Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Smart @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Can You See Me Now? 
by Kendra Smart 

Alexandria Castile had always had the “imaginary” power of being invisible. Her Mother had instilled in her at every turn that there was never a want for her, it was all in her head. Her mistaken perception that warped the world to fit the narrative of her mind. In no short terms, her Mother made sure Alexandria never questioned the visage of the dutiful and perfect daughter her Mother had never wanted in the first place. No assumptions in that viewpoint at least. In one of the rare true conversations she had had with Claudine, from the horse’s mouth the truth had poured. An accident made in haste in the backseat, it would have been better if in truth Alexandria had been invisible. Had never existed at all. 

Hard enough to fight against that type of environment at home, but school had promised peace. A beautiful mirage of a lie, a delusion, but fallacy all the same. She tried to interact and to be their friend in the way she had always wished she had had. But the world is not as kind as fantasy permits it to be, and that could be seen in every media that portrays “lifestyle”. Relationships, bonds of any sort really, were not for her. But she still stalwartly trudged forward. Everything about her life began to become pretend. She just flowed through the days, time and date not mattering when no aspect of you is ever made important or special. 

She became numb. 

But really in the long and thick of life, what was she meant to have done? Was her course really to accept all the continued pain from the insanity of trial and error with the end result always being the same predictable ending? Pessimistic it may have been, but a truthful outlook was the least she owed herself. These peers her age had never made her feel any differently than her Mother had. In fact, they had found ways her Mother hadn’t thought of, and those seemed to cut worse in a way. 

Fate is not kind to those with insight and knowledge though, sometimes life decided that a smack on the hand was necessary. Alexandria made it to her Junior year of high school before life decided that her hand was the one meant to be rapped upon. Maybe that was how it was always intended to be.

A promise for extra credit wrapped in the thrall of adventure and memories made with friends. An easy enough venture for those not of the Physical Education fan club. 

She should have known better. 

It all started well enough, but the barbs began shooting around about why she was there. What help could she need with her grades? Five minutes. Alexandria timed them, it took all of five minutes for them to have her on their radar of conversation before they began joking and story swapping. The funny thing was, in the events of her pretending, she had BEEN there for most of their stories. Yet, none ever seemed to remember. 

Even the teacher would occasionally chime in. But never once after those five minutes was her name mentioned again. 

Alexandria just wanted to feel seen, to matter, to exist. Not as some forgotten bygone wisp of conversation, but truly feel seen by someone as necessary, as needed and wanted, just once. The more this sadness turned to anger, the warmer her body felt against the cold of the hike. The mountains weren’t too steep and the paths were clearly defined, but there were still warning signs for those outsiders seeking thrills. 

The gym teacher had probably done this hike himself several times over the years. But the path was icy, more so than anyone expected. But the ice conditions weren’t the only thing that worried her. Alexandria began to notice her skin changing as the warmth fed through her system. Her bones began to crack but it wasn’t painful, no the sound may have been cringe inducing but there wasn’t any pain. Only relief.

She was changing, becoming one with her surroundings. 

No. That wasn’t it. 

She was disappearing from view, becoming transparent. Invisible. 

She could see a small blur as her hands moved in front of her, Candy Moore, the girl directly in front of her, was clearly visible through her gleam. She dropped her hands, the cracking phase now gone. She felt a rush of energy with the warmth. She was faster, stronger, and all of her rage began to shockwave out from her body. 

She let the past go in the form of all her adornments and clothing. Embracing fully the fact that if she were truly to be invisible…she would make them all feel the pain that had created this monster. Why not? She had never been treated as human…so where was the impulse to keep acting like one going to get her? She would make them all suffer. 

The wind on the mountain howled, but as night fell the mountain was also alive with the sounds of torment and torture. A new myth would be born from the whispers and terrified musings of the townsfolk, but Alexandria had finally found her calling. The newspapers would soon enough catch wind of this “unseen terror” that had 157 deaths to their name…and counting.

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Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Smart:

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Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.

We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.

Available on Amazon!  

