The Spark at the Core_It Was Me_The Chauffeur_A spoonful of sugar
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The Spark at the Core
Liz gasped and drew on the spark inside her to defend herself. Nothing. The tiny, flickering flame had been extinguished and she couldn’t even feel the embers. “I can do that,” said the man looming over her. Her cheek stung from the backhand he’d used. “What I gave you can be taken away.” Fear. Bright, blooming fear. It had been so long since she’d felt it and even longer since she’d felt it this intensely. She sat, silently, desperately searching inside herself for the spark of power that would give access to her flames. When she’d first been gifted, there had been classes to help her draw ou...
It Was Me
Dear Lord, up there above, if you’re listening. Please give him strength and power and everything you can. Please let me take him home tonight. “What’re you in for?” The man beside me murmured. We were the only two left, standing in the otherwise empty police station. I sat in my chair, hands clasped to my chest to keep it from shaking with worry. I knew my face was still, perhaps looking even expressionless, but it said nothing of the rampaging emotions in my mind. “I’m waiting for someone.” I responded in a raspy voice, rubbing my hands on my knees. “Oh. Me too.” He said. He was standing nex...
The Chauffeur
This story contains sexual violence and mental illness scenarios and is intended for mature readers.The undisclosed Priests voice came from the other side of the confessional. “My dear Son, whatever you tell me here is protected under any circumstances. If I break the sacred seal of confession, I will be subject to ex-communication from the church.”I made the Sign of the Cross and took to my knees. ”Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I lied to the court when I confessed to the murder of a young Prostitute. I did not do it but did bear witness to it.”“The penance you might consider before Go...
A spoonful of sugar
The smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon brought me from my hole of a room as the sound of "Monster Mash" emitted from my mother's old radio. My mother was a lonely woman, porced from my father when I was eleven years old. Now, I was sixteen and dragged into the horrid activity of decorating she had done for every holiday, every year for www.onedoor.ccthe past five years. Decorating was the only vice she had. "Oh, Mia!" My mother exclaimed, garish red lips spread into a grin. Her hands were covered with orange goop, encasing her fingers like a lurid coffin. One look at the counter showed that she had b...