Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author E.A. Black @ElizabethABlack @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM9

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

I Want To Go Home
by E.A. Black

Everyone expects blood to drip from the walls in a haunted boarding school. I don’t do blood. I pour motor oil down the walls. Tapioca pudding. Lime green jello. Mushroom gravy. I used to pour sewage from the lavatories but that pissed off the professors so I stopped. I don’t want anyone mad at me. I only want someone to find me and help me go home.
I wander between the walls, along the catwalks, and through the tunnels, hoping my father will return to get me out of here. I was caught in the wall behind the chemistry room when the school was built. The workers poured concrete over me and I’ve been trapped here ever since.
Father worked construction. I loved architecture. Gothic spires and mansard roofing inspired me, so when he took me to the new school foundation I was thrilled. Finally, father wanted to spend time with me. He shoved me. Next thing I know, I’m wandering the hallways of the school in broad daylight, but no one can hear me cry.
Why did father leave me here? Why can’t I go home? He told me he wanted a boy and not a girl who needed a cane to walk. After mother died he became so distant. I tried to please him every way I could. I brought home flowers but they only reminded him of mother’s grave. I sang and played pianoforte but he only complained I made too much noise. I tried to like his new wife but she never took to me. Cold and cruel, she locked me in my room for hours on end. Then she and father talked about boarding school but they couldn’t afford it, not with twins on the way. I heard her complain she was stuck with me.
I miss my father. I crack the ceilings and floors. Make the water fountains spray yards into the air. Rain molasses down the walls. Hardly anyone is left here. The school is closing. I see father walking down the hallway with two boys who look like me. As they leave I rush up to him. He sees me but looks right through me and keeps walking, holding the two boys close. As he walks away I cry but he pays no attention. Why won’t he take me home with him? What did I do wrong? Why doesn’t he love me? I don’t want to be alone.
Fiction © Copyright E. A. Black
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from E.A. Black:

Zippered Flesh 3

What horror anthology on body enhancements wouldn’t include gross-out fiction? This book has it in spades. But, this collection of stories goes far beyond that. Here you will also find science fiction, surreal fiction, fantasy, and even a full serving of dark humor. Disturbing, perverse, often gut-wrenching (pun intended) stories—all between the covers of this anthology!
Nineteen chilling tales by some of the best horror and suspense writers today. Definitely not for the squeamish!

“Hardcore horror that ranges from the socially relevant to the scatologically repulsive—the shock here is like ‘The Scream’ made flesh.” — Mort Castle, editor of On Writing Horror: A Handbook by the Horror Writers Association

“In Zippered Flesh 3, Editor Weldon Burge has done a masterful job of combining work from well-known masters like Jack Ketchum and Graham Masterton with newer writers. But it is the original work by newcomers like L.L. Soares and Meghan Acuri that stands out for me. … Highly recommended.” — Gene O’Neill, author of The Hitchhiking Effect: A Retrospective Collection

“‘Closer by Charles Colyott is a wonderfully poignant and romantic story. … ‘Going Green’ by Christine Morgan is so original, timely, and well-written it deserves special mention. … Kudos to Burge for putting together another fine anthology of cutting-edge fiction.” — Paul Dale Anderson, author of The Instruments of Death series

Available on Amazon!

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Women in Horror Month 9

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Julianne Snow @CdnZmbiRytr @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM9

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Downhill
by Julianne Snow

Racing down the hill on waxed strips of fiberglass, the wind is heavy, pounding in my ears. It’s almost disorienting but I’m in control. The snow is both my partner and adversary–loving and hating my skis with each push of my knees.
My speed picks up as I descend the massive moguled hill, the pressure of my knees driving into each small ascent of the mounded snow. So easy to make a mistake, my training and practice take over my mind as the frantic rhythm of the cutting snow echoes the melody of Disturbed in my ear buds.
In the briefest of heartbeats, my course changes, driving me faster than I can correct into the trees lining the hill. I make contact, unable to stop myself, The strongly supple branch skewering through my left eye. My breathing slows as I hang there, hoping someone will see me, someone will come to my rescue. I know my brain is dying, bringing my body with it into the great beyond.
Fiction © Copyright Julianne Snow
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Julianne Snow:

JulianneSnow_TheDeadOfPenderghastManorThe Dead of Penderghast Manor

What would you do if you knew the Dead could talk?