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nina D’Arcangela @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

We Shouldn’t Know
by Nina D’Arcangela

Oma arrived with the fog. She rode the planks leading from the shore to our stilted cabin, the bell on her bicycle dinged in frantic rhythm. The water had risen, her wheels squelched through the overflow. She’d warned it would come, and we’d practiced: shutter the windows, bar the door, slide the curio over the fishing trap in the floor – all tasks we completed within moments of her arrival. When we no longer heard sounds from beyond our walls, we snuffed the candles, sat quietly together on the floor wondering what was out there. Oma said we shouldn’t wonder, we shouldn’t know. Knowing would be worse than not.

The hush from without became deafening. Oma breathed, “It’s begun.”

All was muffled, even our nervous whispers. It was as though we were hearing sound from far off, though we sat shoulder to shoulder. Oma stood; we fell silent. Arms extended with hands palm-up, Oma began to move about the room in a noiseless, disjointed dance. She kept her own measured pace to a metronome none could hear other than herself. She sighed her prayers with the motion of her body; I knew those prayers did not end with an Amen. Oma’s other people did not have such a word in their language. Backing into the corner farthest from the door, Oma stood stock still, her lips quivering. She looked to each of us one by one, tears rolling freely down her face. When her gaze settled on the last of us, her resolve strengthened. She shakily slid a piece of paper out of her pocket and carefully unfolded it, held it to her chest. Looking to us again, her eyes urgent this time, she did the last thing we’d practiced.

My heart slowed to a bare thump, my breathing calmed, my mind cleared; I was to inherit this duty if I survived. If not, others had been trained. I knew what the paper said, I knew the dance and its foot-scuffed sigil meaning, I spoke the words of the prayers with foreign lips for Oma had taught me, prepared me for my turn. Whether or not my people followed the ways, Oma’s did, and as her descendant, I was obligated to protect the mountain and its people. All of this I knew, and all this I would perform if necessary.

Oma flipped the paper over, and screamed the single word scrawled upon it – RUN! As we unbarred the door, we heard a deep rumble from under the house. A look back revealed a waterlogged arm punch its way through the floor, followed by a bulbous head and strangely elongated torso. Moreso than its appearance, its presence was paralytic. We locked eyes, Oma and I, just before it wrapped its mouth around her throat and dragged her broken body into the lake.

Now it’s my duty to watch for the fog, my obligation to protect what Oma left behind. If I’m lucky, it will skip my generation, if not, I’ll serve as Oma did. I’ll give birth, raise my children, and grandchildren, and one day, if the fog comes and the lake calls, I will have already passed on the ways, my new ways, to one of my own, and I will pray they never bare witness to what I saw that day.

Oma said we shouldn’t wonder, we shouldn’t know. Knowing would be worse than not. And she was right.

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More from Nina D’Arcangela:

Bent Metal

Where does reality end and dreamscape begin?

Woken each night by the sounds of screams and twisting metal, Lauren must relive the panic and fear of discovering her brother’s broken body on the asphalt. But each morning, she finds it’s only a dream… One she doesn’t want to keep having.

At what point does a dream become a nightmare, and a nightmare more than a figment of her subconscious?

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @darc_nina #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Her Special Day
by Angela Yuriko Smith

This is my special day, the moment I have waited for, my chance to be a queen. It’s the day my family brings me flowers, dresses me in jewels, and tells me I am beautiful. A tiara, a veil, and a dress that costs more than my rent adorn me, and for this day, this most special of days, I am a queen…

…but why am I celebrated on just one day? Am I a queen, or an offering? Draped in veils, the sacrificial lamb, your bride bribe, your constructed perfection. I stand amidst the lights, a silent centerpiece. My wishes dissolve into the folds of satin, my voice muffled beneath the veil.

Fairy lights flicker.
Borrowed time in rented silk—
Whose dream is this now?

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is a third-generation Ryukyuan-American, award-winning poet, author, and publisher with 20+ years in newspapers. Publisher of Space and Time magazine (est. 1966), two-time Bram Stoker Awards® Winner, and HWA Mentor of the Year, she shares Authortunities, a free weekly calendar of author opportunities at authortunities.substack.com.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Faith Dincolo @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Sunset Lake
by Loren Rhoads

Snaked water dripping ledges

Swirling swirling dervish moss

Her hair rushing around the

Granite rocks upside down

Pelvis up hands on breasts

Pink nipples trouted freckles

Back supine over ice carved boulder

Ruched ribs swans neck

Periously close oh little death

Hanging on to underwater moss rocks

Downstream waters rushing over

We are Lovers of the lake.

