She breathes soft, with parted lips,

And I'm holding her lungs

As she dreams,

Taking drags of her exhales and

Twirling her secrets with my fingers,

Conducting a ballad for ghosts.

And the rhythm matches her pulse.

And I can't stop taking shots

That smell like her hair,

closing my eyes around the memory of this.

Trying to zipper her heartbeats into me.

If only secrets could fall dead like fall,

I would walk walk

On the voices of nightmares,

And squish fireflies into her hair,

so her dreams can make the light

Flicker.

But the strands grazed by my touch

hide even the brightest of dawns.

And the morning will erase it all.

And show the guts matted on her skull.

And when it rains, I'll say a prayer,

For innocence as it's washed

Into the dirt,

Like moonlight turned

To threads,

Streaking across the body of earth

As though to stitch the wound.

There will be

A canyon reflecting her face,

A reminder for angels that it is possible

To

Heal.

And I'm drunk

On the tears she plucked from her heart,

tripping like those who sleep in alleys,

And I will join them.

And live off

The electronic clicks she makes

When she blinks.

Because my hands

Crave that moment

Of eyelids eclipsing sun,

Of lashes that blanket

Full moons

And drown the sound of wolves

As they hold tongue,

Standing in awe

Of her footprints, deciding

that they followed the wrong trail,

Chasing the kill,

And missing flower.

I stand unsurprised,

Caressing the shadow

Of her,

As she replaces dawn

So I will build a pulpit in my heart

And tell the tale of fingertip

And flesh until I believe

That her outline

Makes perfect sense

Of the havoc,

Chapter and verse pinpointing treasure.

Like coordinates.

And me,

Sailing to discover

places lost long ago.

Where my death becomes a rudder

And guides me past the tides

holding her,

As all my intention

snakes along the shore,

hoping to pull her into me,

That there would be no blade of sand

That separates,

And if only for a while

my current would carry

her weightless into the deep.

And our love will salt the sea,

and she will break the fangs of sharks

to a dust she'll wear as glitter,

and we will dig beneath the ocean

and I will shatter coral and stone

to clear the currents,

and watch my blood become clear

as it fades like smoke into the liquid.

And we will chew the rust of treasure

and gold

as decay creeps like mercy

over the surface of coin and crown,

because down here,

everything will fade beneath her,

and her splendor

will make every sunken ship

forfeit hope of rescue,

for who would dig further

than her reflection?

So I will sever the neck

that is not there,

and orphan the octopus

for need of ink dark enough

to make a map,

that her eyes would see the path to shore.

and the massacre will lead her to safety.

And I will drag her beyond horizon

to a place where rescue is impossible.

Where she will tame volcanoes with a smirk,

where she will bleed the magic of paradise

like a vein needing rest,

an undoing of logic into mayhem.

I will trap that conquered earth

into my heart,

she will resurrect sand to stone

by merely looking,

I only hope,

to be caught within the gaze.

And when it's too dark to see,

I'll connect the dots hanging from heaven

as stars that dangle

like a necklace around an angels throat,

and follow her freckles

into the sky,

to a place where everything

reminds me of her face.

She'll pretend she doesn't notice,

but I will rip the canopy of clouds

until she has room to stand above it,

and see,

the shadow of her is a premonition

of all that shines.

And from this perch,

she will rain down love with furry,

and scratch the dirt with empathy,

and I will stand in awe

as all her prayers change

from vapor to concrete.

And I'll become a scribe,

using my skin in place of parchment,

writing the saga of her soul,

where no beating chest fails,

and the screams of devils flee

the halos raining down from her eyelids.

And death would beg for mercy,

fearful of a world that bends

beyond reason and doubt.

And we will follow her tears

back into the soil,

like starting over,

and her footprints will give way to dawn,

and she will tell the broken

how blemish became beacon,

and every little belly will feast

on ink and blood and broken soil,

and every mother would know

the secrets that pierce heaven,

and every babe would drink

like tomorrow is certain,

and every father would rise

like blood in water until the smoke

became bread,

and she would carve her tombstone

with prayers,

telling of a journey that took her

beyond the brink of death

and life,

into an abyss where heaven

waits in such a heart as hers.

And I will hang my sins until they die,

until every attempt to breathe

reminds me of her sleeping

soft within my arms,

dreaming of a day when all these words

awaken and her hope becomes reality.

I have no knowledge of what will wake

with us in the morning,

but I pretend that whatever it is,

will in some way look like her.

