Archive for the ‘Short Story’ Category


Posted: September 13, 2015 in Poem
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'Scar' picture by Daniel Pasikov on Flickr
Scars are reminders
Reminders not always of pain
But even when pain, not always bad pain
Not all scars are physical
Not all scars are private
Some things that were not scars become scars later
Our social media accounts are the scrapbooks of our lives
You have memories with so and so from 2 years ago
What will you do with these reminders
Just because you’re holding a knife
Doesn’t mean you have to cut or bleed
You could make a sandwich
You could do something positive
Just because you can open up old wounds
Doesn’t mean that you should
Sometimes old wounds are there for you to learn from so that you don’t make new ones

2015-06-07 18.39.30

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m losing my mind.  I was just telling my roommate about this epic comic book collection that I had in my parent’s attic, but now I can’t even remember owning any comics. I remember staying up late at night under the blanket with a flashlight reading… something. I have no idea what though. Surely I was reading something.  That’s why I was holding… What was I holding? (more…)

Dameev thumbnail

When Shelly arrived at school yesterday with a blanket wrapped around her nobody thought much about it. We figured that maybe she was feeling a bit chilly due to a cold or something.  But today, she arrives with a rope tied around the blanket to hold it in place and holes for her head and arms. What is up with her anyway? (more…)

The Cigarette Burn

Posted: December 21, 2014 in Poem
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Image courtesy of Mister GC at

At first, it was just smoke.

But the smoke lingered.

It wouldn’t go away.

Then, it left a mark.

A cigarette burn.

It wasn’t very noticeable.

Just a simple, unassuming thing.

But it was there.

It was noticeable if you looked in the right place.

Then it changed.

It was no longer just a burn, just a mark.

It became a symbol, a reminder.

It started to cause pain.

It was never going away, was it?

The carpet would never be the same.

The owner would never be the same.

The carpet was forever scarred.

The owner was forever scarred.

The owner could heal.

But could not forget.

There would always be a reminder there.

A reminder of a time, of a choice, of a decision.

A decision that started a chain reaction.

The consequences revealed a pattern.

The pattern revealed the future.

Death approached in 7 years.

You will not live through this again.

The Other Side

Posted: December 7, 2014 in Short Story
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He was happy. He was alone, but he wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t living the high life, but he was enjoying his life. He did what he wanted to do. He had fun. He didn’t need to take friends with him. He’d make friends there. Everything was going just fine.

Then one day he met a girl. She made it feel good to have another person in his life.  When she wasn’t around, he missed her. He remembered what it felt like to be lonely.  He looked forward to seeing her.

Unfortunately, there were more lonely times than not.  He had forgotten this feeling. He didn’t like it.  He began to notice his skin drying out a bit.  It seemed with each broken promise of time spent together, he began to crack a little.  He didn’t understand what was happening to him.  Eventually, she came back around.  She didn’t seem to notice that anything was the matter.  In fact, she broke off a piece.  She proceeded to break it up, cut it with a razor, and snort it.  She got so high.  She felt good, but he didn’t understand.  Then she left.

Eventually, it became hard for him to move.  Then one day, he couldn’t move at all.  He had completely dried out. He had become stone. And the stone began to crumble.  After a few days of not hearing from him, some family and friends showed up at his house to see if he was okay.  They couldn’t find any trace of him. It was as if he had simply vanished.  The only thing left behind was a pile of sand on the floor.

Stolen Luck

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Short Story
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Image courtesy of marcolm at

Image courtesy of marcolm at

Madison wondered why some people were luckier than others.  “Why did some people have it so easy while others struggled to barely get by?” she thought to herself. She started asking these questions because she had never really had an easy life.  “For some people, things just seemed to work out, but not for me… never for me.”

She was angry about the way her life had turned out. She was barely getting by, and she was doing things to make ends meet that she didn’t really want to do.  On a particularly bad day, she became obsessed.  “Why? Why? Why? I don’t understand why some people have it so easy.  It just doesn’t make sense.  Why is life so hard on some people?  I don’t get why my life is like this.”  Her anger and despair were all that drowned out the growl of her very hungry stomach.  While all of these thoughts were swirling around in mind, she fell asleep.

