself that we once loved
and laughed and cried and sang
and that, though no one lives forever,
they are never truly gone
so long as we remember.

Song playing at the moment – Helplessness Blues – Fleet Foxes

Heartless by Design: Flash Fiction

(originally from July 2008)


This was written for a story colab challenge where we used lines contributed by other writers. Though I don;t know which lines they are, or if they survived edits, thanks all the same to  Peg, barb, Lonnie, and nita.


Under the light of a full moon, she walked towards the pounding ocean, her fingers twined in his. He had strong hands, yet gentle, and his voice was as soft as the summer rain. She enjoyed the feeling of the sand between her toes as she walked along the shore with him,  towards the  trees. As they went he asked no questions, only gazed at her with a curious longing. His eyes should have made her uncomfortable but she felt nothing. Her heart was cold as stone.

The forest was still and silent. Even the animals sensed something was wrong. It was time to bring him to meet the goddess of the land; she couldn’t keep him a secret any longer, though she knew what they would do to him – what they would make her do to him.

The clearing was eerily silent, but he smiled as she released his hand. He thought he would impress her by building a fire, and picking her wild flowers. As the flames licked the inky night she settled down by his side and waited, her hand inside her coat and her fingers wrapped around the blade. He smiled his crooked, reassuring grin and settled himself in the damp grass. A chorus of crickets sang in the distance. It was deceptively peaceful. No one would guess this spot was once a battlefield; but it was, and that made all the difference. That was why they had chosen it.

They came from the trees, like wraiths from a dark nightmare. Their call was shrill as they descended. He jumped to his feet, but she choked him to his knees. He screamed as she forced him to the ground, with one hand around his neck the other in his crouch, both gripping tightly. His eyes echoed the agony of his cry, but she had no choice. He must be sacrificed. She was a natural born killer, she was raised that way by her mother, by the witches of the southfold. She was cold, she was cruel and she did not feel.

He fell unconscious on the grass and the women quickly disrobed. Their naked bodies flitted around the camp fire while they hummed their ritual song. She twirled in circles under the moon, chanting and singing with her arms held high. As if in time to her words, the heavens opened and thunder and lightning crashed. In the distance, they could hear the popping and cracking of trees being torn out of the ground by the storm’s fury, but still they sang and danced. The words grew more frenzied as the storm grew, and when it reached it’s zenith she straddled his unconscious form. With the knife to his throat, she ended his life.

The ceremony came to an end and the women rifled through his pockets, looting the corpse that had been her lover. With no feeling, she gathered up her clothes.  As she dressed one of the women found the ring in his coat and threw it to her, laughing.

She caught the little black box in her hand. Inside lay a diamond ring. An engagement ring. She hadn’t known about, hadn’t understood his intentions, but now she did. He had loved her. Really loved her.

No on had ever loved her. Not men, not her sisters in the coven, not her mother. She was an item, nothing more, just as they were items to her – weren’t they? He was… he was just…  She closed her eyes and tried to force it away, but his face swam behind her eyelids, his grin crooked and reassuring, as if he thought she was frightened of the dark! As if he was trying to tell her he would protect her.

Protect her.

He couldn’t even protect himself from her betrayal.

And that’s what it was. She had betrayed him. He’d given her his heart, his trust, and she’d handed him over to their bloodthirsty goddess, a sacrifice for the midnight meeting. He’d given her something that no one else had ever given her, and she had repaid him with his own blood.

She choked on the reality of it. Her sisters were oblivious to her pain and laughed in time to the rolling thunder. She looked back over her shoulder. His naked body lay on the ground among the dead leaves. The expression on his face still one of pain and confusion.

“How could you hurt me when I only wanted to love you?”

She ran.

She ran from her sisters. She ran from all the blood she’d spilled on that forest floor, from the ghosts of the men she’d killed to feed a goddess. She ran from the sound of her sister’s chants, from the cold memory of her mother. Most of all, she ran from his face, from his warm, laughing eyes, from his final scream of terror.