But she breathes soft,

and my hands are full

and my eyes are losing focus,

music beginning to fade within me,

I know the world inside her

will fall before she wakes.

But she's talking in her sleep,

and I hear it all, like learning a language

I'm not ready for.

And soon, her dreams will become braille

and I'll reach for it as one blind,

and my hands will trace her cheeks

and try to learn the pattern of her lips

as they make a map bright enough

to lead me into safety.

(This is the first chapter of my novel in the works, Ugly Beauty)

Mirrors. Sierra hated them. Every time she looked into one, she was reminded of what she wasn't. And that was pretty.

     Of course, her parents assured her that she was beautiful. And at one time, Sierra had been naive enough to believe them. But on her first trip to Siris, the huge metropolis they lived on the outskirts of, she realized that she was what they called Flawed.

     And she also found out why they didn't live in Siris. After all, only the richest and the prettiest could live in Siris. 

     And those two words--rich and pretty--didn't describe her family even if you used your imagination.

     With a sigh, Sierra let the tiny gilded mirror fall from her hands to the rocks below. There was a tinkling noise as it broke, and she regretted what she'd done. But only for a moment.

     She shielded her eyes as she glanced at the sun. It was time to go home. Much like a monkey, she scampered down four or five branches and then leaped to the rocks below. 

     "Ow!" she yelped in surprise, as a shard of glass from the mirror embedded itself in the calloused underside of her foot. Hopping around on one foot, she carefully squeezed out the tiny sliver and wiped away the blood.

     She stared at it for a moment, long suppressed feelings bubbling up again. "Yeah, I bleed everything time I look in a mirror," she muttered angrily, tossing the piece away and limping home.

     Sometimes, as she walked, she imagined that she was beautiful and rich, and living in Siris. And she had a boyfriend. But Sierra was too old for that, now, and her hopes of becoming beautiful when she hit her teenage years had shriveled up and died. So had the dreams of living in Siris before Governor Sharon. It was she who had made the first push to "cleanse" the city from "undesirables" such as Sierra's own self. Fifty years had passed since then, and Governor Sharon's goals had been carried out by her successors, Governor Lyron and Governor Petrie. 

     Upon reaching the small, two-story house that she knew as home, she paused to watch the sunset before pushing open the weathered front door and entering into the dim interior.

     "Hello, honey," her mother called from the stove. The greeting was cautious, testing to see what Sierra's mood would be today.

     "It's getting cooler, so that's nice," Sierra responded, heading for the stairs.

     "Yes, that is," her mother agreed. She didn't press for any more conversation, recognizing that her daughter needed some additional time to think things through.

     Sierra's mother wasn't plain, but she wasn't beautiful, either. However, something about the golden-red hair, blue eyes, and the graceful, proud way she carried herself often turned heads. Perhaps she would even have found a place for herself in Siris if she hadn't have fallen in love with a young man, who was both poor and flawed by a huge scar on the left side of his face.

      Sierra wished she'd gotten her mother's elegance and grace, but she hadn't. She'd gotten the same reddish gold hair, only perhaps more red than gold, and her eyes were sky blue. Her skin was pale with freckles, and something about her face was just...plain.

      It was of these things that Sierra thought as she stared out her window. Rheal, her best--and only--friend, had told her to quit thinking about her looks and try and help her parents out.

     "Stop daydreaming, wishing you were beautiful because you're not. And you've got to come to grips with that," Rheal had broken out, at last, a little harshly. "I used to be beautiful until my face was burned in that big fire in Siris. If anyone has a right to complain, it's me, losing everything I knew. But you don't see me leaving at dawn to wallow in self-pity while my parents and siblings do all the work."

     Sierra hadn't really talked to Rheal after that. She knew that he was right, and she didn't want to admit it.

     "Time for dinner!" Keagan, her little brother, hollered up the stairs.

     Sierra started from her thoughts, then collected herself. Turning away from the window, she hurried down the stairs to the dinner table.

     There wasn't much talk. Her father was bone-tired from whatever it was he did at the power plant, and her younger brother was too busy stuffing his face with food to talk. Her mother, ever sensitive to Sierra's moods, just let her have her quiet.

     Sierra gathered the supper dishes and washed them while her parents talked quietly in their bedroom. Maybe about her? She considered eavesdropping but pushed the thought quickly away. What was the point?

