An Unread Essay

There was recently an essay contest that made the news last month. I thought about entering but it would literally be a drop of water in a bucket of millions of writers. It was for a mansion of a house and all a person had to do was write an essay and pay the $25 entry fee. The money earned from the entry was going to a domestic abuse charity which is something I could get behind. Why didn’t I do it? Well, $25 is a tank of gas for me or money needed to purchase ingredients to cook dinner for a night. This is what I started. Please understand, I’m not wanting pity. It’s just an essay written that I never submitted. Viewer discretion is advised. Read at your own risk.

I wouldn’t take the house you are offering for a well-written essay. One chosen that would hopefully move the reader enough to choose the most deserving writer. I know what it’s like to live in an abusive situation and in a beautiful home both at the same time. I would sell the mansion but not for what you would think.

I knew to escape my situation I would need to further my education. My first day of college was great and I felt an accomplishment until I got home. That night when I got back from a day of classes, getting lost, and learning the ropes of things I realized my mistake. My abuser wasn’t proud of his wife coming back from class, didn’t ask her how her day was, not even a hug. Instead, he was upset that there wasn’t dinner and his property disobeyed him. I can still feel the words sting before the broken rib snapped under his fist. I remember feeling the earth come to a halt. I retreated into myself and waited for it to stop hoping my body can withstand the force of anger. I could feel the earth start to spin again and from the comfort of inside my soul, he was done.

I wrapped my battered body with bandages and made one of the best meatloaves ever. The potatoes were thick and creamy and the meatloaf was seasoned perfectly and was careful to make the right amount of eye contact. When he was done with dinner I made sure the kids were washed and ready for the next day and as he slept that night I looked over my agenda for classes. I devised a meal plan that involved a crockpot and weekends of cooking meals and freezing.

What’s the ending, you may wonder? I found my strength and escaped my abuser and graduated college. I also accumulated a mountain of student loan debt and C-PTSD. So, no. I wouldn’t move into the home but rather sell it to pay off my debt. Helping rid me of the final shackles of my past and my abuser. I would purchase a house that I can sustain without debt and donate the rest to women that are still shackled by their abusers.


Difficult Decision

This did not come easy and spent most of my night reading and re-reading the short stories that came in. I even asked my husband for his opinion (believe me, that rarely happens) and he was some help. Here it is:

If you would like to read the short story The Dog House and all the other wonderful submissions just follow the links below:

The House
The Inn of Eternal Rest 
Hence, the Exorcists
The Silenced Eyes
The Walk

There is something to be said creating something just from a blank screen and believe me I know, it’s not flipping easy! Every one of these writers (yup you’re writers) should take a bow.

Tomorrow I am introducing Fenton and the writing project that everyone gets involved with. Stay tuned!

REMINDER-For Me as Well

Tomorrow is the last day for any submissions for the little writing contest I created. Winner will be announced on May 31st. I was so excited when I came up with the idea. Nope, I’m not affiliated with anyone on this just something that I thought would be fun for people to participate in doing. I’ve had some amazing entries that have put my imagination to shame but I’m proud of every story submitted.

With the Daily ending their daily prompt, I’ve seen other individuals step up and keep us writing and using our imagination. I would like to add something similar and that will be happening soon.

Remindful Gist

Tell me a story to this photo using 150 words. Fill out and submit the entry form below by May 30. A form is also in my sidebar too. Winner will be announced May 31st. During the duration of the contest, I would like to post ya’lls awesome shorts but all the rights are yours. Good Luck, spread the word, and I can’t wait to read them.


Your Prize (as chosen by poll):

Designed in Germany this Medium sized notebook by Leuchtturm 1917 measures 5.75 by 8.25 inches and contains 249 numbered pages of bleed-proof, acid-free dotted paper. Made with the highest quality materials and an easy to wash hard cover, each book is thread bound and opens flat for easy note taking. Additional features include a blank table of contents, stickers for labeling and archiving, 8 perforated, detachable sheets, expandable inner pocket and page marker.


Entry: The Dog House

If I ever need to view things from a different perspective and need a little inspiration for doing so, Walk the Goats is where I land. Reading through the author’s viewpoints on situations and working towards goals is mesmerizing. Tell her to break a leg, wait for her to enter stage left and become a member of her audience. If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post. A different perspective was promptly delivered from her 150-word story. Good thing my dogs don’t chase cats.

The Dog House

He was ruined. Bewitched by that wicked cat who had warned him that if he didn’t stop harassing her, she would use her cat-craft to put a spell on him.

But he hadn’t listened.

