I am the way the story ends. I am the blackness before dawn and the midnight rage of sleepless dreamers. I am the bleeding soul and the homeless god and the condemning of an angel. I am a virtuous sinner, a story without words, the blood on the pavement, the razor blade in the bathtub, hatred without reason and love with logic; I am. I am the words of a poem they forgot to write and the ink of a run-dry pen and the apolog...

Eight hearts began their journey Eight hearts started to beat Eight hearts that you have carried Eight hearts made us complete Eight hearts that we keep sheltered Eight hearts to shield from strife Eight hearts that we're preparing Eight hearts to take on life Eight hearts we show what love is Eight hearts we 'll always see Eight hearts that we will follow wherever they may be Each heart will find its own path Each heart...

"It’s not what it looks like," he said. "I’m not pushing. You’re the one pushing." "Am not." "Are too." "Leave me alone. This side is mine. Stay on your side." "I’m not on your side. Now I’m on your side. Now I’m not on your side." "Stop. I’m gonna’ tell." "Go ahead. See if I care." "I will. Then you’ll have to stay behind." "Yeah, right. As if I’ll be left behind." " I hate you." "You can’t hate me, it’s Christmas. You h...

I love my wondrous life of joy, bliss and happiness  My many incredible adventures traveling the world  Meeting people of undeniable spirit, strength and charm  Witnessing the awe inspiring beauty of the natural world  I love my life, I can do nothing lessI regret my prolonged life of misery and countless sorrows  My missed opportunities because fear and doubt ruled me  Disappointing and callously hurting the people in my...

The unsung hero of every ant colony is the butler. A butler in an ant colony? What does she do, you may ask, serve drinks? No, or at least that’s not what I do. Not that it stops wisecracking ants from yelling, “Hey, butler, fetch us a drink!” They think they’re so funny. If they even bothered to watch Masterpiece Theatre, they’d know a butler does a lot more than tend bar. Find a cocktail waitress if you need a drink. Th...

"You got what for my mother?"Nick nodded. He turned to his window.I pulled softly at a clump of his brown hair. "Why?"He turned back and sighed with a small grin. "It's completely unexpected, so I thought, 'Hey, why not?'""You are strange," I said with the utmost seriousness.He made a weird face and turned back to the window.I poked his back. When he did not flinch, I poked him harder."D'you want to know what I got for yo...

The Christmas present ticked. "You got what for my mother?" my truelove said. "A Ticky Prompt Machine." "What on earth is that?" "It's not what it looks like," I said. "Okay, sweetie. Explain." "Well, you know your mother said she really hated the holidays?" "Yeah," he said. "She gets writer's block." "Not anymore," I said. "A Ticky Prompt Machine inspires at the touch of a button." "Excellent. I thought you had a bomb!"...

“Are you elfing nuts? You can’t go on strike!” hollered Santa. Yes, there were times when the ‘Big Guy’ bellowed, or even screamed. Like the time Blitzen accidently stepped on his big toe – the one with the bulging bunion, or when Mrs. Claus accidently spilled a mug of hot chocolate on his lap. “We’re in prime toy-making season fellas.” Santa Claus pleaded; he’d never experienced something like this before. “Don’t they li...

The Christmas present ticked. It sat under the very front of the tree and attracted Smokey's attention. He sniffed at it, walked around it and poked at it with his paw. The glowing ornaments above the present shook, causing the light reflections to dance off the foil wrapping paper. As he prowled around the present, a whirring sound started. He backed away, but the sound continued. Soon, he could not contain his curiosity...

"It's not what it looks like," he said, glaring.Sandy came upon him as she skied cross country. It was an overcast, dreary Christmas morning."What do you mean? It looks like you killed a deer. Is it hunting season?"He went back to butchering in the blood stained snow. Grunting with his effort, he finished."It was a difficult shot. Yes, it's hunting season. Around here, anyway.""Why are you trying to hide it, then? If hunt...

When I was fifteen, I wrote a poem that earned me a spot in a writer’s workshop. I didn’t submit it, a teacher did. I was the youngest person in the workshop. I did not know it at the time but a special arrangement had been made for me after some degree of protest. I didn’t even have to pay. There was a girl, she was seventeen and apparently gifted from the way her poetry read. She paid. The rest of them were pretty much...

Bottoms Up An hourly clerk on a Friday at work, was the last place she wanted to be – putting up stock while the hands on the clock seemed to stick on a quarter-to-three. A typical day filled with minimum-pay, that would start every morning at eight made her less than a fan of her parents’ demand that she get out and pull her own weight. Amber was young and the burden that hung on her shoulders was stinging a tad – that c...

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.Smears of glowering greyRoll smudged across the violet sky,Dusk sinking toTwilight sinking toStar-studded velvetRoiling night.A whispered curse is a wraith in the pit,Phantasms flying across the soulWhere emptiness weepsAnd the echoes of painAnd the twisted limbs ofThe fallen oak lie.Gone are the gods of old in the forestAnd dea...

Is it possible to waste words  To have them fall from the sky  Like gifts  Perfect in their sacred  Profoundness  To feel the weight  Of their intensity  Grab at your heart  Coax tears  Create laughter  Take your hand  Lead you in the slowest of dances  Enlighten you with tales  That are yours  But not you  Give sounds  To the silent spaces  Between thought and action  Allowing you to breathe  While yet drowning  Giving y...

You have a wee small plotWith your life at its dawnIt's just about so wideThe length not yet been drawn. A garden you are to tendTilling, working it wellWhat will become of itJust time and toil to tell. Turning stumbling blocksInto path stepping stonesBreaking up all the clodsYour body aches and groans Compost and nutrients Working into the soilHoeing, weeding, sweatingA life of work and toil. Then you begin to plantWhat...