     After washing the dishes and drying them, she lingered by the family room to watch her brother play. It was one of the rare moments in Sierra's life when she actually felt happy, watching his youthful innocence, as well as his curiosity at work, crafting impossible stories for his toys to play out. She actually smiled a little as she watched the giraffe and the ant fly to the moon to discover the charm that would make everyone beautiful.

     I wish, she grinned, shaking her head.

     Keagan, sensing her eyes on him, looked at her. "Do you want to play?"

     He asked the question so often, and Sierra had said "no" so many times, she wondered if he would ever ask it again. But he had.

     For a moment, she considered actually playing with him. But then she remembered that she was sixteen. This was a world she'd been shoved out of a while ago. Now it was like she was between two worlds--the world of her childhood and the world of her adulthood. And it was like neither wanted her.

     "Not tonight, buddy. I'm a little tired," she responded, smiling at him. "But maybe tomorrow."

     Keagan considered her for a moment, then smiled wider. "Okay!"

     She lingered in the shadows, watching him return to his ridiculous fantasies, and then turned to the stairs and the haven of her bedroom.

     Emotionally drained, she stiffly lay down on the bed, her sun-browned arms spread wide across the clean sheets. Gradually, as the moon rose in the sky, and her eyelids closed, her fingers worked their way beneath her pillow and closed around the small mirror she kept there.

     For someone who hates mirrors, I sure have a lot of them, she thought wryly to herself.

     The other part of her brain responded It's because you keep hoping that one day you'll look in that mirror and see a different face.

     If only.

Title:Ugly Beauty

Author: Abigail Burchwell

Word Count of Excerpt: 1,105

Genre: YA/Fiction

Age Range: 14-18

Synopsis of Ugly Beauty: Sierra Rosenberg only wants one thing: she wants to be beautiful. After all, your face and your money are what gets you a place in Siris. Unfortunately, she has neither of those. She must learn to come to grips with her reality and learn that looks aren't everything, and ultimately, what true beauty really is.

Why I Believe This Project Holds Potential: Nowadays, a lot of emphases is placed on what you look like and how much stuff you have instead of who you are. A lot of teens are struggling to meet people's expectations of perfection and are left feeling inferior and worthless because they simply can't. It's important for every person to realize that their attitude and their personality is what makes them beautiful, just as Sierra does.

Education: Homeschooled/Private Tutor

Platform: Self-published on Amazon

Website: https://shadoweliteallies.wixsite.com/shadow-elite

Preferred Genre: Science Fiction/ YA

Age-Range: 14-18

Previously Published Works/Experience: The Motto Trilogy Book One: Together We Fight

Article in the Clarion Mirror

Three-year course in creative writing

Currently taking a year-long course in crafting short stories and novels

Likes: Outdoors, running, dog training, writing, swimming, hanging out with friends

Hobbies: Running, writing, drawing, and doing things with paracord

Bio: I've been writing since I was seven, and I haven't stopped since. I've only self-published one book, however, to "test the waters". I come from a large family consisting of four older brothers, a younger sister, a dog, and a snapping turtle. It can be hectic at times, but it's usually pretty fun, and never cease to give me encouragement, inspiration, and criticism!

Hometown: I was born in Hagerstown Maryland, but my family moved to North Carolina when I was three. I have recently moved to Pennsylvania. 

It was the end of the week on a Friday when I answered my telephone. Even before I picked up my phone, I felt that I could feel the sense of urgency to its demanding rings. I considered letting it continue to ring and leaving the office for the weekend, but in a job like mine, I knew that it could be an emergency with one of my psychiatric patients. I really wanted to go home to my cozy apartment and have a stiff drink since it had been a difficult week for me. I pictured and imagined the smell of the warm pot roast that my housekeeper had left in my oven. I hadn’t had time to eat any lunch and was ravenous.

“Hello,” I said into the mouthpiece, trying not to show my annoyed feelings. “This is Dr. Cohen.”

“Dr. Cohen, this is Jade. I just needed to hear your reassuring voice. I am feeling shaky and a little unhinged. The last couple of months have been challenging for me.”

I felt a tremor of concern course through my body upon hearing Jade’s voice. She seldom called me with good news. “Jade, is anything wrong? Where are you? Is your husband okay?” I really hated to ask these questions but believed that I needed to get to the bottom of Jade’s obvious emotional state. At the same time, I felt a little aroused as I waited for her tale to begin to unfold. Jade took the actions that were only ‘pie in the sky’ for me. My admiration for Jade began to increase as I saw her reach for her dreams once again. I could imagine such things but I did not have the guts to follow through. One day, I hoped to let my inhibitions go.