While she was sleeping, she began to dream of a factory.  It was a factory of souls.  As each soul went down the assembly line, a certain allotment of good luck was attached.  Some were given just enough good luck to stay alive. Others were given enough to become exceedingly rich.  Most were given close to an average amount. They wouldn’t be exceedingly rich, but they would live relatively happy lives.  “How can this be fair?” she wondered.  As she was snooping around, she found an operating manual.  The manual explained that it was necessary for people to be born with different amounts and concentrations of good luck. Some needed to be stronger, some needed to run out sooner, and some needed to be just the bare minimum.  If there was ever too much of the same strength and amount of good luck in too many people at the same time, then the risk is that the their luck would cancel each other’s out and become bad.  Disasters resulting in mass fatalities occur when this happens. It can’t always be avoided, but quality controls were put in place to minimize the occurrences.

As Madison kept reading, she learned that not only was good luck given in different amounts and concentrations, but individuals were born with different innate abilities to tap into their luck.  Someone could be born with enough good luck to be the wealthiest person in the world, but he could only have the ability to tap into enough to live moderately comfortable.  She also learned that people had the ability to combine their luck. This usually happened with families and in relationships.  Parents unknowingly used their good luck to protect and provide for their children.  Husbands and wives with the right mixture of good luck would have a successful marriage and be very happy.

About this time, a factory worker came around the corner and spotted her.  “Hey, what you doing? This is a restricted area,” he shouted.  As he hit the alarm, she woke up. She began to contemplate what she had dreamed.  Was it all real or just a product of her subconscious frustration with her life?  Either way, she couldn’t deny that it made sense.  There are countless stories of people who find “the one” and their lives improve.

Just like everything else in her life, this system was against her. She had either been given just enough luck to survive or she lacked the ability to tap into it.  Then it occurred to her, “If this is a system, perhaps it can be cheated.”  Could she?  Could she possibly fake relationships and siphon good luck from guys?  It was worth a shot. Anything had to be better than her current way of life.

She changed overnight.  She still did things for money, but she gave a little more of herself.  She made the guys feel special.  She told them what she knew they wanted to hear.  And basking in their afterglow, her station in life began to improve.  She was provided for. She began eating well for the first time in her life.  She had a nice apartment, and things were going well.  The only problem is that none of this was really hers.  She was still dependent upon the good luck of others, but since things were going so well, she didn’t focus on that.  She got caught up in enjoying life for the first time ever.  She had discovered a strategy that worked.

Then one day, she moved on to another guy.  He was a little different. He wasn’t like all of the others.  She didn’t care, though.  She was doing what was necessary for her happily ever after.  She told him what he wanted to hear, and she actually didn’t have to do very much.  A lie here, a sad story there.  She tapped into him, and his good luck was free-flowing.

What she failed to assess was how much good luck he actually had to offer.  He didn’t have as much as some of the others she had encountered, and eventually the well ran dry.  She was using his good luck faster than he had the ability to tap into it.  She didn’t care, though.  At this point, she was going to get every last drop.

He had become an empty shell, but she was still trying to siphon.  Eventually, the empty shell completely dried out, cracked, broke, and crumbled. This caused a sort of karmic backlash.  She couldn’t figure it out, but things started going downhill really quickly for her.  People began to distance themselves from her.  She hadn’t prepared for this. She hadn’t saved any of her borrowed good luck. She had only used and used and used.

It’s a really good feeling whenever you pull yourself up, regardless of how you do it.  But when you fall back down again, it’s worse than it was before.  She was experiencing this, and she was scared.  She knew that her life was slipping back into the gray hole that she had fought so hard to crawl out of.

Just King, part two

Posted: August 31, 2014 in Short Story
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A forgotten wish was being granted. As time passed, Justin was being given exactly what he wished for.  He just had no idea that he had asked for it. Like blindly walking down a path and serendipitously finding yourself exactly where you need to be.

The leaders of the world were losing control. The global population was on the precipice of anarchy. They wanted someone to lead them. It isn’t that the people wanted all laws to be abolished.  Laws were what kept them safe from the unlawful. They were simply tired of the laws, and those that enforced them, being unbearable. (more…)