Cold Cemetery Nights (microfiction)

Out here in the cold cemetery nights, the greenish-blue tint of my death fantasies come alive. I’m not much a fan of the waking hours; the dead are more on my level, the way they hold nothing back when they speak to me and tell me of their underground dreams and experiences. I think it was my father who said, when I was just a young boy, that, “The dead hold secrets the living can learn from, if only we listen to the whispers of the night.”

Cold cemetery nights, not such a fright to me. Others have rebuked me for my twilight walks, stalking among the graves, but I ignore them. The gravedigger works overtime every night; I’m not sure if he’s dead or alive. I see him digging these deep holes most nights, allowing the souls to re-enter the world. The gravedigger’s name is Cain – he has the brightest blue eyes, a slim yet muscular frame, and hands so calloused they bleed every night.

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Nightmare Within the Nightmare (microfiction)

Along the river, the dream skyline beckons to me. Awash in frosted colors of winter, a mixture of cool blues, greens, and yellows, each light is a thousand people burning and dying away. Those high skyscrapers and towers shooting from cold, neon concrete, and those burning people screaming in agony in unison, is the perfect nightmare chorus for this evening.

The river water reflects the shades of my character flaws. A little bit of gluttony, lust, pride, and other deadly sins, a watery grave to put them in. I’m approaching the harbor with my doppelgänger, a slightly deformed version of myself; the eyes are too sunken, the teeth too sharp, and the appetite too large.

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Momentarily Sane (a poem)

My lover chisels away rough edges
Around the center of my heart
But sharpness still remains

I cannot contain darkness sometimes
Lying on concrete in the cold dawn
There’s a man standing above me
I reach for the rosary he carries

He offers salvation in a kind way
Not like the charismatic preachers
I used to know in traveling days
He tells me, softly, that Jesus
Turns his back on no one, including
Pimps and hustlers with their
Scarred faces and crooked teeth

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Garden of Night (a prose poem)

I. A Dark Field

There is a field shrouded in darkness. You’ve been there before, though you only vaguely remember it. Maybe you saw it in a dream, but maybe, you were there in waking hours, but it’s buried deep inside your mind.

The field is like this: Cold, completely dark; the only sound is a groaning wind. There’s no moon in the sky, nor can you see where the sky and horizon meet because it’s as if you were blind. Yet, a fire burns far off in the distance, and you smell sulfur. The wind kicks ashes in your frost-bitten face.

You’ve been here before, you know it.

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Unknown Gods (a poem)

Pitter-patter, rain soaks the earth
And I pray to the unknown gods
Asking for mercy, but they force me
To give up on idealized visions
Of future civilizations of peace

We all want a piece of harmony
But are we willing to pay the cost?
In the terrible frost of endless winter
We’ve become jaded and bitter

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Shadows, Light, and Myth (a poem)

There is no light without the shadow
There is no dawn without the darkness

In the primordial awakening, the Sun God
Was bathed in intense light and the blinding
Rays of gold accompanied his coronation

He met Mother Moon in the field, in the cover
Of the darkness, their naked, lithe bodies
Faintly shining by the light given off
From each of them, as they consummated
The love of the world

The shadows danced in the tall grass
And The Shadow Man peered from behind
The shadow-side of each of the Gods
Their murderous and lecherous sides

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My Scream was Muffled (a poem)

Who do you answer to?
We all serve someone, whether at the
Behest of a gun pointed at our chest
Or the collapsing sky and shifting
Sands beneath our tired feet

My scream was muffled by the millions
Of hands placed over my disgusting mouth

My words have no meaning anymore
I’ve taken a detour on
Information destruction highways
Where so much data is stored in
My false brain that I no longer
Know if I’m sane or part of the
Mega-corporation whole

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Hush, Little Baby (flash fiction)

Halloween may be over, but that doesn’t mean we should stop reading and writing creepy fiction! Here’s a piece of horror flash fiction about a child screaming in the woods and a scary encounter. It’s about 630 words and has an estimated reading time of 2 and half minutes. Let me know what you think!

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Dead Lover in the Machine (flash fiction)

Happy Halloween! Here’s a piece of darkly humorous flash fiction about an Amazon Echo and a widowed husband who has trouble moving on. It’s about 820 words and has an estimated reading time of 3 and a half minutes. Though it’s not technically a ghost story, I thought it had some elements making it good light fun for Halloween. Let me know what you think!

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