“Oh, Dr. Cohen, I am no longer in North Dakota and I am no longer with my husband.”

“Did you get a divorce or are you separated?” I asked hopefully, needing her to assure me that he was still in the land of the living. However, I knew that this was unlikely.

“My beloved husband, Jim, had a terrible accident. The bed of a truck came down suddenly and crushed him to death. Please don’t think it was my fault – it was an accident. The truck mechanism malfunctioned and slammed down on him. The insurance company admitted that the truck was defective and settled out of court,” Jade promised with muffled sobs. “I am so upset and will miss him so terribly.”

I really did not believe Jade entirely but she was so convincing. I knew that I must give her the benefit of the doubt. And she did sound very distressed and troubled. “Jade, are you all right? I am so sorry. I know that you really seemed to like this husband. Where are you? Would you like to come in to see me? Is there anything else bothering you that you want to talk about?” In my heart, I wanted Jade to be a normal person and I couldn’t help but care about her. She had been my patient for a long time and I felt a connection to her. Her downward erosion seemed to be pulling my values down to her levels and I couldn’t do anything about it. I also was beginning to become sexually aroused by the tales of her exploits, although I did not want to admit my shortcomings.

“I had to get away from North Dakota after the tragedy,” informed Jade. “I am in the sunshine in Miami Beach trying to get back to normal. I need this time to rest and recuperate and can’t get in to see you now. But there is something I need to discuss with you. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course, Jade,” I reassured her. “Is something bothering you other than the tragic death of your husband?”

“Dr. Cohen, I am still having feelings of paranoia. I am sure that some sinister person is watching me and wants to do me harm. He seems to be inside my mind, making me believe that he is responsible for the hardships and pain in my life. Is this a just a figment of my imagination or is this really happening to me? I try not to have these feelings but they are beginning to overcome me. They seem to persist day and night and I find it hard to go on with my life.”

“My plan is beginning to work,” I thought. “Soon Jade will be completely consumed by her paranoia. I think that she will eventually be unable to function and I won’t have to take any drastic actions. The course of her behavior needs to stop and I must become the master manipulating his puppet.” My slight body seemed to expand and become more powerful as I took charge of my patient.

“Jade,” I assured her, “if you think something is so, it is true in your mind. You must avoid the conduct that brings on your paranoia. It might be reaching the time that you need to take yourself away from the world to a place where you can be helped and medicated. Do you think that now is the time when you feel ready for this kind of solitude and peace from your thoughts?” I smiled as I thought of having Jade in my complete control where she would have no choice but to cater to my every whim. “Yes,” I thought, “an institution would be perfect for her and I could see her whenever I wanted.”

I listened as Jade’s mood completely changed from darkness to light.

“Dr. Cohen, I am fine,” she chirped with a lilt in her voice. “I was just feeling some doubts and needed to hear your voice. I feel much better now. Thanks for helping me and talking to me. I will keep in touch with you.” She had dismissed me summarily, as if my advice had no merit.

Hearing the phone disconnect, I held the phone in my hand, unable to put it down. I was overcome by a feeling of apprehension. I was angry that she did not listen to my advice. A chill convulsed my body but I knew that I could do no more. Maybe in the future, Jade would be more amenable to my suggestions. If not, I would have to do whatever I could to stop her. I really did not want to do what I feared would be necessary.

_____________________________________________________________________

Title:  Jade Murder Without Remorse

Genre: Psychological Thriller 

Age Range:  Adult from 18 to 80

Word Count this write: 1100 words Book Word Count 64987 words

Author Name:  Pen Name: Sari Lantana Real Name: Claire Grebin

Why a good fit: This book would be a good fit because it is an exciting psychological thriller which would appeal to many readers.  It has a very unique twist that no one will be able to foresee. It is very well researched and delves into psychological aberrations.

The hook:  The subject of this book is a psychopathic murderer.  The book delves into what caused her to be this way and is seen through a psychiatrist's eyes. Every murder draws the reader in but the conclusions reached will not be what is expected.

synopsis: Escape into the realm of the beautiful, psychopathic Jade who commands both love and hate as she charges forward in many twists and turns, engineering novel ways to kill her four husbands. Become immersed in the world of renowned psychiatrist, Dr. Cohen, who is conducting a research study on psychopaths, hoping to understand them and prevent them from treading on dangerous paths. The story of Jade is told as seen through the eyes of Dr. Cohen. But Dr. Cohen has a hidden, devious aspect as he finds himself becoming involved in a symbiotic relationship with Jade. Against his better judgment, he finds himself wishing that he had the courage to take a risk and explore the dark side as his patient does. Will he have the courage to step over the line? The suspense mounts to a conclusion that will be both shocking and unexpected. Ride this thrilling adventure into the uncharted future because the ending will prove challenging and out of the realm of imagination of even the most astute.

