Everblossom a short stor.., p.1
An anthology that will quench your thirst for more than the ordinary.
Everblossom is a journey through poems and short stories that may seem ordinary on the surface but dig a little deeper and the world not only shifts . . . It changes.
The author who brought you Iwishacana/Acanawishi, now brings you a dash of everything from dark fantasy to the paranormal to romance. So prepare yourself to delve into the three stages of the flower from bud to blossom then back to seed; you’ll go through them all with a whole new perspective on what it all truly means.
A Short Story and Poetry Anthology
Copyright © 2011 by Larissa Hinton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author (email@example.com).
Cover art designed by the author but the photo supplied by shutterstock
Table of Contents
Seed to Seed to Seed
*In the Beginning
The Colors of the Rainbow
From Mother to Fetus
The One to Fear
Born Without a Heart
*Crash and Burn
A Good Girl
English Major Dues
Bills, Bills, Bills
*Forget Me Nots
In Death You Speak
Black and White
*These particular stories were written with protagonist and antagonist seen in these other novels (not all are available yet): V, Iwishacana/Acanawishi, and Angel Diaries. For more information, please visit my blog: https://teacherwritebookaholicohmy.blogspot.com/
I would like to introduce you to my short story and poetry anthology. I bet all you guys are shaking or scratching your head in frustration wondering why I even put poetry in this anthology. I have no idea if this has been done or not, but when I started this anthology, it all seemed to flow just right.
Even though I started this anthology with the thought that maybe I should just include short stories, I started to realize that my poetry has never had the spotlight. My writing started with poetry when I was in eighth grade when a teacher asked us to compose some poems, and you’ll see some of my very first poetry in the very beginning of this anthology, Seed. I decided that it would be inappropriate for me to just leave out some of my finest—and not so finest—humble beginnings as a poet. You will also see a budding, so to speak, of my short story writing. I just started writing short stories this past year and I have to say, I do love the idea.
Anyway, I know another question you are just dying to let out: what kind of stories and poems are in this anthology? If you have read any of my previous work, you will notice that I play with the idea of light and dark fantasy with a touch of gore. This isn’t exactly a Howl-O-Scream sort of anthology but it is not for the faint of heart. Some pieces will make you wince, especially stories like “Wrinkle” and the poem “English Major Dues”.
However, the rest of the works will make you think and wince for different reasons other than gore. Some of them are touching and some will make you think in a whole new way. And that’s the whole point of this anthology: to play with your mind, to play with the idea of what is ordinary.
So without further ado, I invite you to enjoy and ponder over my anthology, Everblossom.
Seed to Seed to Seed
Bud to blossom
till dusk til noon
from sunlight to sunset
do you know the circle of life?
From the womb to the grave
from blood to dust
this is how the world began
and how it shall end
to seed to seed to seed . . .
In the Beginning, There Were Fairy Tales
Once upon a time, in a dimension far, far away, lived a homeless man who swam with all his might to find land. He wasn’t your stereotypical homeless bum either: he had magic powers. Or so he thought, anyway.
Any-who, moving on with the miraculous story . . . So in this weird, mysterious place, the waves were sweeping high, threatening to crash and swallow the poor man in one small gulp but then a miracle happened: he found land!
His eyes teared up at the beautiful white sand that appeared to him, almost like a mirage, except he could touch it and feel it sift between his fingers. He laid there upon that beach and heard his belly growl like a mean tiger suddenly hunger for prey. He closed his eyes and wished for food. And bam, like Disney said it would happen, it really happened. The food came up just as he wished it. He stared at his hands, gripped around thick turkey thighs, dripping with grease that he licked, and surprisingly, it tasted just like turkey.
This was no dream, it was real. He bit into the turkey leg then swallowed, only to found it was difficult to swallow. He needed water so obviously he wished for it, and bam, water came pouring down in torrents, bathing him in a sea of white and blue. Then it stopped. The homeless man smiled and ate the most delicious meal in his life. When he turned around and viewed the small island, he knew he had a lot of work to do.
After five days of resting and wishing with all of his might, he created some place that never existed before he landed on the mysterious island, a place where he could finally call home. The sand was replaced with lush grass which was then covered with pavement and then upon the pavement were buildings and places to shop, and the mega mansion he always knew he should and would have—eventually anyway.