The cliff was tall and sharp, outlined by flashes of lightning. She didn’t slow as she neared the edge and, as she leapt clear of it, she hung for a moment in the air, suspended like a raindrop; a raindrop with a soul as black as the night.

And then she fell.

The crashing waves welcomed her. Cold water pulled her down, but she didn’t fight. She let the water suck her down, down, deeper and deeper, but she refused to open her eyes. She knew she’d see nothing but darkness, no  light to guide her home.  It was somehow fitting. In darkness she’d lived and in darkness would she die. Ill fated as she was to discover that even she had a heart only as it shattered to a million pieces.


could use some more development, but the idea is there, anyway.

song playing at the moment – “Immortal” – The Rasmus

The Leaf

(originally from November 2007)


The Leaf

Cotton candy clouds floated above the landscape, thick and colored gray like something dead. Beneath them trees clawed the sky; naked branches were bony fingers stripped of flesh. A cold wind shook loose the last of the autumn leaves and sent them to mingle with the driving rain.

She stared through the window and watched the heavy drops drip down the glass; each one a tear she couldn’t shed.  Thunder pounded relentlessly and lightning cut through the haze in streaks that left a brilliant gash in her vision like a scar; only it faded much faster.

She lifted a hand to touch the window, but stopped just before her palm made contact. The rain was outside and she was in. Its closeness was only an illusion, like so many others. So many people she thought she was close to but, when she needed them, she discovered that chasms separated them and that she was alone.

Her throat felt thick and she dropped her hand uselessly to her lap. Her eyes followed, but stopped at the empty wine goblet on the sill. The faintest trace of burgundy liquid remained in the bottom in a tiny, sticky pool. It reminded her at once of blood, red and congealing, like the blood slowly running down her arms.

Her eyes flicked once more to the window. Outside darkness gathered, and she wondered one more time where he was. Was he in the arms of another? Was he alive? Dead? Was he happy? God, how she hoped he was happy. She hoped her pain had bought something for someone; that her destruction had been for something.

The glass rattled in the frame and a cold wet leaf slapped against it; plastered flat with its edges fluttering. She traced the intricate lines of the leaf’s underside with her eyes. Each miniscule vein that had once given it life was now empty of chlorophyll, brown, withered and useless.

But even dead the leaf was beautiful: a rich orange with a patina of golden brown. It hung, seemingly suspended in air, dead and yet miraculous. How many times in her life had the sight of dead leaves blowing cheered her? The drifts of bright colors signaled the end of heat and the beginning of the frozen winter when white snow would fall to blanket the world in its cleansing purity.

She lifted her tingling arm and looked at the bleeding gash. She was like this leaf, though she still clung to the tree of life by a sender stem, waiting only for the final wind to shake her loose. When it did she would drift away and leave behind a corpse, paving the way for the next step when she’d go to the great beyond. There her soul would be bathed clean of everything and reborn; whole, pure and cleansed, like the untouched snow.

A soft smile flitted across her lips and she pressed her hand against the window, numb fingers splayed to match the leaf’s shape. She let her last tear fall, and then closed her eyes, at peace with her chosen fate. Yes, she would die and she would be reborn, and the pure white snow on her soul would once again be tainted by the touch of man, trampled by children’s thoughtlessness, the peace and tranquility ruined by the noise of the rabble, but it didn’t matter. Everything had its season and its place and right now she was ready to start the next one – right now she was the leaf.

photo by Sassy Sue – used with permission – All Rights reserved


Fav Song of the Moment – All the same – Sick Puppies

(check out Sue’s blog – http://sassyspeaks.wordpress.com/)

Flash Fiction: Window Glass

(originally from April 2008)


The rain pelts the window glass, but all I can see is you. You stand in front of it, fastening your shirt and blocking out the view. The cold white light illuminates the deadly smirk on your face, and shines in the depths of your eyes; cold orbs that have forgotten me already.

You turn away and walk out the door. You hurry to your car and leave me on the floor like a broken doll, my clothes removed by the unkind hands of my new owner. Why is it that a child’s first game is to strip their newest toy naked? Does it start even at that tender age, the desire to take everything away, to see what lies underneath and assert their dominance?

