Story Saturday: Dreams (Poetry)

Photo by Konrad Odhiambo

 

*Written for #StorySaturday (Twitter)

 

 

Dreams

As sure as the sun rises in the morn

and the moon greets the stars at night

as I am with dreams meant to be alive and true

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Story Saturday: The Last Child (Part Three)

 

Thick fur blanket cradled her body

in the long wooden sled

as they silently sped along

in the deep snow.

 

Micah stood behind her on the edge of the runners

while he guided the half-dozen dogs in front

white flakes filled the air with the wind whistling in her ears

rugged mountains loomed on the sides

blocking her view of the sky.

 

“We’ll be in Nordpolen soon.” Micah said “Just keep looking ahead and you’ll see it.”

 

It felt like they were gliding through a dark tunnel

but as she peered ahead, speckles of light slowly appeared

and suddenly they broke out in to an expansive opening;

there lied a village nestled on the banks of the immense mountains

which ran along the shores of a mirrored lake,

the lights from the buildings shimmered on its surface;

the sight made her gasp out loud.

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Micah said.

“Oh, yes!” She replied.

“You’ll be staying at Saint Nick’s tonight.”

 

Instead of remaining on the main route, they veered off on a smaller trail

which took them through a dense forest;

for several moments, fear shook her body

as she watched moving shadows among the trees.

 

“You have nothing to fear.” He said.  “I won’t let anything harm you.”

She took deep breaths until her muscles relaxed, and heart slowed.

“Look, we’re here.” He said.

 

She glanced out and saw the wondrous sight;

stone walls cloaked by fresh snow, all lit up in white lights

revealed the way to a large rustic lodge

its front nothing but glass

in the center, an enormous decorated Christmas tree.

 

“Welcome to the Christmas Lodge.” Micah smiled.

 

 


 

Missed the previous two parts?  You can read them here!

Part One

Part Two

 

 

 

 

 

Story Saturday: Santa-Zombie Story

Nearly a year passed since the start of the undead plague

she’s been on her own since

in an empty house, in a not-so-empty neighborhood.

 

 

Christmas Eve

she decorated the dead tree with handmade ornaments

made from cereal boxes;

took the last can of Spam as her treat for the white bearded man

and placed the plate on a table beside the sofa.

 

 

With a bat in hand, and the sounds of death rattling at the front door,

she fell asleep on the dusty furniture

in front of the cold, stoned hearth.

 

 

Rustling sounds awoke her

with a great start,

as she swung the bat through air,

a voice sounded,

a voice so beautiful and warm

it caused her eyes to sprang open;

bewildered, stunned

she stared at the not-so-frightful sight.

 

 

A chubby man dressed in a red suit

stood before her;

she blinked and swinted

thinking she’d died already or just dreaming

but saw that this was no dream

Santa,

he was really real!

 

 

He held out his hand,

“Come, let me take you to a wonderful place.”

 

 

In a blink of an eye, she found herself

on the roof-top

where a sleigh and eight reindeer stood waiting.

 

 

Santa, beside her now, smiled;

a smile she’d thought never would form on her lips again,

she returned with glee.

 


 

Note: This story has been renamed to “The Last Child” and a video portion of this story can be found here.

 

 

 

 

 

Story Saturday: Teddy Bear (Horror Poem)

 

I wrote this short poem for #StorySaturday (Twitter).  Today’s Teddy Bear Day and being me, I couldn’t write a nice and sweet poem-it had to be twisted and scary.

 

The girl hides under

the folds of the quilted cover

with her teddy bear

waiting

Murky shadows move

with an un-natural purpose

to claim and possess

wholly

When she opens her

eyes only to see the rising

sun, her bear on the

floor, frayed

She reaches for it and

embraces the toy to her wet face

and receives the scent

of death

One-Liner Story Saturday: Ghosts of Bear River

bear river massacre

Bear River, Idaho

 

As she walks across the meadow she could almost hear the voices of past lives echoing through the sparsely forested terrain; with the breeze caressing her body,  their faint howling cries icing her to the core with haunting images of despair and betrayal.

 

*Inspired by article, Site of Deadliest Native American Massacre Identified in Idaho