Daily Visits

Hey everyone,

I want to share an excerpt of a story I am finishing tonight/early tomorrow morning. Share your thoughts if you like. This short story is geared for a publication attempt, and the portion shared is almost from the beginning. Page 2 or 3, something like that.

Wish me luck!

Daily Visits (I am 90% set on the title).

Word Count – 4,500ish

I mostly ponder nowadays. 

I wonder why the doctors referred to my stomach as a button and why the sun was withdrawn to me. I do miss it something fierce. I wonder who would change my incontinence and what medications were injected into my body. Whatever it is keeps me going. I mostly fret of why that nurse was so rigid and disconnected. And mean. She never came out and said anything nasty, but I can just feel an unknown hatred radiating from her. Even in her absence, that loathing continues to hover about like a dense, toxic cloud that feigns murderous intent. I’d be awful sweet on her, if I could. I’d tell her like I told the other girls that it’s going to be alright ‘cause Oscar will take care of you. Might be hard to believe, but I always did.

The doctors come and go as they always do without more than a hello. I guess they’re busy tending to folks destined to make it out sooner than I. That’s fine with me, I suppose. I wish they would show a little more gratitude, though. I did finance most of the renovations, additions, and salaries for this hospital during the past year. I remember the herald portrayed my generosity very, very well. Sad to say that this was the extent of recognition for my tireless efforts to better the town that I practically built over the years. No honorary dinner service, no bouquet of roses. Not even a nonchalant, half-hearted thanks for my unfaltering benevolence.   

I often wonder how I will be thought of when Death does pull me under. Will they mourn? Will anyone attend my mass or will folks just celebrate?



I hope everyone is doing alright this evening.


No complaints yet.

A Nor’Easter comes from the south, threatening merciless ice and treacherous commutes. This is not a continuation of the last story I finished on here, either. Winter in Maine, friends… it is your friend one day and the next, it holds a sharpened icicle to your throat.

Have another excerpt!

The Printouts 

Word Count – 5,000ish.

His adrenaline pulses in cadence with his throbbing hand, heightening his senses and he snaps his head forward to the dining room window. Just the wind he thinks as a swirl of leaves flit beyond the glass. Relentless wind spews through the cracks of the frame and Phil double-checks the locks. They’re latched, like they should be. These little things in Folsom Valley makes the difference between surviving, or being consumed by the indomitable power of the cold months to come.

It stalked early this year, and Phil was soon to find out why.

He looks down to the waist-high desk and picks up a picture taken years back of Nancy and her mother. His index finger caresses a version of his wife that piques his melancholy. It’s the Nancy that Phil fell for. Her lush brown eyes and lively smile call to him with a reminder that Phil swears to be a fictional murmur from a stranger’s tongue.