I climb slowly to my knees. Now I can see the muddy rain splashing on the glass. Large drops wash over the roof and bring down the dirt, leaving filthy streaks. The rain is just like you; something beautiful and pure that ruins as it walks by. Something I thought I wanted that has left behind its sick pollution. Something that should have been good but wasn’t, betraying the very hearts that longed for it.

My skin is pale and the blue veins run beneath it like slithering snakes. I can see each one as the blood courses through my body, keeping me alive. I suddenly want to end it all but am too afraid. I lack the courage to cut into that pale skin, to set the writhing serpents free and watch their crimson tears leak onto the carpet, like fallen rose petals. I am too afraid to live, but too afraid to die. A broken doll abandoned by her new master.

As I stare at my skin I can see your fingerprints, dark smudges left behind in colors of blue and black. Tender spots of pain, the marks to prove where you have been. I long to wash them away and cleanse myself of your lingering scent.  And so, though it hurts, I crawl to the door and out into the rain. The drops land on my body like cold slices of reality. They shock every place they touch, like a hurtful lover. The water runs over me, and I hold my arms out, begging to be clean. But the rain is just as dirty as I am, and instead of washing away your touch it leaves its little trails on my flesh, streaking me like the window glass.

That is what I am, a dirty pane of glass that anyone can see through should they try, but no one does. No eyes have ever tried to see what lay on the other side, only used me to admire their own reflections. And still I hold my brittle smile and I show them what they want to see while praying that they never notice the cracks slowly spreading across my silver surface. Tiny crevices that grow larger with each passing year until one day I’ll shatter into pieces at their feet, no longer useful.

The thunder rumbles and I lay on the ground, my body numb from cold and pain, but I know that there is no end for me. Tomorrow it will be the same and then tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Each day racing onwards while another sliver of my soul dies, leaving me empty and alone, until sweet oblivion finds me and I finally break; nothing left behind but shiny shards. And then you’ll finally be forced to look past yourself and into the dark room beyond, into the depths that were so long hidden behind what you wanted to see, and then, only then, will you finally see me.


I dunno. Nothing autobiographical here or anything. Just some fun.

Fav song of the moment – “Hell” – Disturbed

End of the World – Flash Fiction

(originally from November 2007)


While waiting for my brother to come home I found myself with three options to fill the time. 1- do dishes. 2- finish taking off my cemetery pictures. 3- screw around in Word. Guess which one I picked? *hint* I am typing in Word right now.

Sooo… I wrote a strange story – it’s 500 and some words and a product of Don McLean again. In fact there are four phrases – not complete sentences – from the song Orphans of wealth in here :p one is three words, so I don’t know if it really counts….. anyway, here you go 😛


“There is no time to discuss what is right, there is only time to act. No time to contemplate or think, only time to do. When the tides rise where will you be?”

Those words had echoed through my small living room, followed by the hiss of static as the television stations disappeared. I thought it was a joke, that the newscaster had gone insane. He certainly looked maniacal when he’d interrupted Friday prime time to make his strange announcement.

Now, the rain falls against the window. The pattering sound seems to fill every moment, swelling until it’s a rhythm to go insane to. Darkness presses in on me and there is no light to hold it back anymore. The electricity went at half past ten.

I crouch against the white painted wall, rifle clutched in trembling hands to defend myself from the unnamable.  Furniture lays overturned, broken glass glitters when the lightning flashes, remnants of the earth quakes. They started at precisely eleven; soft tremors that slowly grew to earth shaking proportions.

Where is our technology now? Where are our instant messages, our cell phones our beeping pagers?  Where is all that noise that signals civilization and life? The quiet is killing me. It drums into my brain, worse than the sound of the rain, worse than the terrible fear gnawing at my ribs, worse than the bone chilling cold settling around me.

