Creative Writing, Fiction, Writing

Spirit in a Material World

A spirit watches life passing, an ever flowing streams of light and sound. Colors swirl and dance, touching for a moment before moving on. Hopes and dreams sparkle, fireflies at dusk, here then gone and back again. 

She reaches out, a bitter sweet smile upon her lips, watching life slip through her fingers.

Creative Writing, Fiction, Writing

A Story (Story Snippet)

The room was silent, the air still. Sweat dampened her clothes and hair leaving them clinging to glistening skin. Standing by the lone window, arms held tightly across her stomach, tension rolled off her in waves which were almost visible.

Not for the first time I wondered how a figment of my imagination, a wisp of a dream, could seem so real I could almost reach out and touch her. 

There were times when I thought I knew her better than I did myself, others I was left thinking she was a stranger, separate. Thinking of her blazing blue eyes, they often seemed endless wells, which if I fell into them, I would lose myself forever. 

I tossed myself onto the bed, pointedly keeping my eyes on the yellowing paint on the ceiling.

Creative Writing, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Writing

Dream Flight (Flash Fiction)

There were times when she would stay up all night watching, waiting for the tell tale flicker of distant lights moving across the dark sky, thinking of all the people coming and going to places she could only dream about.

Maybe, she would think. Maybe one day she too would be a light among the stars.

Fiction, Work In Progress, Writing

The Musings of Ms. Tittle (A Scrap of Fiction)

Ms. Tittle was a small woman. So small she had once been mistaken for a Halloween decoration by little Billy Dodge until she moved, which startled him so badly he fell from the porch and crushed her forget-me-nots. The poor boy swore off trick or treating forever and spent the rest his years safely locked away behind a stout oak door on All Hallows Eve.

Sitting in her chair on the porch next to a metal Tv tray, (which she has used as a table ever since the television went on the blink), upon which rested a cheap plastic vase filled with green foam and dust covered plastic flowers, a pitcher of lemonade and her favorite cup. One of those big Tupperware cups, (her friend Mildred swore wasn’t available any more so she had best never lose this one), she did what she did every afternoon when the weather was favorable which was to think of as many things as she could which she was convinced no one else had ever thought of before the moment they popped into her head.

“Everyone lives in their own little universe”, she thought, “and they clump together like grapes on a vine because they are attracted to others who universes are similar. After all, no one wants to think they are alone in their beliefs and so they cling to one another out of desperation; oh, and the occasional brunch, of course.” 

Creative Writing, Fiction, Short Story, Writing

Secrets (Short Story)

By Kira A. Moore 

She stood at the window, light highlighting the tips of her hair, her body draped in the shadow she cast across my bed where I waited in pensive silence. Looking at her I felt a chill creep across my skin, raising goosebumps and I suspected I would never be completely warm again.

Her voice floated across the room, soft as down, brittle and knife sharp,

“Secrets are demons you know. Your hopes. Your dreams. Your trust. They destroy everything.” 

She didn’t turn but I felt her eyes burning into mine. “Then they devour your soul.”