The hazy glow of the sun and the exhaustion from the morning brought an uncertainty to my eye. It couldn’t be true, it was an illusion, but oh how I wanted to believe it so badly; the golden curls, the eyes bluer than the sea that splashed at her ankles, the perfect way that the white dress fell on her seemless body. It just simply could not be true.

And yet as I took each step forward, the image...

The stench was unbearable. Even through a pinched nose did Bruce Harrington find himself gagging onto a piss-stained wall, hoping not to contaminate the evidence. He heard the heavy footsteps of his newly joined partner exit the alleyway. A blameless action, the nearly retired gentleman thought to himself. This was the worst one yet.

Braving the scene, Bruce found himself desperately trying, with...

Silence lingered in the air. It was a painful silence. The kind of silence that made Cirilla bite her lip and Neo twist his ring until a red mark had formed across his middle finger.

“This is bull-“

“Silas!” Cirilla snapped, cutting short the profanity that she never liked but always heard from her brother’s mouth. The brown-eyed boy returned a glare. Looking round at all of the faces now star...

A chill settles in the northern rivers, A ripple of frost tints the grass, And the feathers of the cozy creatures, Ruffle to warm them fast.

Their chattering and honks don’t ever cease, But grow into consensus of unrest, Now it’s time for the beady eyed geese, To choose to leave their nest.

Soaring across the weightless skies, A snowflake fluttering in wind, Geese dance and sing like flying kite...

It’s impossibly ugly this sweater, But I wear it each week, No matter the weather.

I once wore the beauty of clothes, That suit me so fine, Pretty as a rose.

But those who I trusted grew close, The light in the dark, The ones I loved most.

And they tore down all who was me, I was left to hurt, Ash and debris.

Thus the sweater hides myself, Protecting my heart, Everything I felt.

So I’ll push ...

It’s the middle of November and I’m trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don’t just bury themselves. I can feel the cold air prick at the skin on my face, and the tips of my fingers are growing numb against the slicing cold of the metal spade. Scoop after scoop, the endless pile of icy dirt piles up besides the body bags. I’ve been digging for what feels like hour...

When I died, my shadow decided it would take over.

It knew that for the survival of the body, we needed someone stronger than me. Someone more connected to the darkness. Someone who would do what it took to survive.

And when my shadow delivered upon its promise to finally save the body from the hell it was in, we knew it was safer if the darkness continued to protect us. We would never go back...

Weaving between the layers of mortality, Like a painting griping hold of its muse And the muse his painter, The threads of time wrap my silhouette.

I swim through oceans of significant occurrences And remember on a boat on a lake Sat the beautiful Angel of Music, And her songs’ eternal glory.

As her words dance in my brain, Like Anna’s Dying Swan soothing my soul Reminding me of the fragility...

A whistle of the wind hums it’s mournful tune. The leaves on the trees are gifted their melancholy dance. And a girl stands, phone in hand, in a red box like a trapped mouse.

The girl has a sad look to her. It is not the drooping corners of her mouth. Nor the reddened cheeks and nose like a baby in the snow. But the eyes that show a battle where defeat and loss follow after each other.

As the ni...

Fear, Sounding alarm, Headlights and deer, Suffocating, I can’t calm.

I feel myself falling, In a panic I am consumed, And heard by anyone I am calling Due to the prospect of a gashing wound.

But heard I am not for an overwhelming void, Silencing my anxiety toward the impending loss of my love, Yet whilst drowning I must stand strong, before hope is destroyed, As though the weight builds, I know...