I wipe tears from my eyes – or is it rain falling through the broken roof? Shattered beams cast shadows like the hands of the dead reaching out through the never-ending darkness to clutch at me and drag me to hell with them. Memories flit like ghosts behind my eyes, cold and untouchable as they taunt me with moments that were at once warm and terrifying: farewells whispered over the coffins, a red sun rising lazy against a golden sky, cold heartbreak as I read the handwritten goodbye letter, a brightly lit Christmas tree glowing like a beacon against the white snow like a lonely sentinel.

Alone. I am alone, as I have been for all my life. Alone as I always wanted to be. There was no time of anyone – no time to listen or care; time only to work, to hurry, to trudge through the lonely days until somehow the true magic of life would be revealed. One more pay check, one more promotion, one more day and then the mysteries of happiness would be revealed. Yet I never noticed the trail of dead I left behind me: dead hearts, dead eyes, dead feelings, all murdered as surely as if I had used some weapon while I waited for happiness to be handed to me.

But there is no happiness now. There is the smell of death and the screams haunting the night between the cracks of thunder. There is the rifle; cold steel clutched in my shaking hands. There are my tears slipping slowly down my face as all around me the world ends. Alone in this darkness there is no one for me to cling to, no one to comfort me in these last terrifying hours. There is no hand for me to hold, no soothing words, no one for me to even say goodbye to.

There is only darkness.

Darkness and cold.


Cheerful, huh?

The Mist – Collab poem

(originally from october 2007)


In The Mist

An eerie mist is in the air, carrying the scent of death
The sweet perfume of blood and pain, calling from beyond the grave
Dark night like a curtain rent, the fabric ‘tween life and death is torn
Can you hear the roar of hell? Thunderous echoes of souls in torment?
Can you feel the shiver creeping down your spine? the fingers of the dead on your flesh?
Can you see it flutter in the darkness, drawing closer to where you stand?
A soul hovering in flight on the edge of the night, seeking for its shattered home,
searching for that ruined vessel left abandoned in the ink y night.
Destroyed dreams and shattered hopes spilled crimson on the pavement.
Can you hear her voice whispering to you, mingled with the cry of the rushing wind?
Can you feel her sorrow, cold agony that fills the chilly night?
Can you see her tears of betrayal, falling silently to the earth?
Where is the one who took her life? Hair like alabaster in the darkness,
Dark eyes afire, blood covered demon that he is.
Her lover, her betrayer and her executioner in one flesh.
Can you hear her drawing closer? each moment brings her nearer.
Can you feel her cold breath on your skin, the smell of death caress your cheek?
Can you see her there before you, eyes wild as the fires of hell?
Unearthly specter from beyond life and time, earthbound by heartache,
held here by her own confusion, incomprehension of this crime
She lifts her voice and cries for her killer, for one who took away her life.
She calls for justice.
She calls for answers.
She calls for thee.
Can you see her in the mist?

Some lines from: Cheryl, Succubus~Enigma, Clenn, Chi_shanay, prynezza

Fav song of the moment – Waste – Seether

Shadows – Flash Fiction

(originally from August 2007)


She woke with a start and sat up in bed. Her eyes peered through the darkness, past the clawing shadows that were splayed across her wall, looking for him. But he wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for so long. It felt like an eternity.

Did he known how much she loved him? Did he know she woke every night, panic fluttering its tiny butterfly wings inside her chest when her seeking hand didn’t find him in bed next to her?  Did he know how much she missed him, how much she’d grown to count on him? He’d always been there, right beside her, warm and reassuring.

Only now all that was next to her was a cold empty space; cold and empty like her heart, like her dreams and her nights.  The space where her heart had once lived ached as she looked forward to another night without him, followed by another day. The sun would rise on a world where she sat without him and then it would slip slowly across the azure sky and sink below the horizon, bringing on another lonely night.

She lay down once more, her eyes drawn to the empty space beside her as tears formed in her eyes, leaking from the corners. She reached out and touched the pillow lightly, fingers trailing across the cool cloth, imagining his sleeping face in its place; his deep, warm eyes smiling at her from under thick brows. A face she’d grown to love more and more and one she thought she’d always see peering at her.

