Fiction & Short Story Author
He felt the sweet burn run down the back of his throat as he knocked back the last mouthful of the bitter coffee, slamming down the darkly stained mug onto his desk. He heard Trish jump behind him at the loud crash, knocking over the small stack of pens she kept beside her keyboard...
Deception! Lies! Trickery! Who did he think he was, playing with her as though she were nothing more than a toy? He had brought her hopes up so high, only to send them crashing down moments later with one fell swoop...
‘It’s my birthday’. That’s what the sign said, half propped against a much too empty box. It’s my birthday. Words the crept into my heart and left a chill that I couldn’t shake, no matter how I fought to beat it back...
The energy surged through him. He could feel the tingle as it wound its way down his limbs, almost as though it worked a bizarre magic across his body. Even his mind felt sharper, a keen blade that had been honed to a vicious point upon a whetstone...
The air was serene. Soft yet still. Marion could feel each light droplet of water that pattered onto the hood of her cloak, dripping down from the overladen branches that hung high in the forest’s canopy. High above, the sun hid itself behind the sea of low hanging clouds, leaving the forest’s floor pocketed with bursts of shadow...
Perhaps you have heard the tale before, perhaps not. In either case, you would find it wise to listen to my words, and let the story of Jardenyre’s cup treat your mind.
Did that punctuation belong there? It didn’t look right. And that word, surely that made absolutely no sense to have it in the phrase she did. Or was it? Maybe she was overthinking it, after all she had been at it for well over five hours...
