Inside by David Boutin

This story was written by my 10 year old son David as a surprise for me.  I am indeed, surprised and pleased,  I hope you will be too. Melanie "Sometimes a story gets so crowded you can't tell an original story anymore." Scott Cawthon • Part 1 He turned the key in the lock and … Continue reading Inside by David Boutin

Thirsty Work

I want a drink. It is thirsty work Fighting your daemons Why not just give in? The bottle beckons; Dance, the cruel tease she Makes the poison glow The potion relieves Just one sip will make It all better - but It won't nor can it. Just another lie Like that from your lips ©MelanieMcCurdie

The Swollen Man

The voice in my head is incessantly whining at me;  Don't start.  Stop Crying.  Big girls don't cry.  You're stronger than this. Gods, shut up already.  I'm not stronger than this, not remotely.  Perhaps once upon a time,  when I could breathe and move without scrutiny and suspicion, and without resignation, maybe then,  I was stronger.  Now, … Continue reading The Swollen Man

IMO – The View From Here

Watching this election from my post has me concerned on so many levels. It's like watching a bad beauty pageant through a slot in the panic room door, and wondering which of the candidates is going to trip and explode. Bad whether the enforced steel doors are strong enough to withstand the blast. Someone likened … Continue reading IMO – The View From Here

La petite mort de la Folie

I didn’t mean to kill her. They, they were paintings on the wall, just collateral damage; She, Folie, with those bottle green eyes, I meant to kill her and with intent. It wasn’t intentional, more like a premeditated mistake - an unplanned surgical strike. She begged for rebellion and Folie followed the shadows With her unflappably bright … Continue reading La petite mort de la Folie

Two more days

as Eveline Hood Have you ever wondered what fear tastes like?  Like afraid for your life because this time it might be the end of it kind of fear?  If not, count yourself among the lucky ones.  To me, fear tastes like metal; like I've been sucking on a penny for too many hours.  Coppery. … Continue reading Two more days