Why had he left her? Why had he gone away? She’d sat straight in the chair, body rigid and lips unable to say the words repeating through her mind in an endless circle. She was so sure that it had to be a mistake. It couldn’t be truly happening – not to her, not now. He would never leave, never. He couldn’t, not when she needed him so.

But it hadn’t been a bad dream. He was gone and she was there, listening to the house breath in the stillness of the night.

She rolled over and clutched the sheet to her chest like a lifeline, a piece of safety to stem the flow of her pain. But nothing could ease the suffering in her soul or erase the feeling of hopelessness that had settled over her. The bitter taste that rose to her mouth when she thought of how he’d left her alone.

The same questions that played through her mind nightly began again. Why had he gone away? Why had she been left here to achingly endure nights and days alone? Why had the universe taken him from her? Why?

But the darkness held no answer to her query and so she surrendered and begged for sleep to take her away from her memories of that day. Away from the misty graveyard and the shiny black box that had born her life away from her and buried it in the dark, wet ground underneath the slab of granite. Lifeless rock that bore only his name and the cold dates – statistics to describe a life. The words “Beloved Husband” carved as a token of her love, a reminder to the world that after all these years she was now alone to trek through empty days and echoing nights until God saw fit to reunite them once again. Alone and sad, longing for his voice, his touch, his glance. Alone in the deep shadows of what had, for many years, been their home. Alone to see the pity in the eyes of their children. Alone.


So? Good? Bad? Indifferent? Kinda sad, I admit. Took me several writes to get it sort of the way I wanted and still not sure I am happy with it, but such is life

And for the segment I like to call Random Things from My Hard Drives, here is some….

It’s the sketch for Silver Blue

jos mess0004

Some day I am going to go back and do this as a manga drawing!

Fav Song of the Moment – “Now Comes The Night” – Rob Thomas

Two Versions of a Vampire Story

This is another two-fer because, as I so often do, I’ve re-written the story. The newer version is technically better, but I’m curious what other people think, so here they are, for your amusement.

Of note, it probably has a name somewhere, but damned if I know what it is. I think it might be called Haunting Eyes somewhere. Titles are very fluid to me, which is a bad thing, I know. Oh well.


(vs 1- originally written August 2007)

The darkness gathered in the graveyard, wild shadows splayed upon the tombstone, cast by the silver moon hanging bloated in the velvet sky. The wind whistled through the tombstones, singing a lament for the dead and the forgotten.

She lay on the pale marble, white gown dripping from the stone in pools of frothy lace, her blue eyes closed against the darkness. He leaned over her, his dark hair falling over his shoulders and his eyes burning as they caressed her. The face that had haunted his dreams shimmered before him, lost in a cloud of pale hair that danced in the night’s whispering breeze. The time had come. With a final kiss she would belong to him forever.

He brought his mouth to her pale throat; lips curling back to reveal long silver fangs that glittered dangerously. Her blood was sweet as summer honey on his tongue and her pressed his mouth to hr tender skin, hungrily, greedily, consuming everything she was and ever had been, making her his own: his bride of darkness.

When it was done he stood back, wiping blood from his lips, thick and dark like black ink under the moon’s glow. He watched as she stirred beneath his touch, finger tracing fiery trails over her skin while a smile danced upon his lips.

Her eyes opened; as blue as the sky in the first rays of morning, pure as the untouched spring. They gazed around, filled with confusion, awash with uncertainty. And then her pale eyes met his, the blue of morning and the black of night clashing in an instant.

Her scream echoed in his ears and tore through his flesh, ripping at his very heart. She sat up, hands clawing at her face and mouth, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks.

“What have you done to me?” she cried, shrieks of sorrow chasing the wind as they filled the night. “What have you done?”

He reached for her, but she pulled away, shuddering with her sobs, her blue eyes buried behind trembling hands. “What have you done to me?’ she asked again, her anger lost to hopeless misery as she already knew the answer.

“I won’t live like this,” she murmured at last, drawing away her hands to stare at him, he who had been her lover and was now the monster who had taken her life from her. Her eyes, dark and determined, showed her hatred for him now, the gentleness he’d known forever gone. “I won’t.”