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Fiction © Copyright Faith Dincolo
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Faith Dincolo:

Not Just a Pretty Face: Women of Horror Vol. 1

Enter the minds of these women in horror feel your way through the darkness and escape the terror if you can, but above all enjoy the fear. These women are not just a pretty face. Featuring, in order of appearance: Jo-Anne Russell, Caitlin Marceau, Joanna Parypinski, Joanna Koch, Abby Andresen, Valerie B. Williams, Morrison, Laura J. Hickman, Faith Dincolo, Kala Godin, Suzanne Madron, Hailey Piper, Sara C. Walker, Erin Shaw, Aubrey Campbell, Mei Kerr, RL Meza, Emma Johnson-Rivard, Naching T. Kassa, Hayley Wynne, Gemma Files and Alice Loweecey.

Available on Amazon! 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Loren Rhoads @MorbidLoren @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

From Beneath 
by Loren Rhoads 

The sky had gone as pale as an ice cube. The knifing wind brought tears to her eyes. Alondra understood now why the outfitter had suggested she buy snow goggles. She wished she’d listened to him. Too late now.

She leaned heavily on her walking stick. She wanted to make it across the iced-over lake to the bared teeth of rock she could see in the distance. It wasn’t a welcoming place to camp, but if she could get her back against the rock, maybe she could get out of the wind.

She prodded the edge of the ice with her stick. Plenty solid. The surface must have frozen on a day as windy as this, so that it was roughened with tiny ridges. It made good footing under her boots: less chance that her feet would skate out of under her and she’d strike her head.  At last, something was going right with this adventure.

Alondra hunched into her parka and moved toward the rocks methodically. Tap with her walking stick, make sure the ice was solid, move forward to join the stick. Tap, step. Tap, step. She kept her attention on the ice, with only brief glances up at the rocks to make certain she hadn’t drifted off course.

After a while, it seemed she could hear distant voices. They weren’t shouting, didn’t appear upset. It sounded almost like singing, like the long hollow whistle of breath across a bottle top. Maybe there were seven different tones, eight? The voices weren’t threatening or angry or mean. They sounded melancholy. The voices sang now in harmony, now clashing in discord, resolving again into parallel tones.

Was it the wind singing between the rock spires? That would make sleeping tricky tonight, Alondra thought.

It didn’t seem to make any difference how far she moved across the frozen lake, the voices did not increase in volume or grow closer, even as she neared the rocks. She sensed that whatever they were, they weren’t aware of Alondra. Not yet anyway. They were singing for their own pleasure, not to warn her away.

She had almost reached the rocks, only a couple hundred feet or so to go, when movement caught her eye. Something dark flashed past her, beneath the ice. Moving fast.

Alondra halted as suddenly as felt safe. The ice was clearly not as thick as she’d believed. Her heart knocked in her chest.

What could it have been? A seal, maybe, or a narwhal? Maybe a walrus? In her memory, it seemed long and narrow, more human than she would have expected. Whatever it was, it was going to have to come up to breathe somewhere. Did that mean that the ice had holes in it nearby?

She forced herself to draw a deep breath, then reached forward with her walking stick. Rather than tap the ice as she had been, she placed the stick, made sure it was steady, and glided forward to meet it. She didn’t want to make as much noise as she had been. This was no time to draw attention to herself in the mirror world above the ice.

There was nothing in this wintery habitat that didn’t eat meat.

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Fiction © Copyright Loren Rhoads
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Loren Rhoads:

Unsafe Words: Stories by Loren Rhoads

In the first full-length collection of her edgy, award-winning short stories, Loren Rhoads punctures the boundaries between horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction in a maelstrom of sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll. Ghosts, succubi, naiads, vampires, the Wild Hunt, and the worst predator in the woods stalk these pages, alongside human monsters who follow their cravings past sanity or sense.

The stories have come from the pages of the magazines Cemetery Dance, City Slab, Instant City, and Space & Time, the Wily Writers podcast, and the books Sins of the Sirens, Demon Lovers, The Haunted Mansion Project: Year Two, Tales for the Camp Fire, and more.

Available on Amazon! 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Scarlett R. Algee @ScarlettRAlgee @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Breakwater
by Scarlett R. Algee 

You stopped thrashing, bubbling, half an hour ago.

