Free Stories & Poetry

Babies’ bodies blasted to bits Politicians nursing the breast of Gun Gods Young bodies hide, cry, and scream Leaders dance in the land of milk Empty prayers Honey, blood money Smell Sacrilege, Taste Hypocrisy Parent’s worst nightmare, fires the life out of life Children ordered to grave before a chance to live So sweet, the…

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  Thank you for visiting my blog. Your joining my tribe of readers means so much to me! The best ways to support me in making the world a better place and giving reprieve and joy to those who need it most through my writing is: Like my Facebook Page and comment on my blog posts Join…

    Thank you for visiting my blog. Your joining my tribe of readers means so much to me! The best ways to support me in making the world a better place and giving reprieve and joy to those who need it most through my writing is: Like my Facebook Page and comment on my blog posts…

When my daughter is placed in my arms, my mouth falls open and I squeal. It feels good to have my husband, Richard, at my side and our daughter in my arms. I never regret my past, what I did. I embraced my time for revenge and lied with a confident heart. Yet God found…

Richard and I return to our work tending the water cows. The church takes a little of the money my father had. Father’s debtors are too afraid to acknowledge any relationship with him, so we are permitted to keep the rest. Everything else we had didn’t mean anything. I scan our small cottage: flimsy cots,…

Something sparked in you, Diana. You’re letting it change you. Take you over,” Mother said. I shake my head. My lips narrow, and the corners of my mouth turn downward. Dulcitius of Marburg sent his servants to notify the commune that we are to meet in the courtyard in the morning. We all will be…

It’s the strangest thing not to be able to speak with Richard. He was caught hanging around my cottage waiting for a chance to sneak in and see me. This is why Father and Mr. Kempe believe I have been with Richard to make my baby. I could hear Richard limping outside. Richard swore to them that…

The cot is cold against my skin. I cover myself with a thin blanket and wring my hands. Clasp them so hard that it hurts. I pray—no, beg— God to make my father leave us alone. I rub my upper arms for comfort and hug my shoulders. I stop fighting the memories. Memories of dark ghosts in my father’s form,…