A pale streak of dawn was forming to the east, the world holding it’s breath as morning approached. He took a step back from her, his soul pleading to her silently, his hand extended, but she slapped it away and lost herself to bitter tears once more.

The screams would haunt him forever, making his blood run ice in his veins at the memory. He’d left her in the graveyard, left her crying on the marble slab, left her to the mercy of the sun, her anger wounding him beyond reason. From the shade of his crypt he’d heard her cries, heard her scream his name in agony, but he’d turned from the golden light, sinking into cobwebbed shadows where he belonged. Embracing the darkness while he left her to her sunlight.

(vs 2 – rewritten Feb 2010)

Darkness gathered in the graveyard. The silver moon hung bloated in the sky and cast wild, twisted shadows while the wind whistled through the tall grass, singing a lament for the dead and the forgotten.

She lay motionless on the pale marble, lost in a land of deep sleep. Her long white gown dripped from the stone slab in pools of frothy lace and her soft face lay untroubled by her surroundings. Dark lashes curled against sweetly tinted cheeks and pink lips beckoned as her breath slipped gently in and out between them. She was beautiful; beautiful and inviting.  A bride waiting for her groom.

He leaned over her slowly, savoring her scent. His dark hair fell past his slumped shoulders until it almost touched her but he hung back as though to memorize the moment. His black eyes burned as they silently caressed her and took in every detail, from her delicately naked feet to her face.

It was the face that had haunted his dreams for so long.

He had waded through trials of fire and patience, through years of waiting for her to reach her womanhood, all the while fighting to appease her father. Always pressing onwards, always looking to this moment when her father would make good on his promise and deliver her to his hands. Always longing for the moment when he would see her softly dreaming face shimmering before him, lost in a cloud of pale hair.

He watched the golden strands dancing in the night wind and delight consumed him. The time had finally come. With a final kiss she would belong to him forever. No longer would he have to skulk and hide in the shadows with only a chance meeting now and then to sustain him. No longer would she see him as a foreign gentleman or her father’s associate. No, she would look at him as a lover; the way she did in his dreams.

Without a breath to stir her slumber, he gently brought his mouth to her pale throat. Her scent was intoxicating and he could see the pulse of her life as it jumped beneath her skin; each movement symbolic of her beating mortal heart.

His lips curled back to reveal long, silver fangs that glittered dangerously. Like daggers, they pierced her tender flesh. So deep was her sleep that their penetration elicited not even a moan from her silent form.

Her blood was sweet as summer honey on his tongue.  He pressed his mouth to her, hungrily, greedily, consuming everything she was and ever had been as he made her his own: his bride of darkness.

He drank until he could drink no more and then he cut through his own wrist. His blood was bright and fresh as it flowed from the new wound.  Wordlessly, he pressed it to her mouth. Though still wrapped in enchanted slumber, she took the drink that was offered. Like one possessed, she swallowed obediently, unaware that she had been given an order and was following his silent command.

When it was done he stood back and wiped blood from his lips. Blood, thick and dark like black ink under the moon’s glow. He waited for her to wake to her new life, but the waiting was agony.  Unable to restrain himself, he reached for her. His finger traced fiery trails over her skin while a smile danced on his lips.

She stirred beneath his touch and her eyes opened; the beautiful eyes that swam in his dreams, always haunting. They were blue; blue as the sky in the first rays of morning and pure as the untouched spring.  The taint of immortality had not corrupted them, and in their innocence they gazed around, filled with confusion and awash with uncertainty. Then they met his.  The blue of morning and the black of night clashed.

All her answers were reflected in the black depths. All his yearning, waiting and final fulfillment were echoed in perfect clarity for her to see.

Her scream echoed in his ears and ripped at his very heart.

She sat up violently. Her hands clawed uselessly at her throat and mouth, horrified at what they found there.  “What have you done to me? What have you done?”

He reached for her, but she pulled away, shuddering with her sobs. She buried her blue eyes behind her trembling hands, hiding his view of summer beauty behind the pale veil of wintery skin.  Desperately, he made some noise, a sound that was meant to be comforting, but still she cried.