She was good on her threat. He had finally chased her one too many times. Instead of running, she spun around and with a hissing spell, turned him into a bungalow, his pink tongue a welcoming entrance, his little black nose a decorative door topping. The thatched roof matched the color of his shaggy ears and hovered above beady window-eyes.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The real humiliation was that she moved in. She settled into his window-cheeks, basked in the sun, and watched the world go by, regularly twitching her tail in his face.

“Take that,” her tail signaled.

And he had no choice but to do just that.

My 150 Word Entry: A Mortal Accident

I am saddened to see that the Daily Post is coming to an end. I enjoyed reading so many new other’s posts and let’s face it-In the ‘Reader’ area we have to search my subjects and keywords. The Daily worked as a community library where we chose by titles are just one right after the other. I’m hosting a writing contest that ends in 5 days (Eek! Proud of the entries that came through and hope to get more–hint…hint guys.) 

I want different people with different blogs and different subjects still be able to write a post about a prompt. I know there is a community within the blogging world and that people would participate which has given me a spark of an idea. I just need to figure out how to get there. In the meantime, I thought I would try my hand at the 150-Word photo prompt challenge that I’m asking everyone else to try. There is one coming up for my artists. If you would like to participate and try the 150-Word photo prompt writing contest check out the detail here.

A Mortal Accident

I really want to go and play with the other kids but it scares them when they see me. I don’t know why. I have a great backyard with a swing and treehouse and mom bakes the best cookies for treats.

It’s been months since I’ve been to school and I miss my classmates. Mom and dad are sad all the time but we still sit down for dinner. I hate being confined to the house but at least mom is always there to keep me company.

We got a new front door after the accident. Dad painted it orange so hunters could see better in the evening times and will paint the arch orange too. I don’t know what dad meant telling mom, Henry didn’t feel any pain.’ Maybe someday he’ll explain it to me.

I do wonder though, what is an epitaph and why do I have one?



Infecting Impact

Thank you for tuning into Fox23 News this morning. We are continuing to cover the story of the situation in Impact, Texas. This is the last known transmission to come from the small town as of last night. What you hear may be disturbing to younger audiences.

911 Operator: 911, what’s the address of the emergency?
Caller: (Screams) Shh! Quiet! They’ll know we’re in here. {whispers} Yes, we need the CDC or military or something. The officer outside didn’t make it to the door. The street is a river of blood and very small footprints (inaudible crying) We’re at…(banging)
911 Operator: Sir, what is your location?
Caller: {whispers} Don’t send any more officers. We need bigger help. Melissa…shh shh shh.
911 Operator: Are you alone?
Caller: My wife and I are stuck in the house. We have towels shoved under the doors. I don’t think they’ve figured out that they can fit under the doors.
911 Operator: (screaming) Sir? (muffled yelling) Sir? What is your location?
Caller: Oh God! No no no no no shh-get upstairs (banging)
911 Operator: Sir? What is your location?
Caller: They’re in the house! They can camouflage! I don’t know where it went! Shhh (muffled crying). Melissa, it’s going to be ok baby.
911 Operator: Sir, is the intruder in the house?
Caller: {whispers} Yes, we are in the bathroom on the second floor. The window is facing the street. We live in the house on the corner of Roosevelt and Clinton.
911 Operator to Police Dispatch: Caller states that there is an officer down and I believe we have a possible breaking and entering in process. Please be advised the owners are in the home in the upstairs bathroom.
911 Operator: Sir, just stay in the bathroom, I have help arriving.
Caller: NO!! They won’t be able to see them. They blend into the ground or surroundings. I can’t even see them.
911 Operator: (muffled screaming and banging) Sir?
Caller: Melissa? Honey look at me! (gurgling) Mel! Oh God! (inaudible)
911 Operator: Sir?
Caller: (inaudible) The blood! She’s still alive and they are in her! I can see them moving around in her stomach! There’s blood everywhere! Oh god ple…
911 Operator: Sir, apply pressure to the wounds. Can you tell me what caused the wounds?
Caller: (gurgling)
911 Operator: Sir?
Caller: (gurgling) {faint clicking}
911 Operator: Sir, Are you there?
Call terminated by the caller at 22:36

Areas surrounding the town of Impact, Texas are now under quarantine. The national guard will be going to other towns to evacuate residents. If you are in the northern counties of Abilene, in the towns of Hamby, Hawley, Stith, and Tye you are in the quarantine zones. You are instructed to stay inside locked doors of your homes. DO NOT go outside until a National Guard escorts you out. Details of the situation as of 8am, Dyess AFB is ground zero. Individuals infected with these unidentified parasites, please isolate yourself from anyone else. If there is someone infected please call 911. Please stay tuned to local Fox23 for updating details.

