Creative Writing Love

True Love For Rent

The red purse and the red dress plus the black heels. That’s what excited him. The mascara on her eyelids was almost a wink in secret. But this was his view.

For her, what she saw was the handsome Italian and the blue eyes. The champagne glasses and the red rose between them completed the ambience. She tasted the caviar and felt a frisson of warmth.

She was in love. The bed of roses and the Chanel No. 5 mingled to create a heady whiff of sex. He thought of it as a quick fuck. She preferred to call it love making.

It was when she slipped on her red dress over her clammy body and took the cash he threw her way did the 60 minute dream end.

We don’t talk about these things, she told her daughter. I’m just for rent. But I rent myself, spread my legs, and earn for your sake, my love.

Find true love and cherish it. Just make sure that you don’t end up like me.

Creative Writing Horror

When The Bombs Land Just Smile

I was told to smile when the bombs are let loose.

So I did.

As the Germans unleashed the bombs, I let me lips curve outward.

I have been practicing with my children and my husband how to smile. Every day. Every hour. Every minute.

When one bomb landed and decimated my daughter’s body, I held her head in my hands, and cherished her smile. She had practiced well.

The church told us everyday to smile even if the world crashes around us.

First we have to give our tithes while smiling. Then we have to smile while we starve. But we were promised a smile in return when we die.

My husband and I smiled as we both held our daughter’s head in our hands and gave thanks to God.

As we heard the distant gunfire grow louder, a red-breasted robin looked our way from the window and smiled. We smiled back.

Because as the bombs drop, and a backdrop of blood and guts create a landscape of brightness, we will wake up in heaven and smile.

Creative Writing Horror


Pops laughed himself into his grave.

Because he knew that he was right.

Everyone spoke of how we were in the service of a cult.

That we were never normal.

It was normal: The prayer meetings, the divine incidents of speaking in tongues, and the visions. Or was it?

We never told the non-believers.

The ones who found out said that this was consistent with mass schizophrenia melded with narcissism.

In our family – These incidents were never meant to leave the home.

Pops, the narcissist, it seemed, only served us in service of himself.

Mum was different.

She knew something even when she croaked her last breath, and managed to say it out aloud: The hunger always passes. Remember that.

She had an appetite for something more normal. She was of course referring to cream buns.

The outsiders laughed at us, but when the fat smiles grew thin, and you just knew.

Daddy was right; he left laughing, and he’ll be walking on streets of gold.

When it started raining brimstones with angels bringing fire along with their smiles, we knew: it was too late to get on our knees and ask forgiveness.

Unlike Daddy, I will be going to my grave screaming.

Creative Writing Love

This Thing Called Delusion

Loneliness made me crave you.

And this inconvenience called a relationship.

Now I laugh.

At myself.

For my stupidity.

For my greeness.

To realize that I’ve been kissing a delusion all this time.

And to think that your kisses were like a postcard from Spain.

Your stink like an Hallmark envelope unfurling.

A message for me to taste.

I laugh at myself.

To think I could get a Happy Ending with a person like you.