Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sonora Taylor @sonorawrites @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOH

A House to Match Her Coat
by Sonora Taylor

Debbie held the tips of her coat in her fingers. It was her favorite, a bright yellow coat with gold snap buttons. She’d worn it every day since she received it for her birthday. She awoke in her coat, took all her meals in it, and wore it to bed. She sweated in it in summer and held it tight to her chest in the winter. She loved its golden color so much that she wished to be forever bathed in yellow.
One day, the longing for a world of yellow made her heart grow sick. She looked at the brown, dirty walls in her bedroom, the grey sky outside her window. She smelled dinner cooking and imagined the dull green of her mother’s stew, brightened only by the grey and orange tip of her mother’s cigarette as she smoked at the table.
Debbie brightened at the thought of the cigarette, then darted to her mother’s room. She stood on tiptoe and brushed her fingers along her mother’s dresser until she felt what she sought: her mother’s box of matches. She ran back to her room, struck a match, and dropped it against the wall.
A small orange flame flickered, then crawled up the side of the wall like a fiery worm. Debbie watched in awe as the wall burned from brown to yellow. She let out a cry of glee, then ran out of the room. One by one, Debbie made each room the same: a golden, flaming yellow where once it had been dull.
She tossed one last match into the kitchen. Her mother swiveled at the sound of Debbie giggling. “What are you–”
Debbie stopped her question by tossing a match onto her mother’s dress. A dull, drab shade of faded periwinkle, not nearly as beautiful as her coat. Her mother screamed and batted at her dress to douse the flame, and in doing so, caught the back of her dress on the flame of the gas burner.
Her mother cried out, and Debbie ran out of the room. She saw the hall and stairs ablaze, the fires she set in the other rooms spreading. She ran outside with a grin on her face, then turned and watched as the house became engulfed in yellow. A house to match her beautiful coat.
Fiction © Copyright Sonora Tayor
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.com

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More from Sonora Taylor:

109145576_574942933170007_3972308087135148283_nSeeing Things

Abby Gillman has discovered that with growing up, there comes a lot of blood. But nothing prepares her for the trail of blood she sees in the hallway after class – or the ghost she finds crammed inside an abandoned locker.

No one believes Abby, of course. She’s only seeing things. As much as Abby wants to be believed, what she wants more is to know why she can suddenly see the dead. Unfortunately, they won’t tell her. In fact, none of them will speak to her. At all.

Abby leaves for her annual summer visit to her uncle’s house with tons of questions. The visit will give her answers the ghosts won’t – but she may not like what she finds out.

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_Jan_LOH

The Hidden Realm of She
by Naching T. Kassa

She’s following me. I know it. 
She’s wearing that hoodie—the grey one with the bloodstain—and the ragged scarf with the spiderweb stitch. Her jeans are torn, but not for the sake of fashion. She took them off the corpse she feasted on.
I saw her do it. Saw her choke the life out of the male as I passed the alley. Saw her tear the clothes from him and cover her own monstrous form. I watched her break his bones open and suck the marrow from them.
I thought I got away. She couldn’t have seen me. But she must’ve, because she’s in the club, sitting at the table over there, pretending to nurse a gin and tonic. I know it’s her. Her black eyes gleam when she looks at me.
There’s nowhere for me to go. I’ve hopped from one club to another, changing my escorts as I went. Females, their bodies clad in sequins, leaned on me as they staggered across the street. Males, flushed with alcohol and desire, leaned in to steal a kiss. None of them hid me from her gaze.
 I can’t tell them. Even if they believed me, they wouldn’t help. Humans would shriek if they saw my true face. They’d drop dead if they saw hers.
Her beard gives her away. The quivering black fuzz on her chin identifies her as royalty. She is a queen. Here to subjugate, to find others of her kind and force them to her will. I am nothing but a worker, but I fought hard for my freedom. I will never worship a mortal being again. 
She’s watching me now and her limbs are trembling. She wants to sink her mandibles into my skull and brand me as her own. She’s not tapping her foot to the song which blasts over the dancefloor. No, that movement is for me. She thinks I want to come to her, that I want to be enslaved. 
That’s how I’ll defeat her.
Humans find me beautiful, alluring. When I step out on the dancefloor, and the light plays over my glittering dress, they rush out as one to join me. They imitate my dance, following my intricate steps. I borrow the rhythm of the music to answer the queen.
I catch the eye of a brown girl near the door. Her dark eyes follow my dance, and she joins in. A woman, with hair like fire, comes next. She is followed by a woman with jade-green eyes. They approach me, surround me. Protect me.
The queen rises to her feet. She pushes through the throng of humanity. There are four of us now, four lovely slaves. Four to hunt for her, to serve her for eternity. When she is close, we dance away. The four of us make for the back door and hurry through it.
She follows.
When she passes over the threshold, we fall upon her, our attack silent and savage. We tear her limbs from her body and crush them beneath our spiked shoes. White blood flows from her broken exoskeleton as we rend her to pieces. The end comes swiftly.
We stand, panting, above the broken body. Then, one by one, they melt into the night. 
The queen cannot hear the words I speak, but I tell her anyway.
“You can never be my god. I came here to be free.”
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

