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I take the path of most resistance. I have been writing since grade 3. I have a Bachelors Degree in Fine Arts with a major in Drama and a minor in English.

Short Fiction

Photo by Jon Thomson on Unsplash

The fragrant air greeted him as he opened the door and let the quiet morning fill every inch of the car. The dew of the early morning glistened across the sand, making the man feel almost unwelcome. He didn’t want to step down and leave his prints on the wet earth. The warm morning light caught the mist, glittering, and dancing as though he was watching a performance designed and presented to only him. He wanted the beach to stay pristine forever.

He knew that wasn’t possible and sighed, heaving one foot in front of the other. His recent knee…

Random musing from having too much time to think on my drive home.

Photo by Alessio Zaccaria on Unsplash

Now hear me out. I may have been listening to too many murder podcasts but that is neither here nor there. Can one possibly listen to “too many podcasts” anyway?

I digress.

When we dislike someone or someone who did something to infuriate us, we say to them “go to hell!” With as much passion and/or disdain as we can muster.

When we love something, we declare “this is heavenly” or “I’m so blessed!” Though, my own personal opinion is not favorable for the “I’m so blessed” phrase. It’s overused in pop culture. Find a new adage, please! In addition…

Fiction — darkness twisted around him — the ink staining his skin until you could no longer see him

Photo by Ryan Stone on Unsplash

Chasity wiped her hands on her thighs. The sick satisfaction of a job well done filling her with a sense of accomplishment. She felt she deserved a trophy for this one.

She had sliced each handoff with precision. She had beheaded her acquaintance with a skill that could only be honed after many years of trial and error.

This man. This person she had thought she loved, was now her long-term service trophy.

Sure, she had murdered and maimed countless others but none with the perfection that she had sought and found with Trevor.

He was perfect in every way…

I mean, it could have been a true story about an amazing date…

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

I knew he wanted to marry me the first time he laid eyes on me.

My buck teeth caught the light most magically, like one of those fancy light catchers that old people hang in their kitchen windows.

Ted had a bit of spittle hanging from the corner of his nearly black lip. I believed at that moment; he would trade his black licorice love in for me.

On our first date, he picked me up in his mom’s Marquis. I knew it was his mom's because there was plastic wrapping on the seats and doilies on the headrests.


I’m certain that I’m losing my mind

Photo by Romson Preechawit on Unsplash

“Where the hell are my lucky underwear?” Frustration mounts as I dig through my drawer. This can’t be happening today. I need every ounce of luck I can garner to pass the interview. I had just done laundry two days before and I know that I haven’t worn them since so they can’t possibly be in the dirty basket.

Admitting defeat, I select a random pair, finish dressing, and run out the door, hitting the lock button before trying the handle to ensure the door is secured despite hearing the deadbolt slide into place. It’s a beautiful summer day with…


Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Big blue eyes peaked out from under curly brown fringe. Those eyes seemed to know everything. There was also a fire behind them, that sparkled mischievously. At five years old, the child had an old spirit about her. She mothered over her older brother, making sure he was okay in every sense. He had special needs and she made it her life mission to make sure he had everything he could need. He wanted for nothing.

Her blue eyes would burn grey and she would bristle if her brother so much as cried out. Springing into action, she would ask…

When night terrors attack adults.

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Night two.

Late into the evening and several hours after I should have been asleep, I desperately try to find the sweet spot in my bed where I can comfortably fall asleep, frustrations mounting as the hours draw nearer to the morning and stealing precious sleep from me. The next day will be twice as long and hard if I don’t find peace and surrender to the whimsical world behind my eyelids. The sheets wrap around my legs as they pull away from the corners of the bed. I suddenly no longer feel safe. …

I want to write short stories and poetry for 'The Lark' publication.

Thank you for your time and considersation.

When night terrors attack adults.

Photo by Alvaro Reyes on Unsplash

Night one.

My heart is pounding. I can feel the sweat slide off my face and pool under my cheek and forehead on my pillow. No matter how hard I try to open my eyes, I just could not seem to break free from the deep sleep that keeps pulling me back.

With great effort and very much against my body's will, my eyes peel open, slowly slide back shut and then finally struggle to stay open. Darkness stretches out across the space, making it impossible to see any shapes at first. As my vision adjusts to…

A semi-true tale of a Home-owner versus the Sparrows

Photo by Cédric VT on Unsplash

It started with one. It always starts with one. That one was lonely so he invited a “friend” over.

One thing leads to another and shortly thereafter, there was a small, unintended but graciously excepted delivery of babies, three to be exact.

Having an inexplicable fear of birds and things that can fly near the landlord's face and hair, she was very displeased with this family of birds.

I’ll take down their nest and hope they find this real estate not as satisfactory. The landlord grumbles with disdain.

After the nest…

Crystal Rutherford

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