Circle of My Writing Life

The words, they usually roll off my brain, down my arms, to find transformation, letter by letter on the keyboard.  The words then spring to life in digital form, photons of light streaming back into my eyes.  This encourages others to take the plunge and soon a story is formed from those brain words who took the journey.  This is the circle of my writing life, except right now the words do not want to come.  They are trying to stay behind locked doors in my mind.  They seem to be worried that the world is not ready for them, or that they will be deemed not worthy.  No matter how I entice them, their stage fright has made them inaccessible.  No words want to be in that first sentence, and as such, I have nothing to write, so I leave you my tale of woe until tomorrow.  Good night.

He Thought/ She Thought (an experimental story)

The story below is an experiment in word counts.  Each side of the story follows the following pattern: 100 words, 50 words, 25 words, and finally 15 words.  Just in case you were wondering that is.  🙂


The rain washed away her blood from his hands.  He looked at the sky, feeling the water seep into his deep wrinkles on his face, diverting them into large rivers flooding off his cheeks.  He was trying to figure out if he was crying, but the deluge of water purged any bodily sensation of possible tears.  He lowered his head and began to shuffle along the game trail between the tall pines.   Their evergreen arms scratched at his skin, pulling at him, almost begging him to go back, but he refused.  She was dead.  Nothing could change that now.  Nothing.

She awoke to thunder that bragged about the lightning that had spawned it.  She had blacked out after the knife had cut both her arms.  That was a blessing, passing out before the end, but here she was still alive, or was she?  She looked at the front door wide open and realized he wasn’t here.  He must have fled into the night.  She could not let him get away.  Not after what happened.  She gathered her splayed limbs back under her and lurched after him.  She wanted to see the look in his eyes when he saw her again.

He stumbled and fell, the cold from the rain seeping into his old bones.  Maybe it was better for him this way.  He could pass away quietly and not have to deal with the ramifications of his actions.  With his face away from the rain, he knew he was crying.

She ran through the pines, growing stronger with each step.  The rain matted her blond curls against her bare back.  She had discarded her bloody dress back at the cabin.  She felt primal, alive for the first time in years.  Up ahead she saw him floundering, wallowing in the mud.

He heard her feet pounding just before she pounced on his back.  He tried to roll her off, but he knew he was too old.

She laughed as she sunk her teeth into the base of his neck.  The taste of his coppery sweet blood made her growl with hunger.

He had wanted to save his daughter, instead he had changed her into a zombie.

She felt him shudder just before his skull exploded with the help of a rock.