I’d always said I’d never come back here. Not back to this lake, back to this house, back to you. You’d bruised and broken me too much for that.

But after I left I found that you were a wound I couldn’t leave alone, an itch I could never quite reach, until I’d done something. And really, the house doesn’t look so bad now.

You couldn’t swim, you said once. Your parents had never let you learn, hovering like unburst bubbles. Didn’t I know that?

No, I’d said. You’d never told me.

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Fiction © Copyright Scarlett R. Algee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Scarlett R. Algee:

The Lift: Nine Stories of Transformation, Volume One

The hall is dark and the overhead light flickers. Sounds echo, and there’s a creaking and clanging that gets louder as you stand in the semi-dark. The elevator opens and you’re offered a ride. Step inside and ride it to the story chosen for your transformation. Don’t be afraid, for Victoria, the mysterious girl who operates The Lift, waits to guide you. Set in the same world as the award nominated audio drama, The Lift’s first written anthology features nine all new stories by fan favorite writers and special bonus content by creators Daniel Foytik and Cynthia Lowman. The collection is brought to life with beautiful illustrations by Jeanette Andromeda for each story.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kim Richards @Kim_Richards @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Ire of the Small
by Kim Richards 

Esme lounged among the luxurious duvet on her bed. Lying atop the white covering sat a wooden lapboard which balanced her mug of hot tea and a bergamot jar candle. Its citrusy scent filled the room. She smiled as she looked at it. Yes, as promised in the book, it lured the pixies to her. Now captured under a glass dome, she turned away from the open window and brought both inside her room. She set the pixies on the bed beside the lapboard.

She leaned forward on her elbows and stuck her nose close, nearly touching the sides of the glass. A hundred little rose gold lights buzzed around in furious circles. Occasionally one or two threw themselves against the sides of their transparent prison. Tink. Only after falling to the bottom of the dome stand, senseless from their attempts to free themselves, were their tiny bodies visible to Esme’s eyes. She thought their translucent wings and delicate limbs were adorable. She laughed when she heard their tinny, high pitched voices. Their curses were too cute to concern her.

Esme lifted the camera inherited from her grandmother and peered into the view square at her new pets. Click. Click. Click.

Suddenly, a free pixie flew across her face. It circled her head and landed on her nose. Its tiny form shook a fist at her and hurled a threat. Its hand clutched a tiny sword the size of a bumble bee stinger. In a swift movement, it stabbed Esme’s skin. A drop of blood formed where it jabbed her.

Surprised, Esme slapped her hand but missed the pixie. She bolted upright and cried out as the sudden movement splashed hot tea over her hand. The pixie became ten, then fifty, then a thousand as more of them flew in the window. They surrounded her in a tornado of little lights, pricking her skin as they passed. Their taunts buzzed in her ears, joined by shouts of encouragement from those under the glass dome.

She frantically swiped at them, yet their stinging strikes were relentless. A contingent of twenty massed into a formation and headed straight towards her face. Esme ducked down. The burning candle bounced up, hitting her on the forehead and dousing her eyes in burning wax. She cried out from the pain and thrashed, falling from the bed and hitting her head on the hardwood floor. The camera landed beside her.

The motion knocked over the glass dome. With shouts of glee, the prisoners flew up. They joined their rescuers and fled out the window.

As Esme stirred and tried to pick away the solidifying wax from her eyes, she heard a click. An evil giggle faded away and she was left all alone.

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Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Wild of Life and Fire   
by Asena Lourenco 

As I dipped my toes into the fresh pool of blue,

Amber streams danced in the clouds, and on their mirror too,

Crisp breath filled my lungs as I drew in the air,

Courtesy of the olive towers standing proud and fair,

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But within one blink, amber rays licked up the leaves,

And the warm hues of the sky faded into charcoal thieves,

Robbing the land of all life and light,

And beginning with the premature night.

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Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More about Asena Lourenco:

AsenaLourenco_2024

Asena Lourenco is sixteen years old. She loves playing hockey, singing, and playing piano.

She began writing short stories and poetry at a very early age, and has been writing with The Ladies of Horror Picture-prompt Challenge since she was ten!

As the youngest member of The Ladies of Horror troupe, Asena has an uncanny command of language and has handled each challenge with grace, enthusiasm, and an aptitude far beyond her years.