“What have you done to me?” Her voice grew thin and lost.  Her hopeless fingers grabbed her hair by handfuls and she shrieked, “What have you done to me? You’ve made me a monster!”

He drew away, shaken. Incomprehension trembled on his lips, but no words would form themselves.  This was not what he had been promised. Her father had promised him that she held affection for him – love even. Had he not seen it himself when they’d spoken, though brief the encounters might have been? How could she now cry such things?

“I- I don’t understand.”

“I won’t live like this,” she murmured, then drew her hands away from her face. Instead of a sweet summer day her eyes had become dark thunderclouds waiting to unleash their fury.

She stared at him, a stranger she barely knew, now the monster who had taken her life from her. Her face hardened to reveal the depths of her hatred for him. The gentleness he’d known in her glance was forever gone, replaced by this new darkness.

Her voice was venom as she repeated, “I won’t.”

He glanced from her anger to the east where a pale streak of dawn slowly formed.  The air was changing as the world collectively held its breath in anticipation of the dawn.  He knew that there was no time now. He had waited as long as he could so that she might enjoy the last of her mortal dreams.

He looked back to her quickly. He extended his hand to her, and his soul pled silently for to accept and come, but she slapped him away.

“Don’t touch me, you foul creature!”

Her words, her anger, wounded him beyond all reason. Her eyes, no longer the sweet melody he knew but hard and angry, were the eyes of a stranger.

He left her in the graveyard.  Left her sobbing on the marble slab.  Left her to the mercy of the sun.  From the shade of his crypt he heard her cries. He heard her scream his name in agony, but he turned from the golden light and slinked into cobwebbed shadows where he belonged; embracing the darkness while he left her to her sunlight.

The screams would haunt him forever.


So, which one did you like better? You may notice that the stories are a bit different. In the first one he is already her lover, and one would assume she knows what he is but doesn’t want to join him. I’d assume he knew that in advance, but did it anyway.  In Version two he’s been duped, presumably by her father, no doubt in exchange for something, so it’s not his fault. I think version two is sadder because they’re both victims, while in version one he was just selfish…

Okay, outta here!

Vampire Poetry

(Originally from August 2007)


For reasons completely unknown to me, I felt the need to write some random vampire poetry.  Aren’t you lucky?

Sinner’s Moon

Beneath the sinner’s moon the world stood dark,

Entranced by shadow’s aching hold.

Mist’s pale tendrils wove amongst the stones,

Of polished marble, hard and cold

His eyes, two shining pools of liquid night

Caressed her prone and pale form

Nestled in his arms he bore her forth,

To the alter of his love foresworn

His hair as black as demon’s dreams dripped

Down to flow about her face

Her slender neck shimmered white and soft,

Pulse jumping while her wild heart raced.

“Now, come with me tonight,” he whispered

“Where there is no death or time.

sweet love who haunts my waking dreams,

A final kiss will make you mine.”

Pale fangs like silver pearl flashed quickly

through the darkening gloom

And dark blood like the blackest ink did spill

Rivulets shimmering ‘neath the moon.

Bride of death, the night’s willing sacrifice,

Lay still beneath the bloodless sky

Bound forever to her new found master,

Never more to dread or die.

Pale eyes fluttered opened and danced around

To light upon the earth and tombs.

Then looked up, searching, seeking answers,

Finding eyes that held her doom.

A single scream rent night’s deep silence,

As she beheld her captor’s face

Tears spilled o’re her porcelain cheeks

Crying for her stolen grace

Unwilling victim of eternity’s kiss

Left with nothing but her shame

A bride to the night’s dark warrior

Cursed to burn in hell’s flame

Not content to leave it at that, I tried my hand at a second one:

