NaNoWriMo 2017

As I work to get Elemental Mazes ready for publishing in December, I have chosen my NaNoWriMo Project. The Midnight Phoenix!


From Earth to Hell and back again… He shall gain his redemption.
‘I always thought I was the hero. I tried to do good. I really did. I even deceived myself that I was. Bu at some point I started to make questionable choices. Making choices that I thought were for the greater good. I can see, now in my death, that I wasn’t the hero. I was the villain. But in life… In life I thought I was invincible. After all nobody is born the Villain. And in death I shall gain my chance at redemption as I fight an evil I could never imagine…’


Death Presents: Flash Fiction

Death Presents

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I remember it like yesterday. Was it yesterday? Time seems to blur lately with my depressed thoughts. That Hollow’s Eve that ended my childhood and set me upon this road. A loss of childhood is a requirement of life I guess, but one that still comes as a surprise to everybody when they realize it is over. Those carefree days, gone forever, often times in a blink of an eye. Many have contribute to that day, many that regret the choices that led to that day.

Even as I lay here and listen to the voices talk about what is to be done with me. I listen as my godfather slams the refrigerator closed, I listen as my godmother cries, and I even hear her blasted pet bird squawk against its cage being thrown about as people went to and fro.

I close my eyes as I remember that day upon the pier when my parents said good bye to me. That day that was only a week before that terrible day, but seems so far away. The ship of iron and steel then was hit by a ship killer. And that is what that storm did. It killed the ship and along with it my parents.

So as I lay here, moments after hearing the voices talk about where they would continue raising my ten-year-old self, and try to think. At that moment I strengthen my mind, I create walls around my heart, and I make a vow.

A vow that I will become the queen I am about to be crowned, and nobody, not even my godparents, will control my ambition to show the world I am my father’s daughter.Those voices would not be able to control my ambition to have the world fear the name, Anne Bathory. Because while I may not be Queen of my nation, I am queen of my land and my name would be feared. That I can guarantee in my last moment of childhood, as Death has presented me with the Queen’s crown.

Motivation: Flash Fiction

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I stood in front of the roaring crowd. Memories coming back to me. “How does one get to this point. Standing in front of a crowd on a campaign trail? I am about to tell you.” I started. “Forty years ago I was but a secretary. No one of importance. I had the impression I would die a nameless face of society. It is sort of funny this path I am now on started with a bowl of soup and a glass of milk. I found a child without any armor against the cold, one that would tremble in fear when I tried to help him with a kind hand. As with an injured dove, I held the child and set about to make sure he was healed. I then set about to make sure no child ever was hurt, like this little boy was, ever again.
I found a group of like-minded individuals and united them. But to change the system we had to be within it. So we made a list, columns of pros and cons, and in the end I ended up in a public office.
As I raised this little boy, so did my ambitions to give him and children like him, everything a child deserves. And thus I moved up the ranks in the face of the public.
Then I sat there, on my son’s birthday, one year, not long after he had graduated with his doctorate, we watched the television as it was announced. My end goal to show my son, the little boy I saved, that anything is possible with hard work. I turned to him and he pulled me into a hug. He was now a grown man of twenty-four and I am so proud of the man he has become. He kissed my cheek and smiled and stated, ‘Congrats Madam President.’ I smiled back at this young man that changed my life. ‘Thank you, son.’ I had told him.”
I looked out at the crowd and smiled. “Why tell this story now? When I have long since been out of office? Why do I stand before you at the start of this campaign trail? Because today I introduce you to my son as he announces his bid to run for the office you all once honored me with and I am here to tell you that for every benefit I gave our country my son can increase it tenfold. So join me in welcoming the Senator of Iowa and to celebrate his bid into becoming your president!”
I stand back to clap as my son came upon the stage. My son kisses my cheek as he moves up to the stand and the crowd cheers. I smile, my little boy has come so far and it all started with a bowl of soup and a glass of milk.