For Chester Penderghast, it’s not the easiest of questions to answer…

Ensconced in the basement of his family’s mortuary business is the last place he wants to be, but when the conversation starts flowing, Chester’s the only living person who can hear it. What do the Dead want, and why is he the only one who can hear them?

This is not your average zombie tale—the Dead don’t want to eat your brains, but they will chew your ear off!

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM9

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Sweetest Thing
by Bailey Hunter

Jeannette busied herself for her date. This time everything had to be perfect. No more mistakes.
Jeannette had her fair share of loser boyfriends. She’d tried the ‘bad boys’ like most girls do, only to be left feeling empty and sour. After her last bad affair, she swore nice guys only from there out. She’d dated a few real sweethearts since then, but it never quite met expectations.
Her latest fellow, Nicholas, was the sweetest though. He’s everything that you’d expect to find in a Prince Charming – strong, intelligent, kind, generous, civic minded, gentle, caring and a million other things.
He tells her how much he loves her; how he believes they are fated to be together, how he couldn’t imagine a day without her in it. He never pushes her to do anything she’s not ready for; he respects her strength and moral standards. It took him three dates before he even tried to kiss her. The memory lingered sweet like candy upon her lips
That’s why tonight was the night. She would try again. She’d been preparing all day. Everything needed to be perfect.
* * *
Jeannette was finishing the last touches when Nicholas arrived. She flung her arms around him as he entered and kissed him deeply. Her heart pounded with nervous excitement.
“Everything looks great. You really outdid yourself, Jeannette.” Nicholas winked as she led him to the table.
“Sit here, I’ll be right back.” Jeanette returned from the kitchen with a fabulous dinner fit for a king.
She watched with great pride as Nicholas devoured the meal between many compliments. After he finished, he leaned back, his eyes blinking hard. He began to sway in his chair, his hands grasping at the air as he fell to the floor.
Smiling softly, Jeanette reached over the helpless Nicholas and unbuttoned his shirt. A quiet unintelligible grunt escaped from his mouth as his eyes struggled to focus on her.
“One moment, lover,” she cooed. She skipped to the kitchen and retrieved a carving knife. She couldn’t wait to taste his sweet heart. She knew it is going to be the biggest and most tender one she’d ever had.
Jeannette leaned over the paralyzed Nicholas pressing a kiss upon his perfect candy lips and drove the knife deep into his chest.
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

 

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Women in Horror Month 9

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM9

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Resurrection
by A.F. Stewart

I feel their shattered bones under my fingertips. Their blood soaks into the earth beneath my feet. My poor fools. They thought I would let them share. That I would reward them with power and not death.
That is not my nature.
I can still taste their life on my lips, their flesh between my teeth. The marks of my claws gouge the skull of one of them. I have not heard such terrified screams in eons. The sound filled my black heart with joy. It has been such a long time since I walked this earth. I do owe my fools thanks for that act. For my resurrection.
I can feel my body strengthening, feel my wings re-growing. Soon I will fly. Soon I will bring destruction, subjugation and death. This world will be mine and I will be its queen. As it should have been, all those years ago.
Humans, your new reign of terror has begun.
Lilith has come home.
Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from A.F. Stewart:

Ghosts of the Sea Moon 
(Saga of the Outer Islands Book 1)

In the Outer Islands, gods and magic rule the ocean.

Under the command of Captain Rafe Morrow, the crew of the Celestial Jewel ferry souls to the After World and defend the seas from monsters. Rafe has dedicated his life to protecting the lost, but the tides have shifted and times have changed.
His sister, the Goddess of the Moon, is on a rampage and her creatures are terrorizing the islands. The survival of the living and dead hinge on the courage and cunning of a beleaguered captain and his motley crew of men and ghosts.
What he doesn’t know is that her threat is part of a larger game. That an ancient, black-winged malevolence is using them all as pawns…

Come set sail with ghosts, gods and sea monsters.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheri White @sheriw1965 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM9

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Mirror, Mirror
by Sheri White

