It be well

I red a lot when I were young

Books and poems wrote by authors

People I dreamed of becoming

There words made me feel knew

They replenished my mind

And cleansed my sole

I writ until my hand did blister

And then I writ some more

I tried to find the secret, but

Wear it was I never discovered

In a book I red at school

One man writ that grammar,

That old muse, was key.

Yet, after all that I have read

and seen, and felt,

I say that love cannot be tamed,

By grammar, or anything else,

For when you love something,

Truly,

You give your time, your life to it,

You never stop,

And then one day

You start to get it right,

And suddenly,

Your dream of writing an epic poem

For generations to come to admire,

To create a world of wonder,

To make that girl proud

Of the person she has become,

It be well.

Is Anyone Out There?

I came here bushy-eyed and bright-tailed,

No, wait, what was it they said?

With an open mind I flew right in

Regardless of humiliation, and pain.

Anxiety followed me here, that’s right,

The soul sucking curse couldn’t let go.

Friends and family look on like I’m lost,

Which I do not doubt, but I do doubt myself.

Is there anyone else here? Honestly, please.

Show yourselves, you supposed angels

Such wonder I was promised, yet behold,

Nothing.

Drama was something I loved,

But the wizard didn’t pay out,

So I kept the shoes and ran.

Where are the people, where is the community?

My tail is dulling and my eyes are moulting,

Perhaps this isn’t the place to be,

perhaps it is.

The apocalypse would show me more company,

Solidarity is in the heart of a mindless corpse,

I could have an army of friends – don’t say it.

I came here, that was enough then,

But now you crave more, you demand it.

Where are you? You aren’t here, are you?

I thought not, but still I savagely write,

Passage after passage.

Take me there, to the centre of your world,

But don’t get too close. I get attached.

It gets messy.

Crazed eyes forever watching, where are you now?

Silence is all I find, and plotting,

Money, views, money, views, money,

The driving force, the protagonist, the villain,

The prize yet to be won.

You are at home, you are found,

Whilst I sit outside, thunder in my heart,

Rain on my brow. I don’t like rain.

I hate the outside, I can’t stand the inside,

But I want to go there, and be here.

Bushy brights, tailed eyes,

I’ve got you, don’t worry.

I’ve got you.

Mock Me Not

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked. She walked around to Johnny’s desk and plucked the note book from beneath his crossed arms.

He sat back and sighed, before he said, “I was trying to make a start on my novel.”

“By sleeping on it?” she asked. She laughed and slid it back across to him. “What is it about?”

“You wouldn’t get it,” he said.

“Try me,” she uttered.

His eyes lit up, and the unwritten masterpiece played out in his mind.

There are two people walking into an alley way submerged in the darkness, and their shadows are thrown in front of them by the flickering orange streetlight at the entrance of their path. Neither of the figures have faces or names, they don’t need them, because suddenly the scenery changes and we are in a field. 

The sun and the delicate breeze soak the couple that are lying on their backs, looking up into the canopy of trees. Exotic birds are singing, and in the distance sirens can be heard, but the couple have yet to notice. 

The young man – tall, dark, and handsome – leans up onto his elbows and kisses his young lover on the lips. She smiles and wraps her arms around his neck, but they both stop and look across at the road as two police cars and an ambulance speed past. 

With reluctance they pack up their picnic and return to their car to drive back into the town. When they reach their home they take off their clothes and throw them onto their bedroom floor, and in one torturous minute of bone breaking pain they transform into wolves.

Once they are in their supernatural form they set off into the town, and before long they find the bodies. As soon as they turn their noses to the crime scene they know what has come to town.

“Vampires?” Sarah asked. She raised her brows and bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing.

“What’s wrong with vampires?” Johnny asked.

“Doesn’t everyone write about vampires?”

“Yeah, but mine are different. I have werewolves too.”

“That’s basically the plot to Twilight, but in reverse,” she said.

Johnny frowned and closed his notebook. “No it’s not,” he said. “Perry and Lisa are the town’s guardians.”

Twilight,” Sarah uttered.

“They fight crime and solve murders,” he said. “The wolves in Twilight don’t do that.”

“Wait, so you have crime fighting werewolves?”

Jonny nodded and Sarah started to laugh, but she apologised lightly and turned to leave the room as she caught sight of his scowl. She reached out to the handle, but the door opened before she touched it.

As the door slowly came to a stop, a rough voice asked into the room, “What’s wrong with crime fighting werewolves?”

Sarah stood back as the naked figure stepped into the room, and her face drained of colour.

Perry?” Johnny uttered in a breath, before he put his hand to his forehead and collapsed beneath his desk.


Hello! Thanks for reading, I hope that you enjoyed our brief encounter with Sarah and Jonny – it was as brief to write as it is to read, my favourite kind of story. Today I was kindly informed that it is my one year WordPress anniversary, so I decided to do a supernatural short story to mirror the story I posted when I first arrived here! See you next Saturday for more five minute stories!

Beth.

Her Immortal: Journal Through Time

For this Friday’s post I am being very cheeky and spreading word of ‘A Journal Through Time’. This is basically my nightly writing practise, and due to the late hour at which each post is written, sometimes they can be pretty rough.

If you’re interested, then check out this little explanation of sorts. Or, if you want to dive in blind, check out tonight’s post.

A journal through time