All he needed now were people but he wanted to build one last thing: a direct contrast to his place where nature and the city untied in such a beautiful way which could only be dreamed of. He dreamed of the place he left, a city where werewolves and vampires would stroll and be forever separated by the cross of a single strip of land. He built The Dead End.
He knew it wasn’t the best idea for a city name, but he didn’t really care since he wasn’t going to be there anyway. He wished for tall trees that spanned for miles and miles, that had one little corner of civilization where bad people would stay. Then he came up with a most brilliant brilliant plan: build a force field . . . Or at least wish up one.
Next, with all his brain and power, he thought of a blue echoing electrifying force shield that kept everyone separated with paths of good.
and evil. Now it was time to build people to fill it. He went to his mega mansion where a blank sheet of paper instantly appeared with the normal human outline. He looked and puzzled over it. Then it hit him: colors! Make them all kinds of different colors. Blue, green, purple, red and, of course, white (which he knew wasn’t a real color but he since it was his place, he made it into a color). Then the picture popped out with the first woman created, who was to be his wife, a gorgeous woman who would make everyone’s mouth water and eyes fill with lust. He looked at her and she looked
All that was left was a name. He slept next to his new wife and thought over ideas that continued to come to him, but as we know, he is not such a great person with names. So the wife sat up and whispered in his ear, “Iwishacana.” Thus was the name of the wishful place and language was clear. Since he himself was a man who only spoke Greek, so would everyone else.
Little did he know that even though he was a big time man now, having made a land out of just wishes and that his people would be what he wanted, life is continuous change. Nothing would stay as he wanted them to be. That there were always wishes that could be broken and evil could never be contained in one place. He didn’t know that people from the other universe who knew nothing about Iwishacana would soon come to destroy it. As he fell asleep in his precious wife‟s arms who would do nothing but create problems in his life, he felt content and happy for the last time he lived. It was simply the beginning of the end.
Kick your legs
high into the air
hear a thousand laughs
into the woods
don’t be afraid
swing on that great vine
scream like a banshee
point and slap your knee
sleep on a huge blanket
watch lion king
laugh like a hyena
belch like a true prince
and puff out your chest
like a real man
show your dimples
play in the sand
watch how the grains slip through your
make sure to run
run like the wind ruffles through your hair
do not care about adult things
just go out there
stomp your tiny little feet
and pout with those huge puppy-dog eyes
and pretty mouth
sharpen your tongue
talk like a poet
talk like your daddy or mommy
show her all your scrapes
and pout just like her
don’t forget daddy
show him your strength like a tiger
wrestle your sister to the floor
and hear her wail
since you may not have a second chance
at your dear friend, childhood.
The hit, the sound, the heat and the moment hit her in the pit of her stomach. My God, what have I done? she thought.
Lucia’s face sharpened, her angelic face turned monstrously adult, and she slapped her across her right cheek. It was as soft as a pillow slapping the bed but all the same the mother cupped her own cheek. She stared back at her child in awe at the intensity in somebody so young. Her eyes glittered like filthy diamonds finally rising to the surface to be cleaned and claimed by men.
She whispered, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!”
The mother tried to curl her into her arms, to make her forget the horrible incident, to remove the spit from her cheek that her daughter had lunged at her. It was simply a trick her friends at preschool taught her. Instinct took over as soon as the spit landed her cheek: she slapped her.
Lucia, instead of seeking comfort in her mother’s arms, ran away into her room and slammed the door shut. The mother put her head in her hands. That child was driving her crazy. Footsteps softly padded towards her and when she looked up, she saw her husband’s penetrating brown eyes studying her own.
“Baby, what the hell happened?” He whispered, gathering her into his arms.
She looked up into his eyes seeking understanding, but knew she wouldn’t find any. “I slapped her John. I didn’t mean to—”
He stood up releasing her just as easily as he had pulled her into his embrace. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
“I didn’t mean to. She spit on me and I just reacted.” She studied her shoes as she swiped them back and forth against the cracked linoleum floor.
“By slapping her?” He clenched his fist. “Damn it. You cannot just simply react. You’ve got to think things through. My God, what would the neighbors think?”
