prose

The Shadow Creatures in the Night

Author Note: This will be a chapter by chapter story, and I will upload chapter by chapter, hopefully at least once per month.

shadowcreaturesmoodboard

Prologue

Have you ever seen the mysterious shadow creatures that bustle about in the night? You probably have. They only appear when you’re on the verge of slumber, but you’ll often notice them. However, when you open your eyes, you’ll be greeted by nothing out of the ordinary, and no indication of any such creatures.

Sometimes you may even hear them as they lightly breathe by your neck or rattle through your room.

The trick is to not fear them, for they mean you no harm.

Poems

Good Morning

An illuminated streak, a warm surprise,she turns around and watches as he peels open sleepy eyes. 

“Good morning, my king”, she whispers, brushing her lips against his jaw,

and he simply gazes at her, lips parted in awe. 

“My beautiful queen”, he mutters and brushes platinum strands from her face.

She smiles softly, in love; in a daze. 

To her, he puts the stars in the night sky every night,

then conjures the sun at dawn, her world he makes bright. 
She kisses him softly, again and again,

and he clumsily rolls atop her. “Looks like we’ve overlain”,

he chuckles, and she pulls him closer

and whispers by his ear “No sir,

the more time I spend with you, the better”.

He laughs, peppering open mouthed kisses upon her neck before sliding inside her.
She moans, clinging to his hips

as he thrusts, panting against her lips.

Sweet words are muttered, getting lost in the air,

and she’s close, he can feel in the way she grabs a fistful of his hair.

She writhes and shakes, his name the only word she knows.

And she’s a writer. Words are usually all she knows,

But he tears them from her lips, pushing her over the edge,

Submissive to him, her pleasure the ledge.

She’s a fool for him, and he for her. 

Her back arches, pushing him further,

until he tenses up, releasing inside her. 
I love you’s are exchanged and they curl up together,

slipping back into slumber, to dream of their forever. 

Writing Games

Writing Game

Place your finger randomly on the page in front of you. Your finger will have landed on a word or words. Write the word down, as well as the 3 words preceding it. You now have a 7-word phrase. Write this down & once you have written it, keep writing for 5 mins. You must not stop writing & you must not think. Try to write as fast as you can. You are not producing a work of art.

BookGrief is the Thing with Feathers – Max Porter

Death felt fourth-dimensional, abstract, faintly familiar.

Scary as it was, there was something oddly comforting about greeting death at the door – almost reassuring, in fact. After seeing my husband in his skeletal cancerous state, I often wished for it to be over for him. That was, however, after I spent five years praying and begging for his recovery, but to no avail. However, nobody could have ever prepared me for the turmoil that was to be the process of grieving.

I had never smoked in my life, but I now found myself hanging out of the window, inhaling the poison from clumsily made roll-ups. He died because of this very habit, so why did I wish to follow suit? I missed him unbearably, that was the problem. I tricked myself into believing he wasn’t really gone, and that I could just get out of this world and into the afterlife just as easily as he eventually did. But again, it was to no avail. I coughed, cried a little, cursed my love for not quitting his addiction earlier, then cried again until I vomited.

This was my life now, clearly, or lack thereof.

Uncategorized

Dear Birch

“Stop everything! It’s snowing”, squeaked the birch to the vast, naked oak as icy flakes fluttered slowly – down, down, down, to the lightly dusted ground.  Snow had been long overdue. Tiny tips of green had already begun to sprout from the very ends of the birch’s branches as winter drew to a pass. The oak gently shuddered and dipped its limbs to allow the snow to slip off the ends.

“It isn’t as if I can do anything but stand here anyway, dear, birch. My growth slows in the cold.”

The birch didn’t seem to hear much, too excited by the snowfall to listen. Oak didn’t mind too much, however. It was quite content watching the younger tree as it trembled every time the crisp wind licked its crusty, season-beaten bark.

“Be careful that you don’t get sick this year, birch. It would be an awful shame if you lost another branch.” Oak tenderly nudged at birch, being careful not to injure any more of its branches. The oak was much older than the birch, and therefore much stronger. Last winter was particularly nasty and the branches in the crown of the birch had been battered by the bluster. If the birch didn’t allow itself to slow, oak feared that it might fall victim to the same fate again this year.

As days passed, the sun started to rise earlier in the morning, but the snow continued mercilessly. Most nearby trees went into complete hibernation, waking only to soak in sunlight before drifting back into a warm slumber. The oak wistfully wished for enough sleep to last this final winter’s month, but decided against it, thinking it best to keep an eye on its ever-excitable best friend. Whenever the wind picked up, the oak allowed its thick branches to prop up the birch to keep it just as strong. Only sometimes, it wasn’t nearly enough. Several twigs had already fallen to the ground from birch’s dying branches.


Only a few days left to go
, thought the oak tree. Several of birch’s branches had begun to nestle again the oak’s own, but by now, the oak had sprouted just enough leaves to keep birch’s broken branches warm until it had enough strength to stand on its own again. Every day for the past month, the birch had woken the oak with the same gleeful exclamation about the snow; oak found this endearing, and warned birch to be careful each time, just as it did the first time it had awoken to the snowfall. However, this day was different. The birch hummed in contentment as the last snowflake fell to the ground, yawning immediately after. It seemed as if the birch had tired itself out in time for spring, where the oak was happy to help the birch grow its leaves again.

The birch slowly straightened as the days grew warmer, mumbling blissfully between yawns to the oak.

“Be careful that you don’t get burnt this year, oak. It would be an awful shame if you lost another branch.”