In my room I is safe. From all those happenin’s out there in the big cruel world. I sees it. Oh Lord, do I see it. On that social media shit, comin’ in from all sides. This person dyin’ and that country gettin’ blown up. It has the ‘tential to get to a man, you know?

But here I is safe. Long as I don’t go out, don’t inneract on that social shit goin’ on in front of me. I don’t watch the news anymore. Too depressin’. Same thing all over again.

Makes a man want to never go out. I may jus’ starve here in my safe room. Better’n life out there.

Tranquility Base

on tranquility base
sans oxygen
makes sense?

It’s week two up here on the moon. Just jotting down poems that come into my head, to pass the time. Crew’s dead. I’m the only one left. I like to think there are a few people left down on Earth, too, fighting zombies in some crazy zombie apocalypse people saw coming. But that’s likely not the case. They’re all dead as well. Silly bastards we humans are, we blew everything up.

I may be the only human left in existence. An extremely endangered species. Time for the next generation of aliens to take over. Dig up our artifacts and wonder what the hell happened to us.

sense makes
sans taking breath
base tranquility
on rise

#SoCS – Bridge, a Hallowe’en Story

Taking the Bridge to the inner city is like driving out of fresh air, into the pits of Hell. The Bridge itself is lined on both sides with grills, jails if you will. At the outer edge, near the freshest of air, are the criminals who live, still. But as it gets warmer toward the middle of the Bridge, one can see the prisoners are fighting for air. Zombies, treading upon one another with clubs made of loose bits of the Bridge torn off are closest to the inner city.

Why must we travel there, to the city? For work. The luckiest of us still grow our vegetables at the far end of the Bridge. For meat, we must go to the city. That’s where the brains are.


This post was written entirely in Stream of Consciousness, and left unedited. If you, too, would like to participate in Stream of Consciousness Saturday, click the following link to add your post!

Dear Diary – Millions

October 21/16
Dear Diary

“Of all the millions of fish in the sea, you’re the one I want.”

You know how many guys have said that to me over the years? Of course you do. You’re my diary. I should go back and count. Because all of them? Were lying.

Today Jimmy said it. Jimmy of all people. I could look into his blue eyes and almost believe it.

Should I, Diary? Is he really “The One”? I guess we’ll see.


How, with all the blanks filled in, can I still not manage the colour of the sky? It’s too vast, I tell myself. Cloudless, it’s too pure. When I see those fluffy white beasts, I say, get away, you’re blocking my view.

Why is the sky so hard to draw?

I think it may be that I want not to float out of my body and high up there, when I die.

Should I mar the purity, of the sky.



I shrug on my fall jacket and step outside the door only to remember why I dread the idea of going out today. My allergies hit my sinuses full force and I struggle to separate the wad of tissues I extract from my pocket to catch my sneeze.

I promised my best friend, Amanda, that I’d go with her to meet an uncle she never knew she had. Amanda has been on a kick lately, looking up her family tree. Her dad died when she was very young and he wasn’t close to his relatives. Since her mom passed away, she’s been giving her all to one last ditch attempt to connect with someone.

On the way over to pick her up, I think about what I’m going to say. How cheerful I’m going to pretend to be. Shit like this is something a person only does for a best friend.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Melody, Three

Dear Diary,

Today was my twenty-second birthday. It was also our wedding day. Marvin was fabulous as usual. He became proficient at sign language, just for me, even though he knows I can speak. He remained the only one who knew for eight whole years until today.

My first words out loud to anyone but him were, “I do.”

Mom and Dad think Marvin is responsible for a miracle. Only my husband (my husband! It’s going to take a while to get used to it!) knows my secret. He vowed today, privately during our first dance, to keep it to the grave, along with his everlasting love for me.

The end.

Our challenge at Story A Day September was to write in the first person.

The Chronicles of Mary, Part 7

Mary was standing at a bus stop, minding her own business, when a stranger approached her and asked her to take off her sunglasses. She did.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” the man said breathlessly.
“I don’t have enough change to pay your fare,” she replied.
Sighing, the stranger moved on to the next person in line, who happened to be another man. The stranger walked away three minutes later with a bloody nose.

Autonomy – The Daily Post – 100 word fiction

Bright colours, morning to night. The lights are always on.

I’m alone here: I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember. I walk around freely but, with nothing new to see, I feel like I’m living in a fish bowl. But I’m not a fish. I look down at my red plaid pants, my shiny red shoes sticking out, and my neon pink shirt and I wonder, who the hell dressed me in this? Being alone, I am, by definition, autonomous in this land. Yet I have no control! I must inquire with the hand that draws me.


The Daily Post prompt word of the day is Autonomy.

Time Bomb – 100 word story

Everyone loves him. Everyone feels safe in his presence. He is essential to our well-being. We flock to him as though he is our savior. Since the Armageddon, there are only a few hundred of us left. So how do I break it to the others?

I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. In the dark, beneath the ruins of a church I heard him pray to the deity in whom we cease to believe. He pleaded and begged for guidance. What’s worse, he asked for forgiveness. I thought he was our God now.

We are doomed. Our savior is a lie.