Laureen looked up at John with confusion coloring her eyes. “If you would stop calling the police every time something occurs maybe then the neighbors wouldn’t bother us anymore.”
There was a beat of silence before John spoke again. “I can’t keep sending her to school with bruises. It won’t be long before one of her teachers notices and has the smart idea to call CPS.”
“I know. I know,” Laureen said, then looked back down and mumbled, “We could move.”
“We can’t afford to move again. We have to fix this once and for all.” John walked back into his bedroom, grabbed his briefcase, and set it on the creaky dining room table. He slapped the papers on the table and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “It’s the only way.”
Laureen frowned and picked up the papers. She paled as the words began to form in her head. “Terminate Parental Rights?” After all she has put up for this family and now this?
“Sign and send it along with the divorce papers to our lawyer tomorrow. I also packed all of your things this morning. They’re right inside the closet . . .”
His words turned into knives, each of them stabbing her in the heart with every single stroke of a practiced painter. Her world tilted on her axis as she continued to hold on to the papers. How could this happen? How could this have ever occurred?
* * *
Lucia grabbed a dart with a grin and aimed it at a picture of Laureen. She let it fly. It pinned her mother right in that gigantic heart of hers. The pictures next to it were similar with equal amounts of pin-sized holes in them, at least a dozen of pictures with beautiful women torn from the wedding picture of her dad. She released another dart into the previous one with the blonde hair and weird smile. How many more women will it take for her dad to notice her?
She gripped the darts tightly then placed them gently on the desk. Lucia couldn’t let the anger conquer her. She opened her baby book and slid out the newest photo of the woman her dad has dated recently behind Laureen’s back.
One down, one to go.
The Colors of the Rainbow
something that comes after rain
that can’t be explained except that
is just there and meant to be
enjoyed and wondered at.
The Rainbow has magic of its
own of turning kids frowns
upside down and dreadful days
into glorious days.
With the mixture of green, purple, yellow,
red, blue, orange and indigo how
could it not?
All of these colors have their
individual meaning and
All of their individual meanings are listed below:
Green the color of life
Purple the color of royalty
Yellow the color of joy
Orange the color of sunshine on a cloudy day
Red and Blue the colors of America
Indigo the color of singing birds
These colors make a beautiful sight
after a playful and sometimes
So treasure a rainbow for as long
as you can.
From Mother to Fetus
My Dearest Sweet Fetus,
You are my world, my everything. Without you in my belly kicking me with every single ounce of strength, I would not survive. I sacrificed for you, my body, my perfect image, just to breathe life into your lungs. Never forget the sacrifice when you grow older, when your hips sway to exotic beats of the forbidden jungle and a guy tries to pull the same shit he tried on me. He will never love you as I do.
Do not try to separate our link, our chain. It was made, it was written in gold way before our time. It is in our DNA, in our genes, in our blood to be linked forever. You will need to lean on me as I will lean on you to be my support beam, my everything. You are not without your faults as I am not perfect either. We will fight, young one. We will be so mad at each other that hate will only be a stone throw away, but we must remain a united front against the world and for ourselves.
You see, sweet child of mine, we are an anomaly. We are special. We are something the world hasn’t seen despite what they may call you, you and I we are special. We are not to take crap from nobody. We are to forever stand tall as beautiful women of color that we are. Yes, you may not know what colored means in society but you will soon learn that color isn’t something to marvel and explore like the colors of the rainbow. For the world, it’s something to hold over your head. To forever label you as an outsider who will never get the fabulous white card of privilege.
But let me tell you something, precious: you don’t want it. You could strive for years seeking their approval and try to smart, begrudge, or even elbow your way into their world or their lifestyle but you know what? It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. The glamorous life is all about showing people what you got instead of enjoying it and baby, I want you to live.
Most people were determined, especially your father, to kick you out of this world because of your specialness, because you were “ill-timed”, but you are still here. You will forever be in my heart and a part of me. I couldn’t let you go even if I tried. You are mine in this world and in the next. Never forget this all that I tell you, child. All that you are to me and to the world. Go do what God has made you to do. And do it well.
The One to Fear
I am the outsider
I am the witness
you never see.
I am always on the outside looking in.
And I’m always watching,
I know everything.
I know your darkest secrets,
and your inner desires.
I am the outsider.
While you cheated on
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