Sticky Note Sessions #1

One of the handiest tools I have ever owned have been sticky notes. They are small, convenient and always ready for me to jot something down. Sometimes it's something I wish to draw, or something dealing with whatever I'm currently writing. Other times it is a creative note, an expression of a moment that has capture my mind that I'm afraid of forgetting. Often times though, they are storytellers, mementos of myself as I absorb the world around me.
So I have decided to share them with you because I'm assuming I'm not alone in this and who knows, perhaps we will all find a way to inspire one another across mediums. This is today's sticky note as I heard the beckoning call of the ice cream truck's siren...

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Short Story S:4 P 6 - "A Warm Welcome"

*****Here's another short story I wrote that, as far as I know (no response back), never got published*** She drew in a sharp breath, body tensing as her eyes flew open. I’m about to be abducted. The thought pierced through her skull. Hazel eyes flickering wildly to the single window in the darkened bedroom, peering intently, she waited in bated breath for something...but seconds ticked by and only blue moonlight greeted her. “For Pete’s sakes,” she muttered, muscles relaxing and eyes closing briefly in relief. Shaking her head at the absurd thought that had literally jolted her awake, Katherine stretched out her sleepy limbs, straining the light sheet covering her in this summer heat. Sitting up, she curiously glanced around her room, and out the bedroom window, one more time before getting up to use the bathroom. Where the hell had that thought come from, she wondered as she sat in the muted shadows of her tiny bathroom. She wasn’t one to be afraid of the dark, sh...

Short Story S: 3 Post: 4 - "They Danced"

They danced. In the haunting stillness of the abandoned house, they twirled, dipped, swayed and caressed like time had forgotten them. Shades of red, black and amber skin flickered between ethereal blue flames while soft--echoing music guided their whispering footsteps throughout the darkened house, filling the shadows that hid from the swelling moon consuming the skyline out broken window panes with whispers of ‘forever my love’ and ‘until our souls are born again’ . They danced. Their sunken eyes boring into each other with burning looks of longing, their ashen hearts thrumming with memories of stolen moments from a lifetime ago, and their transparent fingers gripping, tugging and digging into withered flesh and aging cloth with desperation as they moved like an endless foray. They knew not the state of their decay, their visions seared in a loop of enduring youthful ignorance that swung them like a pendulum between the living and the dead. For him...

Short Story S:5 P 1 - "Unseen Hands"

You want noise when something happens. A blaring warning sign. A whisper of foreboding. A chill of uncertainty. You want another person nearby. A hand to hold onto. A rush of moving bodies to motivate you to safety. A sense of unity. A pack survival mentality. You want a tool. A device to give you advantage. Hope for success. A net for security, should you have to risk it all. A life line. What you don’t want. What you fear the most. Is the unpredictability of nothingness. Because that is where real terror begins. Humanity is so certain our greatest enemies will meet us on the battlefields in manners we understand, that we never stop to consider.... That they don’t think the way we do. There will be no siren. No amount of individuals beside you to make a difference. No technology to aid you. All there will be is a moment--a single flickering second of discord--and then.... oblivion. You see, our greatest enemies can perceive our mortal coil....

A Mind in Motion

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