abArterial Bloom

Lush. Brutal.

Beautiful. Visceral.

Crystal Lake Publishing proudly presents Arterial Bloom, an artful juxtaposition of the magnificence and macabre that exist within mankind. Each tale in this collection is resplendent with beauty, teeth, and heart.

Edited by the Bram Stoker Award-winning writer Mercedes M. Yardley, Arterial Bloom is a literary experience featuring sixteen stories from some of the most compelling dark authors writing today.

With a foreword by HWA Lifetime Achievement Award Recipient Linda D. Addison, you are invited to step inside and let the grim flowers wind themselves comfortably around your bones.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_Jan_LOHBelow
by Elaine Pascale

At twenty feet below the surface, she became visible. 
Visible in the sense that I could make out a very vague form. 
I knew what I was looking for, so my mind filled in the dark shadow as I slowly continued to descend. 
I had thirty-five minutes of air left. Plenty of time to grab her and resurface. I had lost sight of my partner in the murky water, but bubbles would occasionally mingle with my own, alerting me that I was not alone, that he was most likely behind me, tucked into a blind spot created by my helmet.
We needed to reach her together. Recovery missions carry a terrible physical and mental weight.
At twenty-three feet below I began to tremble. I was far away from the sun’s rays and my neoprene suit did little to protect me from the wintry water. 
I would need to get her and resurface before hyperthermia set in. The bubbles had grown denser: my partner was closing in. I would need his help to lift her onto the boat. 
At twenty-eight feet my diligent flashlight had all the power of a flickering candle. I lost contact with the boat, but the comforting bubbles that played in my peripheral vision reminded me that I was not alone. 
At thirty feet I could see her more distinctly. Based on the time of her disappearance, we knew she would no longer be on the bottom and that she would be slowly making her way to the surface.  I noticed she was fully intact. She looked good. 
For a corpse. 
At thirty-five feet I realized that the bubbles were coming from her. They seemed to hum in the still water. Did gas bubbles do that? I had never seen that before. In the ocean’s depths, there was much that had not been seen before.
At forty feet I reached out for her wrist. I had enough air to ascend slowly and safely. Even through my gloves, I could feel that she was not cold.
In fact, she was hot. Very hot.
At sixty feet, I lay stretched on the bottom of the ocean. I am a mystery for my partner and the boat that had delivered me to the mission. I am food for crabs and small fish. And her. Her bubbles enter my helmet, telling me I will soon grow warm and whole, too.
Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

The Blood Lights

They victimize all…

Jezzie Mitchell is in anguish; with her brother’s murder still on her mind, she’s noticed strange behavior among the girls in the residential treatment center where she works. Is there a connection between the contagion on Cape Cod and the deadly Bahamas vacation that changed her life?

Jezzie reaches out to former lover Lou Collins, a scholar who has chased proof of the lights for decades. Will he be able to solve the mystery of the lights in time?