Target Audience:  Adults of any age.

Bio Platform:  I am a self-taught writer, college educated and have a background of owning and operating a dive boat charter business from Miami to the Bahamas where I saw many unusual situations and interesting characters which made me want to write my first book, Bahama Red, Intrigue on the High Seas, which is based loosely on my experiences.  I now have a second book, Jade Murder Without Remorse, and am working on my third book, Half of Me is Missing, which will tie back to my book, Jade Murder Without Remorse.  My books are published as e-books. I write on Prose daily and am number one on their popularity list so have many followers.

Personality:  I am creative in most areas such as my writing and I also paint and sell my work.  I love adventure and like to incorporate it into my books.  I love to walk, do aerobics, go to the gym and I also like to socialize. I have a love for the sea and often include it in my work.  I am lucky enough to live in a little seaside town which feeds my passion.  I love to research my books so that the reader will become fascinated but not feel overwhelmed by pedantic facts.  I love to fool the reader so the ending will be completely unexpected.

Likes/Hobbies:  I write, paint, sew, enjoy friends, fish, like the beach, enjoy exercise, prolific reader.

Hometown:  Flagler Beach, Florida

Look into my eyes, do you see me?

Look through my sight, black my vision

Hear the silence I scream, soundless

Ponder the tears, the dreams, purposeless

Freedom I attempt to reach, weakly fades

Choice I endeavour, renders me worthless

Vision cast away not mine to visualise

My worth, his property, self exempt

Beside me, my owner, I’m not my own

Master in front, following, I’m never alone

My rights are his to exhume, unearth

My mind articulates no will, his worth

Bury me in life, I’m dead inside, weeping

Deep in darkness I’m covered unseen

Beatings my teacher, bruises my adornment

Demands of nudity, violently decorated

Enslaved in invisible chains, liberty my foe

Woeful waters spiral me down, oblivion deep

Absent to the outside world, abandoned

Nothing, no one, an abyss I drown, omitted

Birthed in oppression, wrapped in dismay

Clothed in jeering rags, robed in anguish

Hourly I perish, tears draping like incense

Daily I die, devouring deaths fragrance

Salwa Samra © 2017 

All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or part without permission is prohibited.

Dedicated to Saudi Arabian women who are suffering under Islam. 

Strapped arm, exposed veins

Longing for that express train

Pick me up and fly me away

A place forbidden, I intend to stray

Drifting through the loosened realm

Hearing voices of morbid sound

Unwinding through this illusory trip

Deceptive antidote may cause me to slip

My body hungers for its addictive feed

My mind shrieks cries of dismal pleads

So longing to visit comfortably numb

Wasted…I’m omitted, the drug I’ve become

Will reality draw me back, somehow

Demons jerk me with indecent howls 

Serenity of this spellbinding state

My own devices, my own world to create

To bring me back is to invite pain

To alert me requires myself to blame

Wasted to bogged skin and skinny bone

Entices me to wander hopelessly alone

Please don’t withhold me from this high

My transfer is not complete, inwardly I die

Loved ones can't understand each passage I roam

Delusional is my destination, my foreboding home

Salwa Samra ©2012 

All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or part without permission is prohibited. 

Dedicated to my friend who lost his life through an overdose.

Listening walls

I know what you hear, my confidant.

The angered shouting,

The tearful apologies.

What do you make of these?

Do you judge me?

Do you judge her?

Listening walls

I know what you hear.

The passion of our loins,

And tender moments of bliss

Tucked away into quiet little memories.

Do you love her, as I have?

Do you love me, as she has?

Listening walls

Our lives are your entertainment,

A play we participate in

To a solemn audience.

When we leave will you tell our story?

When we are gone will you share our heart?

Listening walls

I know what you hear, my confidant.

Is it just me or are the wheels turning

I'm here but my mind is elsewhere

Could you be somewhere dark now

All naked and true, I don't care

If we're far apart, for I  know 

Each time I touch myself

I'd be remembering you

When we've fallen to dust

'Neath God's harsh reproach

My bet's on the rise

Of the sapient cockroach

-DeRicki