To Destroy an Obsession

Darkness black as sinner’s tomb,

Cobwebbed shadows ‘mongst the stones

Eyes of liquid night gazed gently

On her prone and pale form

Hair as black as demon’s dreams

Shaded the features of his face

His hand reached through the shimmering darkness

To trace the gentle gown of lace

His lips drew back from silver fangs

Etched sharp beneath the moon’s pale light

And leaning towards her slender throat,

He gently took away her life

Her blood was sweet as summer honey

Warm pleasure flowing o’re his tongue

Her memories slipped through his mind

Her fragile life so soon undone

Drained dry he dropped her to the bed

Her body but an empty shell

Lifeless, staring at the ceiling

While through his veins burned living hell

Her face had haunted all his dreams

Obsession gnawing at his bones

His heart ached with the need of her

To take her for his very own

And to this end was one recourse

One way to ease this hated fervor

To kill the very thing he loved

To rid himself of her forever

But in his dreams she dances still

A shimmering ghost dressed all in white

Laughing as she calls his name

And beckons him to pale moonlight

Burned by the memory of her touch

As his soul slowly dies

Recalling how she looked in death

His soul as empty as her eyes

Yeah, they’re similar, but they have very different endings.  Which one do you like better?

And for Random Things from My Hard Drives I have a new Ville wallpaper that I made. Yay!

Pictures form God only knows who…

Fav song of the moment – Kiss of Dawn – HIM

Rain Falls – Flash Fiction

(originally from June 2007)

This was written for a MySpace writing challenge where you are given the first sentence and must compose a story no more than 500 words. This is actually my second attempt, my first was good but wouldn’t fit the limit without being choppy. This one is actually only 481

so…. without further ado…..


There’s something tempting about a locked door. Something compelling about the hints of depth I see in your eyes while you face remains passive and you tell me everything is fine.

Why do I so desperately want to get inside your mind to discover the twists and turns of your most intimate psyche? Why do I hunger to know what you dream? I know I won’t like what I find, but I can’t help but wonder, do you ever dream of me?

You grunt as I ask you if you want to talk, shrugging your shoulders so eloquently and looking off into the distance, passive and unreadable. Is that a yes? A no? A maybe? But you never make yourself clear, do you? Is that because you don’t know the answer either?

And so you leave again, leaving me alone in my living room to stare at the door so recently closed, the smooth wood that cuts me off from you as you make your way to your car.

I stand at the window, watching. The rain starts as you drive away, a red metal monster gliding down the street and disappearing among trees and parked cars, the face of humanity hiding you from me; just as your shield hides you.

Another night alone, wondering where you are and what you’re doing. Did you go straight home or did you stop to visit her grave one more time? Did you feel the need to torture yourself yet again, to take the blame upon your smooth shoulders for a life lost? It wasn’t your fault, and every time I try to tell you, you simply shrug and look away, impassive as always. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but behind those eyes you’re talking all the time to yourself, cruel whispers of blame and hatred. I know, I can see them flash through your irises when you think I’m not looking.

The rain falls and thunder rolls as I call you on the phone, but you won’t answer. Why would you? You do your best to entertain me, but you don’t love me and I fear you never will. After all, your dreams are full of her, aren’t they?

The rain falls and I stare at the window glass, a lone tear sliding down my face. I want to scream at you, she left you! She chose to end her life, to abandon you, yet still you love her. Still your soul bleeds for her, the way mine bleeds for you.

The rain falls and I stare at the razor blade in my hand, at the smooth, pale wrist I hold in offering. The blood runs down my arm, like the rain runs over the windowpane. I lean back and close my eyes, a smile flitting across my face. Perhaps now that I’m dead you can love me too.

Cheerful, huh? 😀

real fast….

Interesting video of Dan Rather on Fox news discussing what’s wrong with modern news – I find the phrase “dumbing it down for the younger generation” insulting. Not that he’d SAY it but that they DO it! Why is the younger generation so stupid they need it dumbed down? Maybe if the world quit dumbing things down they’d have to catch up with the rest of us!

And for a special edition of “Random Things from My Hard Drives” I give you


The father in law invented the composition


Not that great but I kinda like it anyway


giant firggin’ moth

100_2457 (2).JPG

the hubby


waterdrop on a leaf


at sunrise

Fav song of the moment – “Empty Chairs” – Don McLean

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