Intensely competitive, reporter Bridgette Collins knows the lights are a way to secure fame in her career. And while it’ll put the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband’s career, she vows to know the secrets of the lights. Even if it means unleashing a world-wide epidemic…

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_Jan_LOH

Helping Hands
by Suzanne Madron

He scowled at the fresco and tilted his head to the side, trying to wrap his head around what he was looking at. Something about the fresco unsettled him, something beyond the odd subject matter that was unlike anything he had ever seen. Hands were the main subject, with no faces or context. The hand closest to the front of the fresco suddenly turned, the fingers reaching as if sensing his presence. Other hands began to shift, the movements groping toward the edge of the fresco as if the hands were independent of the people they should have been attached to. He stepped backward, away from the wall and those detached extremities, and the fresco became still once more.
He tried to convince himself the movement he had seen in the muted colors had been merely a trick of the light and that the reaching hands within had not pushed through into the third dimension. He tried to convince himself they were not trying to grab him and pull him into their flat and long-dead world buried in ruins and ashes.
“I call it ‘Helping Hands’.”
He started and turned. A man in dusty dig gear stared proudly at the fresco and crossed his arms as if he himself had painted the awful scene. After an uncomfortable moment he held a hand out. “I’m John.”
“Steve.” He shook the offered hand. “This will sound crazy, but I swear I saw it move.”
“Trompe l’oeil,” said the dusty man. “It is an excellent example, perhaps the oldest example to date.”
“No. I know trompe l’oeil and this was… different.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I need to get some sleep, maybe. My eyes have been playing tricks on me.”
The man who called himself John smiled and gave a nod of sympathy. “Of course. We’ve been on this dig for what seems like forever.” He moved closer to the wall and ran his fingers over the ancient plaster. Fingers reached out of the fresco and grasped his outstretched hand. “But when you are ready, I believe you will find our friends really are quite helpful.”
Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOHTommy
by Kathleen McCluskey

Tommy could hear his older brother’s words ringing in his ears, “You’re a coward.” Tommy knew he wasn’t a coward but he also knew that the old house in the woods gave him the feeling of needing to flee. His bright yellow rain slicker weighed heavy on his shoulders. He could feel the skin on his arms, covered in nervous sweat, sticking to the inside. He turned to see if his brother was still there. Hiding in the dappled moonlight of the forest sat his brother smiling. He mouthed the words, “Go on” and gestured towards the decrepit building.
Tommy cautiously walked closer to the house, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. He looked both ways, like he was crossing the street, as he stepped up onto the porch. The floor boards creaked and groaned as he ventured further into the blackness. Lifting his hand he reached for the doorknob. All he had to do was open the door and then his brother would leave him alone. He needed to have his approval. His palms were slick with nervous sweat as he touched the door knob, the door flew open and Tommy was consumed by the gaping doorway as the door slammed shut.
He opened his eyes and found himself on the floor of the dilapidated dwelling. He stood and looked around. He was shocked to see a man sitting in a fine, high back chair. The man put his hand out for Tommy to come in and sit. The man stood, “Hello, young man. You must be Tommy. We have been waiting for you. The master will be pleased that you have finally arrived. We can once again ravage this town as we did in the days of yore.” The man motioned with his hand and Tommy fell fast asleep.
He awoke in the forest. His older brother hovering over him, “Dude, what happened? You were there then you were gone. I searched everywhere for you.” Tommy stood and stretched, a stretch that he felt in every fiber of his ancient being. He knew who he was now, he spoke, “Jimmy, you will be my first.” He lunged for Jimmy and sank his razor sharp teeth into his neck. His true self had emerged as he threw his head back and howled. His brethren will never go hungry again.
Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_Jan_LOH
The Wheezer
by Marge Simon