I used to be beautiful. I think this every time I look in a mirror. Sometimes I say it out loud.
You still are!
I wish I had your curls!
Your eyes are such a great color!
That outfit looks amazing on you, girl.
You’ll always find gal pals in a night club bathroom. Drunk women are the best. I never believe them, though, because they don’t see what I see in my reflection – an ugly, unlovable ghost, just drifting through life. Hoping that nobody will see what I see.
I look at pictures of myself as a little girl, cute pigtails and a smile missing two front teeth. I am on a carousel horse, in a swimming pool, on my bike with the training wheels and tassels streaming from the handle bars. I look happy. I look normal.
I miss that little girl.
But she’s been gone a long time. Ever since the nightly visits to her bedroom began, when her reflection showed her the truth in the harsh morning light.
I’ve looked at myself so many times over the years, hoping to see something different. Streaky mirrors in shitty motel rooms after a night with a stranger or two; walking by store-front windows on the way to my shift at the diner, showing off clothes I can never afford.
The worst thing about my reflection is that I am never alone. He is always next to me, a grinning monster looking over my shoulder, making sure I see myself for what I really am. I’ve left a trail of blood behind me, in so many motel rooms and sleazy apartments, hoping the monster would leave me alone. I was too scared to face the monster itself.
But monsters don’t go away on their own, do they?
Monsters must be defeated.
Monsters have to die.
Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Sheri White:

200 CCs: Year One

This is #microfiction. Stories told in a handful of sentences, a bare few paragraphs. Inside are worlds, lives, tragedies, and triumphs. Each condensed to its barest essence, able to be read in minutes. But their power is not deflated. These stories will shock, amuse, delight, horrify, inspire. They will stay with you. Crafted by dozens of today’s sharpest writers, this is 200 CCs of distilled literature, ready to be mainlined. Includes stories by Scarlett R. Algee, Nicholas Antoniak, Elizabeth Archer, Davian Aw, Michael Balletti, Amanda Bergloff, R.L. Black, Mickie Bolling-Burke, Nikki Boss, Constantine de Boudox, Karen Bovenmyer, Maureen Bowden, Tara Bradford, J. Bradley, Anne Lawrence Bradshaw, Laura J. Campbell, Shenoa Carroll-Bradd, Pamela Hobart Carter, Gregg Chamberlain, Vajra Chandrasekerea, Alex Creece, Carrie Cuinn, Christina Dalcher, Dominic Daley, Danielle Dreger, Alethea Eason, Allison Epstein, Brendan Foley, Ron Gibson Jr., Will Gilmer, Georgene Smith Goodin, Alex P. Grover, Sophie Hammond, Anna Hawkins, Charles Hayes, Russell Hemmell, Kyle Hemmings, Jinapher J. Hoffman, Liam Hogan, Simon Hole, Isobel Horsburgh, Katta Hules, Adiba Jaigridar, Soren James, Rita Jansen, Anne E. Johnson, Sierra July, Jeaninne Escallier Kato, Maxine Kollar, Stephanie Kraner, Jena Krumrine, Nolan Liebert, Daniel Lind, E.N. Loizis, L.L. Madrid, Erick Mancilla, Ruchira Mandal, Alison McBain, Kathryn McBride, Ville Meriläinen, James A. Miller, Kris Miller, Sean Mulroy, Joseph Musso, Garth Pettersen, Alice Pow, R. S. Pyne, Howard Rachen, Ahimaz Rajessh, Eliza Redwood, Alexandra Renwick, Alyson Rhodes, Laura Roberts, C.C. Russell, Casi Scheidt, Holly Schofield, Dimple Shah, T. L. Sherwood, Steve Spalding, William Squirrell, Tasha Teets, Clive Tern, Natalia Theodoridou, Monika McGreal Viola, Christopher Walker, Deborah Walker, Jessica Walker, Jake Walters, Anne Elizabeth Weisgerber, Megan Wildhood, and Sheri White

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM9

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Both Sides Now
by Rie Sheridan Rose

Melinda: See This?

See this? You see this, Jason? This is the reason I’m breaking up with you. This was my favorite sweater. I got it in Glasgow when I was backpacking across Europe. It’s Scottish wool. I love this sweater. And you ruined it. You put this damn hole in it. And I’ll never get the blood out of it.
If you wanted to break up with me, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to fricking shoot me!