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

These Ancient Hills  
by K.R. Morrison 

These hills, or, rather, mountains, have been my home since childhood. For a mortal, that is a number that can be reasonably understood.

However, I measure my time in eons, not years.

These peaks once were mere hills. I roamed them with my friends, playing in their crests and valleys in all innocence.

Until The Scourge came.

Overnight our village was anathema, a byword to the people in the nearby town. Those untouched by the horror found themselves on the cutting edge of reality, as my family and friends converged upon them. Driven by a bloodlust we had no control over, we pillaged the town to satiate our thirst.

Those who survived fought back, once the initial shock subsided. They went on a counterattack, and in no time my kind, only too happy to be exterminated, lay under several feet of soil. You have to realize, most of the people in the village we attacked were related to us in some way. Many did not want an eternity of the thirst for blood.

Those of us who escaped the villagers’ hatchets found our way into the hills, and there we stayed. Over time our occasional night visits became something the people learned to expect. We never took more than we needed, and never ended the life of anyone.

Over time, my remaining fellows moved away to pursue victims afield, and I am now the last one here. The last one “living,” as it were.

I have seen this village I am currently hiding in go from roundhouses to stone buildings to the 21st-century materials they now use to make their homes. I have to admit, it’s getting harder and harder to keep from finishing off my current victim. There is no feeling of kinship there anymore. No one even believes in the threat I represent. Instead, they make toys and games from the ideas they have of my influence in earlier times.

But I can feel an undercurrent of anxiety now. It is because of a new presence.

Archaeologists have descended upon our hamlet, and they have started to dig up these mountains I have called home for so long. And from what I hear from my hiding place, they have discovered some shocking burials.

Shocking to them, at least. I remember these burials only too well.

Skeletons, decapitated, with their skulls placed between their legs, or completely missing and found somewhere else. Odd figures etched into the bones. Herbs buried with the remains.

I am divided in my mind. Should I tell these people why the burials have been arranged just so? I would like to remain the only creature of my kind roaming these mountains, but I also feel a wish to let the deaths of my fellows be avenged.

It won’t be long, I’m sure, until these scientists put the skeletons and their skulls together. It’s natural human curiosity. But it will also be their undoing.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a scream from the faraway mountains, and I know it’s too late for me to do anything to prevent the coming destruction.

My kin have risen up, and I will soon be reunited with my family and friends.

The bloodlust is irresistible now.

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Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More from K.R. Morrison:

Enoch’s Return: Pride’s Downfall Book 4

All hell broke loose, as demon fought saint, and undead fought mortal. Fangs and swords, fire and light, mingled in a cacophony of noise that would have awakened the dead — if they hadn’t already been in the pitch of battle.

Toby was looking forward to celebrating his 21st birthday with family and friends. However, the day is shattered by the arrival of his sister, Erica, fresh out of the juvenile detention center, where she has lived in isolation most of her life. There is something very wrong with her still; witness her biting the ear of her taxi driver and licking the blood from her lips, and the way she antagonizes everyone around her. The other thing that is very off-putting about the day is a gift he receives – a musty tent and a few iron spikes that have been lying in the ground for years. Toby faints at the sight of the “treasure,” while Erica reacts violently and runs off to who-knows-where.
While he is unconscious, Toby learns who he truly is, and of his mission.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

All the World is Drowning
by A.F. Stewart

Coiling grey mist descends the mountain,
enshrouding an inevitable corroded touch
and settling against the unremembered;
poisoning the existence of echoing ghosts

Enshrouding an inevitable corroded touch,
those fractured tears from a thousand fools
banging within the walls of their private hell

and settling against the unremembered,
filling mnemonic wells to the overflowing brim,
submerging the final sunshine of hope

Poisoning the existence of echoing ghosts;
voices reverberating with monumental regret
always drowning, ever drowning in death

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More from A.F. Stewart:

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Visions and Nightmares

Tragedy spares no one… and takes no prisoners.
In the twilight shadows, secrets are revealed past the whispers of madness.

Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, where humanity and marriage are a prison.
Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join with Zenna to seek the truth as her death by magic grows closer.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
All that and more await within the pages.

Ten stories. Ten women.
Who will survive? Who will fall? And who will succumb to their inner evil?
Find out in Visions and Nightmares.

Warning: This book contains disturbing scenes that may be upsetting to some readers.

Available on Amazon!

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