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That's not how the story should have ended.

in

My father killed my mother in 1993. I was 10. Most of my work is inspired by my past. Enjoy.

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That's not how the story should have ended. 

Stabbed to death, all cold and scary.

No more fairytales, lego jails or home made clothes on bloody mary. (Our Barbie doll. Her wounds we tended)

 

We couldn't pretend it didn't matter,

Misplaced trust all crimson faces in afterworld misleading places.

Grief does many things to too many people. Mine gave me mistrust the only thing that was ever equal.

 

They shared the same lack of my faith as that in I, I could not face.

I was the killer and he was me. My rightful father so it seems. We shared the blood we shared the veins I wore the bit he held the reigns.

 

That's not how the story should have ended.

With memories of how she was left instead of dancing so affectionate.

We're left with soundless empty death.

 

That's why I smile for what's been kept. 

My story isn't over yet.

 

Tracie Rose Daily.

 

By Tracie Daily

From United Kingdom

Website http://www.tracierosedaily.home.blog

Instagram @traciedaily

Twitter @traciedaily

Seven For A Secret

in ,

I sometimes enter the submissions for short plays by theatre groups, I’ve never been selected but they get hundreds for only a few slots. This doesn’t stop me being proud of my work and so the following is a short play I wrote. It’s an Agatha Christie style mystery.

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ACT I

Scene 1

…old fashioned sitting room (1920s esq). There is an analogue clock on the wall saying seven to twelve but it doesn’t move for the whole play. There are three people. ANTHEA in her 20s with a string of beads round her neck, the flapper. She is standing, just right of the centre of the stage, by a table looking in to a mirror. Near her is an empty wooden…

By Arthur Hofn

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Legacy

in

…born in the legacy of a poet, both blessing and curse

A poet who poured his drinks as often as he penned verse.

Hasty, swift, trembling wrists, alternating, tipping and rising.

I thought it was a game, a movie, he was always disguising,

Compromising his health, family, soul, yet blinded, stoic.

Till one day his poisoned blood decided to stop flowing.

I was born twice, once in death, had to learn early I must keep going.

Left with half a soul, from its withered branches growing

A voice, echoes of hope, pure love, stability, an ability

To deal with life's…

By Madalina Schiopu

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Sacrificial Atonement (Book 3 in the Ville Rose trilogy)

in

This is the opening chapter in Book 3 in the Ville Rose trilogy:

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Chateau Eugénie, Albas, France, 22 November 2036

“She is now fully dilated. It’s time to leave the bath,” said the mid-wife, whose name was Jessica.

“Come on Jules, you gotta get out of this bleedin’ bath unless you wanna give birth to a blinkin’ tadpole!” Tracy said and signalled to Didier to take her sister’s other arm. They lifted Juliette from the water and onto her feet. He scooped her warm wet body into his arms.

Juliette wanted a natural, water-birth for her baby. She chose to have the child…

By Gillie Bowen

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Scandalous Revelations (Book 2 in the Ville Rose Series)

in

This is the opening chapter of Book 2 in the Ville Rose Series

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La Minoterie, Montauban, Aveyron, France, 21st May 2035

…not my biological father, is he?” Juliette attempted to keep the hostility from her voice but her mother looked up sharply and swung round in her chair. Alarm registered in Patricia’s astonishing green eyes and she pushed her long, dark hair behind an ear in a characteristic gesture.

“What on earth do you mean, Juliette? Who isn’t your biological father?” She stood, hesitated briefly, and then moved swiftly towards her daughter, her arms outstretched. Juliette stepped sideways, avoiding the…

By Gillie Bowen

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Towering Expectations

in

This is the opening chapter of the first book 'Towering Expectations' in the trilogy, The Ville Rose Series. All three books are available on Amazon.

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1999

15 Rue d’Embarthe, Toulouse

He was still in bed. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and he was still in bed.

…opened the door to their bedroom in the flat on the third floor of the house in Rue d’Embarthe and frowned. Normally, it would have amused her and she’d have climbed in next to him and they’d have made love. Instead, today, she was irritated by his laziness.

“Have you been in…

By Gillie Bowen

By Gillie Bowen

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A Peculiar Demise

in

The weirdness began on the day I died…

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…view from up here is incredible and makes me feel somehow complete, which is ironic. I’m aware of the fact that I’m dead, although any disassociation from my material being doesn’t seem to have kicked in yet. I look down, out across the world that I’ve called home for thirty-six years, and I realise with some slight sense of melancholy that I won’t miss it at all. I’ve had a damn good run. But all good things, as they say, must come to an…

By Martin Webb

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