Jason: Five More Bullets

See this, Melinda? This is a revolver that has been in my family for five generations. When it was new, it shot a lot of gray-backs in the Civil War. My great-great-great scratched a count on the butt of the gun. Twenty-five tallied.
After that, it went to his son. He kept the family tradition. Became a gunfighter out West. Added  thirteen men to the tally. A Baker’s Dozen added at Boot Hill—surreptitiously, at night.
Great-Grandpa went into World War Two with it stuck in his sock. Lots of Nazis on this side of the grip.
Grandpa had to get really creative. There weren’t any wars for him to count coup on. So he took to the shadows with a mask and his gun. He killed two dozen.
Dad’s tally was forty before he handed over the gun to me.
I haven’t practiced as much as any of them. I’ve only added five to my count. You were supposed to be the sixth. Of course, I didn’t think about the fact that you are an unholy bitch.
Did you make a deal with the devil? Any normal woman would have had the grace to die when someone shot out her eye. But don’t worry, darlin’. I’ve got five more bullets.
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Skellyman

“I have always preferred the supernatural in tales of horror, the knot between life and death. Rie Sheridan Rose’s Skellyman is cool and creepy. Her first horror novel is a chilling read.” — Charlee Jacob – Stoker winner, Best novel, “Dread in the Beast”

Brenda Barnett is trying to cope with raising her four-year-old daughter all alone after an accident tore her family in half. As she and Daisy go for a much-needed treat, the little girl spots a Skellyman on the corner.

This pivotal encounter leads to a wave of mounting terror as Brenda’s life begins to come undone around her. Who is the Skellyman? Why does he keep appearing? Can the sympathetic policeman Brenda turns to stop the madness before it is too late?

And why does Daisy insist that her dead brother is trying to tell them something important?

Available on Amazon!

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Book Release and 99 cent promo deal! ‘Ghosts of the Sea Moon’, by A.F. Stewart @scribe77

Ghosts of the Sea Moon
A.F. Stewart

In the Outer Islands, gods and magic rule the ocean.

Under the command of Captain Rafe Morrow, the crew of the Celestial Jewel ferry souls to the After World and defend the seas from monsters. Rafe has dedicated his life to protecting the lost, but the tides have shifted and times have changed.

His sister, the Goddess of the Moon, is on a rampage and her creatures are terrorizing the islands. The survival of the living and dead hinge on the courage and cunning of a beleaguered captain and his motley crew of men and ghosts.

What he doesn’t know is that her threat is part of a larger game. That an ancient, black-winged malevolence is using them all as pawns…

Come set sail with ghosts, gods and sea monsters.

Official Book Page ~ Official Book Trailer

Ghosts of the Sea Moon is available in both print and eBook at the following:

Amazon eBook (on sale for 99 ¢ through February 14th!)
Amazon Paperback
Goodreads link
Books2Read link (all non-Amazon retailers)

An Excerpt from Ghosts of the Sea Moon

Chapter One
The Captain

Captain Rafe Morrow paced the quarterdeck of his ship, Celestial Jewel, the signs of an oncoming squall setting him on edge. Blustering wind rattled the sails and the crew’s nerves, their usual jaunty hubbub reduced to grumbling and snipes. Trouble travelled on that wind. Rafe could smell it woven in the air, and his blood prickled with a sense of worry. The ship trembled as if with warning. He glared at the sky and its darkening clouds painted amber and crimson from the setting sun. A storm sky coming ahead of a full moon meant dark magic and sea monsters would prowl the waves this night.

The Moon Goddess will hold sway tonight.

A trickle of blue energy raced across the back of his hand at the thought.

Damn her…and her beasts.

On the breath of a sigh, he whirled to face his crew. “Storm’s coming, boys. Doesn’t bode well, not with the moonrise tonight.”

“How long, Captain? Will we be in the thick of the weather or just what comes after?” A rough-edged sailor, Pinky Jasper, spoke up, but all ears of the deck crew listened for an answer.

“It’s coming within an hour or two, out from Raven Rock, by my reckoning. After nightfall by certain. We’re heading in, boys, but we’ll likely hit the edge of it.” He heaved a breath, exhaling. “It’ll be a bad one even for this crew so expect trouble.”