Black Hydrangeas: Flash Fiction

Black Hydrangeas
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Black Hydrangeas.png
I stand here surrounded by hydrangeas. They remind me of a time so far away. A time of happiness. Though hydrangeas are common, these weren’t. Their color almost black. Blood black I called them.
Why am I standing here surrounded by them and memories? Memories that started with a scribble after just learning the alphabet, a potato, and a game of tug-of-war? Memories of helping a smiling woman and a happy boy plant these blood black hydrangeas?
Memories that turned from games of hot potato to making sandwiches for a picnic, and the word boyfriend? Memories of my brothers threatening him to not hurt me? Memories of hand holding, sweet kisses, and so hot summer nights? Memories of a childhood love? Why?
Today I am surrounded by those hydrangeas, not for the wedding I always imagined, the wedding that was expected.
No, today I am surrounded by them as the man who was my childhood sweetheart marries my little sister. Today I am surrounded by them as we watch one of the most unexpected unions. After all, they had seemed to always hate each other. Or at least they had until I found them in our bed four months ago.
Today I stand here surrounded by hydrangeas as I finally give into the pain and watch as those hydrangeas that were once white join their blood black companions. I stand until I fall, and I give into this unexpected union of myself and Death…

Tumultuous: Flash Fiction

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I glared at my husband. “Scrounge up some dignity and try not to look like you are a prisoner that escaped from a mental asylum.”
My husband let out a sigh but straightened his bow tie. Why he had to go to this he didn’t know and complained regularly about it. “Well, you can be more ladylike, instead of keeping this frenzy of a yelling match going!”
“Me? You are the one that is in the wrong!” I yelled once more. We have been having the same argument for the last two days, well really longer than that, it just came up again in the last two days. They were both on different sides of this argument since they were eight. I placed our invite into the slot in front of the house that I hated. I could hear the sprockets clicking against each other as the door opened. So bloody pretentious.
“Richard! And Lillian.” The man greeted, and I hope nobody would oust the hate I had for the man; it would break my mother’s heart. But he was family.
“Step-Father.” I greeted, as a tray of champagne and stuffed mushrooms went by me. Ignoring the food I grabbed the champagne, not drinking it but handing it to my husband.
“Bruce! Tell my wife that apothecary is the word for the place and not the person!” My husband demanded.
Bruce sighed. This battle, argument, conflict, whatever it was, had been going on between them since they were eight. “I am not getting into this fight again.” He turned to the woman that came up next to him. “Rose, tell your daughter to stop fighting with her husband over this.”
“Dear, these two have either been at each other’s throats, or so sickeningly loving since they met at eight years old. They are soulmates, tumultuous, but soul mates. And dear, I don’t like the mushrooms, they are wrong. Throw them out.” Not caring they costs thousands of dollars.
Right then I realized I and my husband were the sane ones in the family. “I love you.” I told my husband.
Richard smiled. “And I live for you. But why drop this now?”
“Pregnant woman’s choice. But at least we are sane.” I smiled.
“They are family, and we are far from sane.”
“Please family members have but one goal,” at his raised eyebrow I smiled. “Find the sanest person in the family and drag them into pure insanity.”
“Again, we are far from sane.” He laid a hand on my six month along stomach.
“The sanest person doesn’t have to be sane.” I kissed him. “Just saner than the rest.”


16 Years Ago Our Country Was Attacked. I remember the moment I found out. I had gone to to the Media Center in my high school, we were allowed to go see all the home rooms gingerbread houses we had made, something to bring the students closer together. I had looked up at TV as I knew CNN would be on. And there it was: A PLANE had hit one of the towers. The person sitting there thought it couldn’t be real. As I was watching this news the second tower hit. I and the rest of the class that had gone down rushed back to our Spanish class to let the rest know what happened. We sat there in shock. We were told to turn it off at the end of first period. Many didn’t listen. It filled the news. People panicked. There were lines going many, many blocks at the gas stations. The world had stopped turning for the US that morning. The fear that ran through the country was high. Would their city be next? Top Ten Lists of places that could be hit came out, would they be hit? What more damage was going to happen at the hands of the, then, unknown attackers. The country put their faith in their leaders and their military. And we declared war on terrorism. And we went after those that dare attacked our civilians. Looking back, it was a surreal time. But one thing is for sure, I will NEVER FORGET!