The Unseen World of Abigail Dunn_Wounds for the Innocent_Little Drop_Bottled
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The Unseen World of Abigail Dunn
Abigail Dunn's fingers danced across the keypad in a wild frenzy. Her best friend's home security system delivered the promised piercing ring after her third unsuccessful try, somehow freeing the proper code from the dark corner of her mind in which had been hiding. She exhaled a sigh of relief and went back out the back door, putting the extra key back where it belonged—under the flowerpot.She paused for a moment before returning inside and reconsidered this plan of hers. In a matter of seconds, the events of the day began to flood her mind. In the pit of her stomach, a bitter concoction of ...
Wounds for the Innocent
tw: murder, violence It’s amazing what you can find on the internet these days- thought Diane Morales. Hell, maybe I would have even used it to find my Dad if I hadn’t given up on him entirely.Diane’s dilapidated apartment walls were almost completely barren minus a framed newspaper clipping entitled, “Will teenage prodigy Diane Morales follow up her hit novel, The Stalker’s Pray? A tale encompassing the life of a young pedophile killer.” The name of her novel was dwww.onedoor.cceliberately misspelled to emphasize the theme. Outside of her apartment, rain pounded against the window overlooking a dormant all...
Little Drop
Long ago, Brother Sky, high and mighty became torn asunder, A crack inside, his body split, and opened, to all of us under. And from upon the clouded high, fallen from great Sky’s dawn Came a Little Drop, a little god, the smallest of the Pantheon.For you see, among them was Brother Sky, and his Father Sun and Mother Moon, And his sister still, known as Mother of the Ground, not to mention her children too; Daughter of the Wind, and her Brother in Flame, Each of them, Gods so great, endless, in their fame.But Beyond them yet, lay the First, The Old Man of the Stars and their Nana of the Night....
Bottled
“Do you think it will work?” Lettie eyed the small bottle into which I was decanting a thin gray liquid from a small cauldron, roughly the volume of a large muskmelon. I was taking great care not to disturb the sediment that precipitated to the bottom of the cauldron as I slowly, carefully filled the bottle for Lettie. “It just looks like dirty water,” she grumbled, eyeing the coppers in her hand, payment for my services, and wondering if it was worth such a sum. I sighed, trying carefully not to break my concentration. “I assure you this is much more than just ‘dirty water’ Lettie”. I was ann...