It was almost like he wanted to be caught. The guy was bundled in a heavy parka when we captured him. He’d been going along through the packed snow at a good clip, but once he saw we were coming after him, he slowed down. We could smell him ten feet off, he stank like a dead thing. Thaddeus took a deep breath and held it to tie his wrists. Since it was growing dark, we dragged him back to the cabin we’d been staying in. Better to wait until morning to take him to Saddlerock and claim the reward.  He made a lot of noise, wheezing like a horse with broken wind. Sam flipped back the parka hood, turned pale, and pulled it back up. “Shit! Ain’t no man like I’ve ever seen. This thing’s sick, that’s what’s making the stink. Got some kind of skin disease.” We decided to lock him in the shed overnight. Sam gave him a drink and left him tied up good. Maybe he was poorly, but the reward was too high not to take precautions.
Snow began that night. Thad produced a bottle of whiskey, saying we needed to toast our prisoner. “I propose we call him “Wheezer.” We thought that was pretty funny. We shared a swig or two and turned in. Nobody thought to check the shed one more time. Come morning the snow had stopped and the air was chill and crisp. I went out to relieve myself and froze, right there.  Sam was in the door of the shed, throat torn and drowning in his own blood. Half Thad’s face was gone, partly ripped, partly chewed to the bone. He was wailing, staggering around waving his arms.
“Holy Shit! He’s got loose!” But that was just me, the only ones who could hear me were already beyond caring. Yeah, he was loose, but he sure wasn’t gone. I heard the crunch of snow behind me. Wheezing as bad as ever, he knocked me out and dragged me inside the cabin. When I came to, his hood was thrown back and that stench was all around.  Ugly, stanky sonofabitch. Great open sores festered on his face. He came over and squatted in front of me with a knife. “Goin’ to let you go, man. You tell them folks in Saddlerock I appreciated their hospitality. Tell ‘em I didn’t know it was me causing this here plague or I’d not of stuck around.” I raised an eyebrow and he continued, “Don’t be surprised if some of them stink an’ act like me. Maybe you’ll be e-mune. Now, git before I change my mind.”
On my way there. I got to warn them, but damned if I didn’t catch myself wheezing a bit ago.
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Marge Simon:

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The Demeter Diaries
by Marge Simon and‎ Bryan D. Dietrich

‘The Demeter Diaries’ is a record of love and longing and the inevitable horror that arises between the minds of Mina Harker and Vlad Dracula as they court one another in waking dreams. The dialogue, written in both poetry and prose, imagines a psychic connection that develops between the two even before Dracula arrives in England. As Dracula makes his way from Transylvania to Whitby on the doomed ship Demeter, the two would-be lovers transmit their thoughts across the waves and lands that separate them, alternately wooing and terrifying one another with the idea of love eternal and all the dark delicacies necessary to ensure it. Front cover art by Wendy Saber Core, interior illustrations by Luke Spooner.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_DEC_LOHVanishing Snow
by Asena Lourenco

Vanishing craters in the white,
Melting into each other during the night,
The temporary path leading you to life,
Which can tell you so much but not in time,
A mysterious tale hiding in the still,
Swallowing the evidence before the chill,
The angelic white masked the past,
Just waiting for the storm to pass,
But once a year, they return into sight,
Naked, bare, in the bright lights,
They sit there on the ice, memories from before,
Unknown by others, that their past is no longer no more.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 13 years old. She loves reading, playing Scottish traditional fiddle music on her violin, dancing, and martial arts as well as writing her own stories.

She would like to be a teacher and writer when she grows up. She also loves cats and babies!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_DEC_LOH

Swallowing Shadows
by Bailey Hunter

I sit here with the dead, awaiting my fate.  The light from this tomb casting the only shadows left in the world.  
Each day the dusk hangs over the world, swallowing everything, swallowing the light and shadows until all that is left is the greyish, sickly pallor of consumption. It has been spreading for days across all the lands – silent death.  
It hovers at the door now, and though the light from within this tomb is a warm amber, it offers no respite from the cold. I look around and marvel at my shadow on the wall, taking a moment to make silly shapes and give myself a smile.  A show for the dead… and the soon to be.
The dusk has broken through the door, claiming the last of the light as my shadow slowly fades to nothing.  I push myself up back against the far wall stealing every last second I have. Closing my eyes, I think of my wife in our garden, our children playing in the yard, filling my mind with a final burst of colour before it is all turned to grey and I am no more.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.

Dark Recesses Press is a publishing house dedicated to providing high quality dark fiction in its many forms to the reader. Our end goal is to impress and entertain, no matter what dark recesses we dare shine our light on.

