Tag Archives: Writing

The Skin I’m In

Sorry for the late posting, guys! I’ve been back in the States visiting family so my mind and time has been limited. (As you may see when you read this.) But writing is important and I have to keep at it!! My prompt:



The Skin I’m In

I turned the corner and saw myself at four years old. Not a phantom, but the physical me, on the last day I ever danced.

When I was born, my mother wasn’t surprised at my lack of mortality, but she was livid. My hair grew out into pink waves while my eyes took on a sea green color that clashed with my sunset colored skin. Mother tried to use makeup and dyes to hide my appearance, but when my wings sprouted out from between my shoulder blades, there was nothing she could do anymore. “You’re disgusting,” Mother would say to me, her eyes never resting on me for more than a minute. “If ever there was an example of a dangerous one night stand, that’s you.”

I tried not to let it bother me.

When I was one and a half, I knew better than to look out the windows. I was a creature of disgust and needed to act like it. At the same time, I was supposed to act like the other toddlers my age, keeping my talking and observations to myself. Most days, I stayed in my room, dancing to the tunes that spilled out of my radio. I got quite good at matching my steps to the sounds, my body moving on something akin to instinct. It was the only time I ever felt truly happy: when my body became the movements of dance. Continue reading


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My prompt was to take this picture and transform it:


So I did. 

What happened was I took on a voice of someone completely different than anything I’d ever written. I’m not sure it’s good. I’m not even sure I like it. But until I’m 100% sure, I’m going to be proud of it. 



Her name was Roma and she was beautiful, even if she was deadly.

When this whole thing started, I’d been looking standing on my balcony, the waves in the distance luring me into a sense of dreariness. At least I’d hoped it was the waves. I was only on my third Birra Moretti so I couldn’t possibly be drunk. No, I knew I was still sober all the way up until my fifth drink.

That’s when I saw what I thought could only be explained as an illusion.

With her hands, she touched the man like a thousand year old vase that might shatter at the slightest pressure. Her lips moved in a way that suggested she might kiss him at any moment. My conscious hinted that it would be proper to leave them be, to walk back inside my room, finish off my drink, then head to bed. But curiosity got the best of my bored self and I watched. I waited for the beautiful woman’s lips to meet with the man’s, but it never did. It was then I realized she didn’t plan on kissing him.

She was singing. Continue reading

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Hannah and the Wolves — Part I

Hannah had no idea that the wolves at Big Run Wolf Ranch took human forms at night until she met Isaac.

Every Saturday, Hannah went to the ranch to volunteer her time to take care of the animals that took up residence there. She fed the twelve wolves, gave the black bear his Girl Scout cookies, bathed the skunks, chatted with Charlie the cougar, avoided the coyotes (they had evil in their eyes), made faces at the hedgehogs, and sometimes chased a chicken or two. On the last Saturday of the month they would open the ranch to the public with an Open House.

The month was October and for this Open House, the staff was dressed up. John, the owner of the ranch, was a cowboy. Mark, the grill master of the “Howling Café” was a muscley Tinker Bell. Mary, Mark’s wife that worked in the gift shop was a pirate. The random volunteers from the local high school came as whatever made them look the hottest. (They didn’t get names. They came and went faster than house flies and were just as annoying.) As for Hannah, she came dressed as Little Red Roding Hood.

“Oh that’s funny,” John said when Hannah showed up for the day. “Are you here to see your grandmother, Little Red?”

Hannah made a point to stare at his greying hair. “Grandfather is more like it.” She smiled then because even though she and John were not related, he treated her like family and she him. “Actually, I just thought it would be ironic considering all the wolves.”

“You do seem to be a fan of that irony,” he said.

“It’s true.” The wind pushed back Hannah’s red hood, revealing her long, red hair. Unlike the highschoolers, Hannah had dressed for the chilly weather. Under her red cloak she wore thick black leggings with red leg warmers (to match the cloak) and her tall, black boots. “So where are you putting me today?” Continue reading


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