Original Bits and Pieces

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Sep 22, 2020
bound to my writing chair.
An A N T H O L O G Y . . .

of writing that I have that I feel like sharing Most are one-shot scenes or flash fictions.

Any comments, constructive criticism, love, or otherwise is always appreciated.

Thanks for reading <3
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Sep 22, 2020
bound to my writing chair.
. . . Monday Therapy
[modern-dystopia setting; dialogue story]

She just sat there, staring at the bland white ceiling.

“So, what would you like to talk about today?”

The psychologist, Dr. Harold Newman if she remembered correctly, broke the silence. She decided she didn’t like him the moment she sat down. His pretentious office furnished in dark woods; diplomas the only frames on the off-white walls. He was careful—keeping the pictures of his family probably hidden on his computer desktop wallpaper. Now she knew why she was there. Because the others were afraid of what she could… Or would… Do.

“Did you know you’re the fifth psychologist I’ve seen in the last five years?”

“Yes. I have all of their notes.”

“Hm.” She didn’t look down from the ceiling. “Makes me feel like an unwanted child being moved from foster home to foster home.”

“Were you an unwanted child?”

She scoffed. “No. My parents kept me. Though, one has to wonder if that was the best decision. How long are you going to keep me until I’m off to the next one?”

“I’ll be here as long as you need to be here.”

That response made her look down, a cynical smirk on her lips. “Yeah; that’s what the last one said. And I never said I was here voluntarily.”

“That’s right.” A shuffling of notes. “Your brother recommended it.”

The smile disappeared and she looked back up at the ceiling. “So long as it keeps him happy.”

“He’s older than you?”


“Has he always been looking out for you?”

“Well,” she looked down again, “when our parents were busy, he had to take care of me.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“You care enough to follow their line of work—“

“I’m. Not. Like. Them.”

“Oh?” He knew he hit a nerve. She hated the smug look all the psychologists got when they pushed the ‘parental issue’ button every single time.

“My parents were extremists.”

“And you are…”

“An Engineer.”

“Working for…”

A long moment of silence.

“Look.” She sat up straight, eyes staring daggers at the doctor. “My parents were after some imaginary Giant Lizard Men that their group believed ran the entire world. I actually stand for something. Not some sort of fiction.”

“Some call the Templar movement—“

“And some call all psychologists Quacks. I thought you were supposed to be unbiased.”

“I am. I am.” He wrote down a few notes. “Why did you join the movement?”

“Because I feel the movement is right; people need someone to take a stand.”

“What’s the real reason?”


A new topic. She was now looking at the wall behind him.

“These notes say you have a bit of a history of violence.”

“Violence? More like holding my brother back while simultaneously bailing my parents out of jail.”

“So all those case workers before you were ten—“

“Were because I sometimes I ended up in the middle when punches ended up being thrown.”

“Then why were you—“

“I fought back, Doc. Those so-called ‘parents’ didn’t care if they hit their eight year old when really fighting with their thirteen year old. No one should have been punching in the first place.”

“Who stopped the fighting once you ended up in the middle?”

“My brother did. He always protected me.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

A simple shrug. “I owe him at least this request.”

“Why did he send you here?”

“Because he was… Is… Worried.”


“Time’s up, Doc.” Turned out she had been watching the clock the entire time they had been discussing. “I have to get to work now.”

The doctor stood with her. She pulled on her jacket quickly, stepping over to the door.

“Same time next week?” she asked simply.


Sep 22, 2020
bound to my writing chair.
. . . Hello, Darkness
[fantasy/sci-fi; one-shot scene]

The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own heart and breathless gasps. She desperately clung to the shadows as she tried to calm her breathing--she couldn’t make herself known. If she was caught, she was dead.

His name was… something… “-psycho”. Lexi had never gotten his name right ever since he had shown up. She had never bothered; she hadn’t expected him to be around long, or that he would end up targeting her.

That was her mistake. She had stopped paying attention to him, and now it was three weeks since his arrival and he had a little clan of followers. He had caught her during her midnight stroll that she took whenever the moon was full, the stars twinkling so bright it lit the paths of the dark forest. The setting reminded her of home; of her past life. A silent walk in the woods to clear her mind, the only light from the sky when the overgrown trees allowed the moonlight to shine through the heavy leaves.

She cursed herself for being so predictable.

His followers were all relatively new or new enough that that they often hid in the safe confines of the Hub. There were about five in the party, including him. She had managed to get away before they could overpower her, but not before they could hit her a few times.

Lexi held her breath and closed her eyes, wishing the shadows would absorb her as “ “-psycho walked right in front of her. Her lungs burned--she didn’t have the capacity right now to hold her breath long.

Thankfully, he was impatient. He only walked slow enough to be a looming threat for a second; he was expecting her to start running again if he got close. Lexi exhaled as slowly as her bruised ribs would let her, patiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she stretched her cramping hand muscles. She couldn’t feel the relief of relaxing the muscles for too long before she pressed the palm of her hand back on the bloody gash on her shoulder near her collar bone, her hand cramping quickly once more.

Once she was certan that “ “-psycho and his little party had left, she stepped out onto the path. She had no energy to transport back to the Hub, and she didn’t have any medical kits on her--she had never needed them on these walks.

As she stumbled over a tree root that had broken the surface of the dirt trail, she let out a tired cry as she fell against the large oak’s trunk, her damaged shoulder hitting the solid bark first. She had no idea which direction she was walking--if she was getting closer to the hub and civilization or deeper into the woods. She felt nothing on her right side, where her arm hung completely limp and unusable. Whatever had taken a chunk out of her shoulder had probably done too much damage to the nerves that connected the rest of her arm.

Lexi coughed as she tried to catch her breath once more, leaning against the tree for support.

She was done.

Not defeated, not dead; just done. She was done with being a target and being forced to fight. She was done watching friends and foes alike kill each other senselessly.

She was done being alone.

As the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears began to fade again, the burning in her chest subsiding as her breathing calmed, she listened carefully. It wasn’t footsteps she heard, or a rustling of leaves. The sound was low to the ground, behind the large oak tree that held her up. The sound was a thick, lazy lapping noise of murky water. Using her left arm, she hugged the tree and slowly walked around to see if what she was hearing was correct.

Lexi had seen this swamp before. It never had a specific location, showing up all over the maps that were far enough outside of the hub that no one could actually record its position. She’d heard people discussing it, but never said anything. She never wanted to admit what it was, because it seemed to haunt her more and more regularly, the more often she wandered far enough away from everything. To her, it was Real Death.

As her eyes adjusted to the new darkness, the moon never reaching the space where she was sure the swamp was, she could see the dirt transform into a wooden dock, creating a boardwalk into the middle of the murky, thick water that gurgled with groans, whimpers, and cries of the souls trapped inside.
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