Micro Stories

look away

the lace drops down and somewhere in the night a wolf howls. blood drip, drip, drips down my arm, splatting onto the forest floor. i can’t see the tree i lean against. the only color, the glow of eyes they tell me not to trust. your claws, they’re meant for rending, but your touch keeps me safe.

darkness wraps me in memories of their screams. its softer than i remember.

they’ve got you all wrong.

they traded velvet for chains, singing along to their own funeral march, heads held high, noses buried deep in noisy words and pretty smiles. they don’t hear the clang of metal links at their wrists, the flaxen cord squeezing at their throats, tighter, tighter, tighter.

when i ran, they looked for me in the mass grave they’d hidden. they don’t think about it anymore. a ghost among their thoughts, a number on their screens. they forgot what it’s like. to bleed.

monster, they call you.

hand in hand, we run.

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writing prompt

If This Was a Best Selling Movie/Book

Tell me what each of these stories would be about (or write a short story for us).

What If…

 

You found out your partner had a secret family?

A man/woman showed up claiming to be your future self?

A giraffe broke into your house?

You found yourself inside a real life horror movie, in the middle of nowhere with a dead phone, no car, and three days to avoid the ax murderer on the abandoned farm?

You found out you had four days and then you would be deleted from everyone’s memory?

You started hearing voices and they all wanted you to become a vigilante?

You woke up one morning as a walking, talking skeleton?

The grim reaper happened upon you and was surprised?

 

Can you make these into scary stories? Now make them a comedy…

 

Don’t forget to link back so we can all see your answers/stories.

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Shadow Poetry

Rosy

the world fell apart

did you notice?

 

i fell with the ashes

the soot crowned

me numb

 

i don’t know that i

ever got back up

 

beneath the rubble

living where they never suspect

building

with the shattered bricks

they left me under

 

a corpse

they never counted

a ghost

they’ll never see coming

 

they never do

 

we all fell down

did you feel it?

 

By Daphne Shadows

 

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Stream of Consciousness

Three Twisted Tales

So, I have three stories going on right now.

Two are bedtime stories I’m telling ASMR style on my YouTube channel, which you can listen to for free. So far I’ve released the first two chapters of ONE story. (You’re getting the inside scoop on the second, as I haven’t uploaded any chapters yet on YouTube.)

The third is a novel I plan on writing, querying on, and getting published.

 

Here are each story’s basics…

 

ASMR Bedtime Story: Lorelai Wakes

I have 2 chapters of this story on my YouTube channel so far.

Lorelai is an Ancient One, bespelled into believing she works a day job and goes about her life like any regular human being. Until she gives into the ocean’s call and, bleeding to death, is woken by sirens, only to find her memories and identity have been stripped from her. The only thing she remembers is her name and a war between humans and preternatural creatures that happened long ago. A war the preters lost.

 

ASMR Bedtime Story: Luna Baku

I haven’t released any chapters of this story yet.

Luna isn’t human. No one knows what she is, really. But when humans need help in a world where nightmares can be dreamed into reality, Luna – with the help of her little black cat Gypsy, and large black dog Merlin – is who they turn to. 

 

Fool’s Justice

I plotted the entire timeline of this novel and finished writing the first two chapters before last year’s end.

Vada and Valentine, yokai outcasts, take a job to rid a man of the djinn haunting his house. Now Vada is haunted and something is killing pregnant women in their sleep.

 

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Written Word

And then there were three…

In the darkness, they shivered, trapped, looking around wide-eyed and blind. Golden moonlight dripping down, down, down, until there was nothing left but his silver, skeletal remains.

They would not survive this. And yet, they couldn’t leave him. Huddling together, grabbing onto one another’s arms, hugging close, they awaited the gates to open.

The pool of savory sorrow grew, leaking toward them. Closer.

Closer.

Stream of Consciousness

The Secret to Stories

If I give it claws, we’ll talk about the monster in us.

If I give it fangs, we won’t look away from what society tells us is too uncomfortable to linger on.

If I make it a world we don’t live in, we can look at the things we don’t want to talk about. Perhaps we can find the strength to do something about it the next time we see it.

If I make its eyes glow, we’ll think about the pain we want to hide. Maybe we will find a way to deal with it too.

If we have to suspend disbelief, we can poke at our childhood programming, our insecurities, our secrets.

 

Stories don’t judge us. They open us up to the possibility of change, connection, hope, and purpose. They give us new perspectives on things society labels for us (as if we don’t have brains or hearts to decide for ourselves). Stories give us the option to define our own life, our own self, and realize we’re not that different after all.

A black grandpa can read the same story as a white single mom. They can both recognize love when it’s being denied, the pain of a child dying, the need for someone in this world to see us for who we truly are.

 

Stories show us what’s broken and what’s beautiful. They give us a safe place to peel back the layers of this life without anyone mocking us or telling us we’re wrong or bad.

Stories give us heroes with fantastic abilities, somehow making it easier for us to love them when they mess up, hurt, and prove they aren’t perfect. It gives us a little more leeway to be imperfect ourselves.

 

There’s a certain magic to a story, whether there’s anything fantastical or whimsical in it or not.

If we read a story about a monster with a heart, it doesn’t hurt so much to look at the monster within ourselves. Only then can we do something about it.

Shadow Poetry

Marble Tongues

Maybe when it drops down

We’ll make sense of it

Maybe not

 

If the sun drips sapphire

It might burn to the bone

Maybe simply warm

The ashes

Until they catch fire

 

If we drown in our riches

Perhaps the earth will sorrow

Or perhaps she’ll sigh

And drink down the blood

An offering to the carrion

To restore balance

 

Maybe when it falls down

We’ll make a foundation of it

Maybe not

 

If the bones keep dry

I’ll sleep inside the carcass

No one will breathe my way

 

 

By Daphne Shadows