A shiver of tension settled over the deck. Some of the crew cast worried glances at the sea and each other. Others shivered, and a few more whispered prayers. Storms brought bad memories and nervous anticipation to the sailors of this ship.

“Which port then, Captain?” The mariner at the ship’s wheel chimed in. “Might make Abersythe if we head north.”

“We might, Anders. But we head east. We’ll race the edge of the tempest, but it’s closer and the ship will find better shelter anchored at Crickwell Island.”

“Aye, sir. Laying in course to Crickwell Island.” One-Eyed Anders turned the wheel and the ship’s bones groaned. Others of the crew adjusted the sails, and the Celestial Jewel leaned into her new bearing headed east.

Instafreebie preview (download the first four chapters free): https://www.instafreebie.com/free/cu9nx

About A.F. Stewart:

A steadfast and proud sci-fi and fantasy geek, A. F. Stewart was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada and still calls it home. The youngest in a family of seven children, she always had an overly creative mind and an active imagination. She favours the dark and deadly when writing—her genres of choice being fantasy and horror—but she has been known to venture into the light on occasion. As an indie author she’s published novels, novellas and story collections, with a few side trips into poetry.

 

 

Author Links:
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Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/1175681.A_F_Stewart
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/a-f-stewart
Website: https://afallonblog.wordpress.com/
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Frozen
by Asena Lourenco

The dark, spooky night was passing so slow
No one in this place was friends, but foe.
On ice, they would battle until their very deaths
They would battle and fight ‘til there was nothing left.
But Icemy didn’t like how they tore each other apart
While they were tearing their skins, they were tearing his heart.
He sat all alone sobbing so so loud
In a place so deserted where nothing could be found.
Every day countless hundreds were injured or killed
They broke the happiness that his mother had once built.
There was nothing he could do but sit there and cry
Why did they hurt each other? Why, just why?
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 10 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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Exile
by Marge Simon

Earth hangs on the horizon, round and blue. Once, he was a god. Now he is an ice sculpture on a flat forever plain, alone in the terrible cold of the sidereal night, his beard a waterfall of frozen tears.
If forgiven, he would know a sluggish awakening after a millennium. His children’s heels
would drum the earth, rousing him from dreams of thunder and flame calling him home. He would remember that insatiable hunger known only to certain gods. His mouth would salivate, recalling the feel of soft young skin, so like the surface of grapes when peeled for the fruit within. Yet best of all the delicious moment when, between his jaws, the bones of his children would release their marrow.
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Marge Simon:

 

Satan’s Sweethearts
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Satan’s Sweethearts – a collection of poems by Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo featuring the most monstrous, evil women throughout history!

Available on Amazon!

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lori R. Lopez @LoriRLopez @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Isle of Limbo
by Lori R. Lopez

