• Short Stories

    Departing–A Flash Fiction

    I am late for my own funeral. The quick staccato of my heels on the tiled floor softens as I slip into the service. The only empty seat is in the front row, so I lean against the wall beside a planter of lilies. Their stench floods my nose and nearly chokes me. The elderly pastor, who congratulated me on finishing first grade so many years ago, is in the middle of a lengthy prayer. As a child, I squirmed and thought about the promise of McDonald’s after the service, but now I find a moment of solace in speaking to God. A quiet island in a storm of secrets.…

  • Short Stories

    Remember–A Flash Fiction

    I thought of you today, as I sifted through the boxes of memories in the attic of my mind.  I remember the first time we met. How after my brother introduced me to you, your eyes never followed another girl that whole night. I was wearing that teal dress I thought made me look like a movie star. I thought that was the reason why you watched me.  Next time I saw you, you were picking up my brother to go to a conference. I didn’t know you were coming, so I was in the yard, my unwashed hair in a tangled bun, wearing a too big T-shirt and ratty…

  • The Guardian
    Short Stories

    The Guardian–A Flash Fiction

    No one came to see the Guardian anymore.  He sat in the same place he had for centuries, his face set like stone against the elements. If someone was to pass him by, they might mistake him for a statue he was so weathered and overgrown with vines. Yet no one had walked down that wooded path in years.  He quietly hummed to himself, watching the humans walk past his hidden grove on the paved sidewalk. He had seen many such people. So many of them distracted by the noises around them to notice the hidden magic of the gardens.  A pigeon landed on the Guardian’s outstretched hand and pooped.…

  • This World of Gray--A Flash Fiction
    Short Stories

    This World of Gray–A Flash Fiction

    The only thing that kept her grounded was her music. Her earbuds were like an IV, streaming life into her bones.  When They came, she started sleeping with the carefully shaped plastic pieces in her ears. When the bombs came and the world turned to ash, she turned up the melody to drown out the screams. When soldiers crowded the streets in front of her home, she hummed along.  As she walked down the dirty streets, she kept her eyes closed and she moved in sync with the rhythm. She let the soft magic of harmony take her away and to a place with green grass and blue sky. Here,…

  • Bloody Hands
    Short Stories

    Bloody Hands: Part 4

    Trigger warning: This story contains abuse (physical and emotional), murder, and suicide attempts.  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 The prison is a small building with one communal cell. The only other occupant is a man who smells like alcohol. He declares he got too drunk and they’ll put him in the stocks for a few hours later in the afternoon. He’s not bothered by the punishment. I sit on the damp straw in the far corner from the door and the reeking bucket of human waste. I hug my knees to my chest and hide my face. It’ll only be a couple days at most before someone from my…

  • Bloody Hands
    Short Stories

    Bloody Hands Part 3

    Trigger warning: This story contains abuse (physical and emotional), murder, and suicide attempts. Part 1 Part 2 The cheerful conversation at dinner makes the succulent duck turn to dust in my mouth. Sarah talks about the village as if it’s the best place in the colonies. She says that everyone there was so kind after her mother died of the same fever that took Midwife Sasha. Edmund and Martha only encourage it, asking for news of her father and asking if there are any boys she has her eye on. I stop listening and keep chewing the pasty duck. I probably have been working on this one bite for five…

  • Bloody Hands
    Short Stories

    Bloody Hands: Part 2

    Part 1 here Trigger warning: This story contains abuse (physical and emotional), murder, and suicide attempts. When I wake on the riverbank, I curse the God who just won’t let me die. I curse the sun creeping over the horizon like a skulking cat. I curse the crusted blood beneath my fingernails. “Why can’t I just die!” I scream up at the sky. I lay on my back, watching the purplish clouds scuttle across the lightening sky. God doesn’t answer. I’m used to it. No matter how many bedtime prayers Midwife Sasha made me repeat, I never believed God could actually hear me. And if He could, He surely had…

  • Bloody Hands
    Short Stories

    Bloody Hands: Part 1

    Hey guys! I’m so excited to share this short story with you all! Trigger warning: This story contains abuse (physical and emotional), murder, and suicide attempts. I was born with blood on my hands. It still stains my skin now, no matter how hard I try to rid myself of it. I shove my hands into my ragged pockets and hunch my shoulders against the rain. The graveyard is full of clusters of people, but I am not one of them. I stand off to the side, just in view of the open grave, yet far enough away no one will be bothered by my presence. There are fewer people…

  • Empty Pages by Allison Grace
    Short Stories

    I’m Back! + Empty Pages

    Hey everyone! I’ve missed blogging, but boy, do I have some exciting things coming in the next few months! Just a quick run over of all the changes before we dive into the first short story of my “new” blog. 😉 Instead of posting every week, I’ll be posting every other Saturday. That will take some pressure off of me and allow me to give you better content! Speaking of content, you’ll be seeing a lot more of my short stories and Christian living articles than before. I might occasionally post writing tips, but my focus is going to be on short stories. They will be serialized so you don’t…

  • Short Stories

    Rose of Shannon: A Short Story

    Every year I could remember, five people were sent invitations to meet the faerie queen. One morning I found mine under my pillow, perfectly folded with a wax rose for a seal. I clutched it to my chest, my sweaty fingers smearing the elaborate curlicues on the front. “Don’t you see, Mother? I have to go. This is the chance of a lifetime.” I scrunched my bare toes in the damp grass behind our cottage—more like a hovel, if you asked me. “Everyone says that she’ll grant anything ya want. I could wish us away from this…this dump.” “Shannon! Watch your mouth, your sister is right there.” Mother glanced at…