Wildest Dreams: Midnight

Dear Journal, It was midnight. I was up like usual, writing that poem on the left page. It was a Saturday, so I knew I wouldn’t hear from him. Weekends are the hardest. They linger like an unpleasant odor. Soured like rotten milk. And my guts feel like twisted steel. Most Saturdays I spend biting

Wonderland

Sunday. Lazy day. The only day I get to have a lazy day. I work Monday through Saturday, and even after leaving the office I stay up until about one in the morning working on my laptop. My family says I’m a workaholic. Coworkers say I need to take a vacation. I don’t need any

Jungle Gym

I am sitting at my desk in the open spaced classroom. None of us can concentrate on the current task. We watch the minute hand tick-tock. The room fills with the chorus of bouncing pencil erasers, the tap-tap-tapping of feet against the linoleum floor and fingers drumming against polished wooden desk tops. Once the minute

Feels Like Home

It took you about fifteen minutes to park, I kept busy by writing in my notebook, trying to get all my ideas down on paper so I wouldn’t forget later; because let’s admit it, I always forget come later. You ease yourself into a parking spot that anyone else would have had trouble with. We

To soar on a paper air plane… As I folded up the pain white paper I wondered what it would be like. If I were small enough to sit right on the edge as it took flight, catching in the wind. How my scarf might dance behind me as the brisk air brushed against my

The Last Time

  He found himself at her door. Like so many times before. But he couldn’t remember how he got there. It seemed all roads lead to her. It was a warm but cool night. He could taste its humidity on his tongue. Had he walked? Did he drive? He couldn’t remember. Nor could he tear

Runaway Train

The first in a series of short stories inspired by Songs. Pressing the dials on the payphone, I called her up in the middle of the night. All was dark and quiet. I felt like a firefly without a light. She was a blowtorch always calling me to her side. She picked up on the

Tick-Tock

He could hear the ticking echo through his ears. When the minute hand moved he felt the stinging in his heart which grew stronger and stronger. He knew he was running out of time. His breath felt like thunder, shaking in his bones. Each step he ran was a race against the hour hand. Tick.

Sigh Of Death

I looked deep into his crystal eyes and knew it was the end. With his warm, strong hands wrapped  around my neck I could hear my heartbeat  echoing within my eardrums. It slowed itself to a dull hum as the black crept into the corners of my vision. Not once did either of us break

The Wolf’s Howl

The chill night air was still. Not a single sound could be heard except for the howl of a single wolf in the distance. The moon was full. It stared down at me taunting, with its gray glow. I could feel my heart sputter with fear as it lodged itself into my throat. Gripping her