We are a doomed lot —
the frayed souls of a Limbo that sails
but never lands.  A barge for which there is no berth.
No welcoming shore.  Like a ship of criminals
that left its harbor, shunned, cast adrift.
We languish on this floating ruin,
a shard of dirt and rock.  Forgotten or ignored.
Festering with anguish,
stripped of home and destination.
Condemned to journey through a sea of exile.
No port would receive the damned, the dead . . .
unless ferried by Charon.
We are innocent!  Undeserving of such
punishment — a cruel isolation.  Ghosts
are supposed to be earthbound:  our bones entombed,
our spirits chained, inhabiting one spot.
If we can’t repose in peace then we ought to be
grounded.  Not this.  Herded onto a celestial platform,
a deck of sod and stone.  Confined like sheep or cattle,
deadstock as opposed to live.  A segregated flock,
banished to the sky.  Walled in a dirigible of a dungeon
looming amidst the clouds.
A flight of Gypsy Moths drawn to light.
Tricked then trapped by a Bell Jar of harping jailers.
To huddle in a cold bleak hall.
Unmoored, cut loose by the drop of an axe.
Launched over the heads of flesh-and-blood masses.
No space for us.  No room below.
There are more deceased than not, and the number
rises, it never falls.  These nether reaches
have become too crowded with the restless,
the wraiths and revenants.
Our fates are in the air:  undecided, unsettled,
uncertain.  That is how we were marked.
Not how we must remain.  It could be temporary.
Sins are not always absolute.
Mistakes can be subjective.
Transgressions less than clear in cases.
Laws may bend or change, be twisted,
and we may yet receive a judgement call —
a ring on the Up or Down line.
A special dove or bat delivery.
The gold invitation granting entrance.
The crimson ticket leads straight to Hell.
Listen to the denials.  Our shouts of rage,
injustice.  The hue and cry of indignation.
We should be fixed in one place,
haunting the same location night after night.
Instead we surf a ragged invisible plane,
trapped on an endless voyage across the firmament.
Forced to travel and see the world but not
be seen.  Perhaps this is Purgatory.
In life I was afraid of heights.
You might deem it poetic.  If you have a deathwish.
My sense of humor rotted away with my lips,
and pacing the edges of a steep verge, this wretched
piece of oblivion, I wobble ill at ease
as I dare peer down.  Unaware of the tiny
human dramas, the sagas and struggles playing out.
Soul after soul whips by, released to ascend.
I have stopped shaking a resentful fist.
Or attempting to pop them like bubbles.
Wherever they go, to Paradise or back to the stars,
I hope they are free.  The rancor that matches
the sunset fades.  Perhaps I am destined for this
meager rock, this shabby refuge, unable to leave
or accept my station.  Hanging in Limbo
upon a ghost isle run by machinery that keeps it aloft.
It isn’t even a godly ethereal plateau —
merely an automated physical contraption powered by
engines and gears.  What prevents us from
hopping off at the nearest peak?
The fear of falling.
That is our common ground.
We are all prisoners of our own design,
our own device as the song says.  And so we ride
this jumbo chariot, doing what is expected.
What always we do.  Just once I would like to
divert its course, engineer my own path
instead of watch the scenery pass by.
Next time you gaze up, know that we are here!
Know it is not as vacant and devoid as you would
imagine or like to believe!  We are present
in some state of energy.
Chugging between the jets and rockets,
among the air-trains and flying buses,
hovercars and cycles that congest your domain.
We exist on another level, a veiled dimension
exceeding your range of vision.
Hordes of the dead and unburied, unblessed,
uncherished, unrespected among you, mingling with
the ones who mattered, each of us equal now.
The generations to arrive late.  Those for whom
there could be no peace or final resting place.
Ashes were scattered, our souls confined
to a measly morbid slab.
A suspended graveyard where
the departed must wring our hands and tread —
high above demons; far beneath the winged.
A cemetery under the feet of angels in an atmosphere
of gloom and dread.
We cannot glimpse your tall gray cities where
sunlight is blocked by tinted domes and fleets of
air traffic.  We miss the busy streets, the commotion
of throngs and vehicles.  Yet the worst part
about dying isn’t boredom and quiet; nor the
emptiness that surrounds too brightly, illuminating
Dusk, depriving sleep.
It’s the emotions and burdens too cumbrous
to ever let go.  We carry them beyond.
Fiction © Copyright Lori R. Lopez
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Lori R. Lopez:

Darkverse: The Shadow Hours

A rich gathering of poetry with a dismal twilight atmosphere, a brooding nature, an eerie tone . . .  DARKVERSE:  THE SHADOW HOURS encompasses such pieces written by Lori R. Lopez between 2009 and 2017, collected in three of her Poetic Reflections volumes along with humorous and serious verse.  This ample compendium allows a more focused reading experience and mood — presenting poems that share speculative themes, flashes of horror, glimpses of madness.
Lori is the author of THE DARK MISTER SNARK, LEERY LANE, MONSTROSITIES, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, THE FAIRY FLY, CHOCOLATE-COVERED EYES, JAR BABY, SAMHAIN, 3-Z, and SPIDER SOUP, among other tales.  She has been called a storyteller, whether composing verse or prose.
The aim of her DARKVERSE series is to offer a chilling trek through unlit stretches where all manner of creeps and kooks may lurk; where graveyards and bogs and full-moons abound.  The pages of THE SHADOW HOURS illuminate those morbid uncanny perils and dreads that inhabit drab corners, the known and unknown terrors of the night.  Vivid and distinct, her voice echoes our worst fears then delves beyond, exposing hitherto unimaginable frights.
Prepare to confront a motley array of ghouls and menaces that might just move under your bed.
Look for an Illustrated Print Edition with quirky art by the author.

Available on Amazon!

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