Helen turned off the news and told her children to go and pack some clothes and their toothbrushes. She looked worriedly at Tatum.
‘Don’t worry sweetheart. We are in an evacuation town. We’ll get out in time.’ Tatum told his wife. Rumbling could be heard outside. Helen looked out the window to see the troops rolling in starting the evacuation process.
‘Oh thank the stars,’ she exclaimed. Tatum opened the door after a knock,
‘We’re almost ready,’ Tatum told the guard.
‘Sir, I have been informed to tell you that this town is now in the quarantine zone. Please stay inside. We will throw sandbags in front of your doors and bring rations.’
Tatum argued, ‘We just heard on the news that…’
The guard cut him off and leaned in, ‘Sir, the quicker you obey these orders the better your chance of survival.’
Tatum nodded. The guard brought MREs enough for a month worth of food for the entire family. Even diapers, water, formula, and coloring books were provided.
‘Yes, us that we live in a small enough town for such rations to be provided.’ Helen said while rolling her eyes that were starting to tear up.
‘It’s going to be ok,’ He told Helen as they could hear the weight of the sandbags hitting the door.


This was SO much fun for me to write (even though I’m supposed to be working but I had an idea and HAD to get it out) for Discover’s Prompt. The research for this small piece just fell right in with my idea. Could this be a series? Prequel? I don’t know but I had to start here.

Please don’t forget about the small writing contest that I’m trying (yup, I’ll have a one for the artists too). The deadline for that is May 30th for your 150-word submission.

Entry: Walk

This one had me holding my breath. It was as if I was the person in the story. Milliways, another author that kept me interested throughout the A to Z writing challenge. Head over and check out her writing and other awesome posts. If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post. Here we are, take a step in this character’s shoes…I dare you.


You step onto the path to a two-story house with a thatched roof. The house isn’t yours. In fact, you’re not sure why you turned down this lane, to begin with.
Unwillingly, you take another step. The front door is unsettling, an orange too bright against the pale facade.
Another step, through a rusting metal awning with flaking white paint.
Another. The lawn is wild, sawtoothed. You feel blades of grass knifing up between paving stones through the soles of your shoes.
Another. Looking at that door is like nails on a chalkboard, yet the closer you come the harder it is to look away.
Another. From the lane, this path seemed flat, but now it seems to slope, like gravity pulling you down.
Another. The upper windows watch like eyes peering through too-long bangs.
One last step, and the door swings on its hinges to welcome you in…

Entry: The Silenced Eyes

Here is another entry that reminds us of a taste of home and a little something extra. The author of this 150-word tale is Aiswarya kombilath. Visit and read some of the amazing poems and little insights into their soul.  If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post.  Happy reading!

The Silenced Eyes

The house was once a tourist spot once. People who were tired of their daily chores came there to get relief. Sam and Suhana came there with the same wish. Sam was a wildlife photographer and Suhana a chef. It was on the day of their first anniversary that Sam went to explore the forest near the cottage. And he told Suhana that he will be back before noon with a surprise for her and he told her to make his favorite chicken noodles. Somehow while Suhana was in the kitchen the cottage got fire and she died. When Sam came back, what he could see was ashes. Sam got loose of his conscious and started to roam around the place and he died one day. After years the cottage was rebuilt and it again started functioning. But people who come to stay there said that they could feel the smell of chicken noodles there in the cottage and at night they feel like someone Calling the name Suhana.


Entry: Marmalade

Oh my, this gave me chills. This 150-word delicacy is written by the author of the blog, The Ministry of Shrawley Walks. There you will find a little of bit of everything. Psst, there are some great photos too. This could have been a horror news headline. If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post. So, tell me, how do you feel about marmalade?


It was known as the Marmalade factory; for as long as anyone could remember the sweet old lady had been making delicious marmalade there. And for a similar time, the elderly artisan baker had been picking it up from the front doorstep, where it appeared every Thursday morning for sale at the market, at the end of the day the baker would post the takings through the door in a brown envelope.
One Thursday the marmalade didn’t appear, and a few days later police tape surrounded the pretty thatched cottage. The old lady had suffered a massive stroke and died soon after. In the kitchen, they found 2 huge steel pots for cooking the marmalade with a sticky foul smelling residue clinging to the bottom. Protruding from this crusty topped mixture were small bones and teeth.
No-one called it the Marmalade factory again.

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