#art

Inspired by a crazy dream I had last night:

Poets

Gunshots Under Golden Arches

And a Woman in Red

Zori had no idea what she was getting herself into when she stole an extra roll at dinner:

Futurism

A Hound in the Walls

There is No Escape

The Alley

Jana had taken this shortcut through the alley hundreds of times. She knew which backyards could be seen clearly along the dirt path and which ones were hidden by tall fences. She knew which yards contained loud, barking dogs and which had friendly cats that would welcome the occasional ear-scritch. She had memorized the careful placement of trash-cans, and the neighbors who would spend the evening on their back porch, greeting her with a friendly wave. Not only would this particular shortcut save her a good twenty minutes of time, it would take her far from the busy road she lived on. On the sidewalk by that road, she faced regular cat-calls and inappropriate offers that made her shoulders shrink and her insides squirm. The alley had always been her friend, her ally, her quick path to her own lovely backyard. In her head, she could already see her back gate, hear the rusty creek of its hinges, smell the scent of elder-flowers wafting from the large bush by her kitchen window. 

Something was different about the alley this evening, though. She felt sinister, unseen eyes lurking in the shadows that awaited her, causing her stomach to flop and the fine, blonde hairs to raise on her arms and the nape of her neck.

“I’m being silly,” Jana said to herself, hardening her resolve. She had already lost precious time making a decision and scaring herself with her own wild imagination. She was wasting time that could be spent finishing her homework, time she could be using chatting with her friends online. With a final, decisive glance toward the flashing headlights of the busy road, Jana turned to the darkened alley.

Jana never made it home that night. 

Make a Wish

I grip at your base,

Twist and pull

Displace

Your happy yellow blooms,

Beloved of bees.

I rip out your roots,

Stuff you into a bag.

Beneficial, nutritional, medicinal,

Hated by humans

Because you can't be

Marked, marketed, bought or sold;

You are a Survivor.

You thrive despite

Constant disruption.

You'll still be there,

Poking through the cracks

Your head turning fluffy white

To alight on the passing wind

Or the breath of a child

Who hasn't learned your sin.

Me whilst writing: This is a masterpiece…I am a literary genius

Me whilst editing my writing: I am an abomination to the writing community

New horror story on Vocal:

https://vocal.media/horror/dr3-m-inc0l0r

Horror

dr3@mInc0l0r

Life is but a...

New microfiction on Vocal:

Fiction

Clockwork World

The End

Fade

As I scroll through pictures of

My past, I wonder

How many moments have faded into

Oblivion,

With no formal record to remind me.

I used to keep receipts

From good times spent

Before everything was so

Well-documented.

My family would tease

For the habit I'd picked up

Somewhere

While I reminisced

That trip to a fast-food restaurant.

I still keep mementos

No one else would understand,

A piece of ribbon, confetti, a

Dried-out rose,

Unable to let go

Of the memories,

The people that have left my life

Where only scraps remain.