DarkRecessesPress.com

 
Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


001_DEC_LOHMistress
by Alyson Faye

Lavinia watched her latest victim, encased behind the glass window, with a satisfied smile on her vulpine face.
Her red-painted fingernails clutched the glass containing the precious contents, extracted with such precision. Every drop was priceless. She licked her lips, savouring the moment before she lifted the glass to her lips and drank the yellowish liquid, feeling it calm and soothe her burning bones.
Being centuries old was no easy matter – beneath the scarlet nail lacquer her fingernails were black as a burnt match, beneath her long-sleeved, high-necked clothes her skin was aged like oak, and her face had had more lifts than she could remember.
Behind the glass wall what had once been a man, moaned and lifted his ruined face towards hers. She could read lips – she’d had a lot of practise, and she saw him mouthing, ‘Kill me.’
‘No,’ she mouthed back, carmine lips blown-up with filler. ‘No. You are keeping me alive.’
The creature’s head dropped, his jaw fell open, and drool dripped onto the concrete floor joining a pool of other diverse liquids.
She strolled over to the glass window, and pressed her lips against it. ‘I do love you,’ she whispered, trying to remember what his name had been – in his life before – Marcus? Matthew? It had been so long since she’d enticed him at the bar and taken him home. Two human decades? Perhaps more?
Lavinia turned to another glass-windowed cage, situated to the right of Marcus. ‘Hello, my love. You are so very special to me.’
The man-creature inside threw back his head and howled, his sanity long gone. The chains around his neck and strings of plastic tubing embedded in his flesh, snaked from him, creating a bizarre spider-like vision.
Lavinia turned to survey the massive room, filled with glass cages. She loved them all, her pets, her food source – in her way.
Fiction © Copyright Alyson Faye
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Alyson Faye:

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The Lost Girl & Spindleshanks

The Lost Girl
A nailed-up door. An inheritance which comes with a ghost. A missing girl. A fifty-year-old mystery. Parapsychologist Berkley Osgood is hired to investigate. What he uncovers reveals secrets the living want to hide and the dead will never forgive.

Spindleshanks
Adam is having nightmares about a skeletal shadow figure, who he calls Spindleshanks. Soon his whole class are sharing the same nightmare. Adam’s dad, Rob, knows that Spindleshanks can’t be real. But is he? One terrible night Rob has to face his son’s nightmare creature and fight for his son’s life. What would you sacrifice to have your child back safe?

“A decent two-for-one. Alyson Faye brings the engaging and eerie in equal measure.” CC Adams – horror / dark fiction author

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alex Grey @indigodreamers @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_DEC_LOH

I, Stormfather
by Alex Grey

I, Stormfather, all-seeing god of the glacial earth, will speak now of the coming of the warm ones and the doom that I have foreseen.
Our doom.
The days of cold are dwindling as the warm ones consume the bounty of the earth to fund their palatial lifestyles, untroubled by the seasons’ gentle discipline.
The cold will retreat beyond hope of recovery. This I have seen.
The warm ones have not forethought that in their defeat of the cold lies their own destruction. Without balance, the pendulum will swing; by flood and drought, firestorm and blizzard, they will sicken and perish. This too I have seen.
See them now, rejoicing in their chapel of light. They are profligate as always, burning precious fuel in a show of supremacy over my domain.
Profligate and foolish.
My creatures still roam the ice, savage and starving, and the warm ones have left the door open…
Fiction © Copyright Alex Grey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Alex Grey:

After a lifetime of writing technical non-fiction, Alex Grey is fulfilling her dream of writing poems and stories that engage the reader’s emotions. Her work has been featured by a wide range of publications including Siren’s Call, Raconteur, Bookends Review, and Toasted Cheese. One of her comic poems is also available via a worldwide network of public fiction dispensers managed by French publisher, Short Edition. Her ingredients for contentment are narrow boating, greyhounds, singing and chocolate. It is a sweet life, yet Alex’ original view of the world has led to her best friend to say ‘For someone so lovely, you’re very twisted!

Please click here to discover more! 

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