Ashes, The Beast, and Untitled

I wrote a journal entry back in September that I titled “Ashes”. I don’t remember if there was a prompt to it or not, but it went some places. I know I let a couple literaries read it, but I don’t think everyone did, so I’ll share it here! I felt like it was perfect, given the special day coming up. Just as a warning, there is a bit of gore (sort of?) and mentions of (technically) murder. Please don’t take offense to it!

Without further ado, here is “Ashes”!

There’s a plant in the window that makes oxygen for me. I breathe in its creation and breathe out pollutants.

I watch its leaves flutter in the breeze as sunlight shines through them. The day is quiet as I watch this little plant. I give it water and a bit of fertilizer to help it grow. My little plant is special to me.

Because my little plant holds a secret.

Within its soil, there are bones and ashes. THey came from my ex boyfriend. I cut his finger off and used them to fertilize the soil. I burned the skin off his arms and mixed the ashes in with his fingers.

I smile as I look out the window to the massive oak tree in my backyard.

You don’t want to know what I did to the rest of him.

So that was “Ashes”. Yeah, I don’t know what happened there either, but you bet two whole dollars that I just shortened that some and entered it for that 50 word horror story contest! Along with another piece, but that won’t be shared just yet!

Here’s one fall poem that I also wrote back in September, titled “The Beast”.

It’s coming. 

It’s time.

It’s getting cooler.

The world around me is dying.

It’s all so beautiful.

 

The beast is waking up.

Its jaw is unhinged, letting its cool breath wash over the earth.

It’s quieter – there’s hardly any buzzing now. I enjoy the quiet.

 

Fires are starting. Families are gathering.

Finally they’re all together again.

 

The leaves flutter free from the grasp of their prison.

The golds, reds, and oranges twist and twirl in the wind

as the brown ones skitter and dance in the streets.

The air is crisp and the beast smiles lazily,

its breath gently blowing as it closes its eyes again.

 

Fall is here, and it’s time to celebrate. 

 

 

Author: Morgan Crosby

The girl from D'Iberville is a really dull girl. She locks herself up in her room, content to spend her time reading and occasionally writing. She loves to read little YA romances and sometimes finds herself with books about history. The main thing motivating her writing is her overactive imagination and the strange dreams that plague her sleep. Her works also stem from what she has heard from music, conversations, or when half asleep. Crazed killers, haunted mirrors, and murderous siblings seem to be part of her stories in some way, but they always start off in her dreams. She started writing when she was in middle school, but had been telling stories since she was little.

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