Through the Hole

The sky was a canvas of orange, red and yellow, stretching across the horizon. A halo formed around his head from the setting sunlight. Seeing him this way, speeded the throb of my heart. There were few sights that dizzied me—he was one of them. His hooded eyes and dimples that showed with his smile weakened more than the fatigue of skipping breakfast and lunch, two terrible habits I struggled to rid myself of. Between his physical charm, his intellect was his real draw, I’d followed from the University to the wilderness. His charisma and talk of urban legends and cryptozoology might have cost him his job but I didn’t care if the rest of the world viewed him as a lunatic.

“Just 5 more miles,” he hollered as he strode ten steps ahead. I followed behind him, admiring each step his muscled legs took to further us to our destination. Soon we’d have our names recorded in journals and new articles as well as books, documentaries and movies would flood the world about our discovery. Finally, those who had mocked the authenticity of hunting creatures that failed to fall into the taxonomy categories within science would marvel.

“Is that the spot?” I shouted at him as we drew closer to a large hole in the earth. It appeared to be an endless pool of darkness.

“Yes, they say the treasure was cast down here. He hunched down beside the hole and shouted into it. His voice echoed back, bouncing off the walls of the vertical cave. He inhaled and exhaled, the aroma of soil mixed with the rich pigments of.

A shrill scream escaped his lips, jolting me from my daze of, watching him. His head turned around so fast that I thought his neck would snap, and his eyes, nose and mouth were oozing of red rivers.

“Professor?” I backed away from him as he stood up, stalking closer to me. The blood flowing from every orifice was staining his dress shirt.

“You’ve always been my favorite pupil, Ida,” he said. His once gentle voice was guttural like he suffered from a bad cold.

“What happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” He chuckled, clutching his stomach. “I never felt so alive. You should experience the gift this discovery has brought me. When he laughed, his once rounded teeth were sharper and jagged like a mouth of daggers. “You should experience the gift this discovery has brought me.” When he laughed, his once rounded teeth were sharper and jagged like a mouth of daggers.

“No!” I backed away as he walked closer, gripping both my shoulders.

“You will experience the rebirth!” He dug his sharpened nails into my shoulders and I yowled as they pierced my skin. I wiggled free and turned to dash away, but he gripped the fabric of my jacket and cast me backward and I flew backward falling into the hole.

It was hard to resist the stiffening my body responded with but I feared fractioning a bone. Before I could hit the floor, a blast of light blinded me as an erruption of roars and growls exploded in my ears.



Warren’s hands shook as he gripped a cardboard sign. The arthritis in his hands was worsening with the frigid air as he neared forty.

An attractive woman with shoulder length black hair wearing a fitted white blouse and black pencil skirt was swishing his way. By the ease of her stride, he doubted she saw him yet. Most people, let alone women were appalled by him. No income, home or resources but the clothes on his back and the few items he managed to gather in his backpack. For an ex-convict who was constantly denied work, he wondered what the point of life was but to survive. His heart still beat but he felt like he had died the day he was caught with twenty pounds of marijuana. That possession charge was the death of his dream. Warren’s body odor from sweat and the garbage he often dug in for his next meal or to construct a new sign didn’t help his overall appearance.

When the woman’s head turned to him, her nose wrinkled and she shot him a glare.

Get a job, bum!” she hollered, dunking her hot coffee on him. He didn’t know what stung worse her insolence or the hot liquid on his already irritated skin. He wiped the coffee off his face. The writing on his sign was smeared and fading like his hope.

Glass Prisoner

The hard metallic arms of tweezers enclosed around the shell of a tiny beetle. He shivered from the sensation of the cold metal on his shell, trying to wiggle himself free. Beetle didn’t dart fast enough as the cruel crane squeezed and swept him up, suspending him in midair. A curious set of brown eyes studied his black glossy exterior.

“Beautiful!” a boy said, grinning wide, displaying his braces and dropping Beetle into a jar. Beetle bounced off the glass surface, and planted his four feet on the edge, scrambling his way to the top of the jar. He collided with a round plastic barrier, imprisoning him.

The bumping and shaking of being lifted and carried worsened his pulsing headache. Who was this monsters and why did it take pleasure in capturing him?

His nausea ceased when the jar was set down on a bookshelf. The giant figure departed, leaving him alone in a glass prison. Beside him outside the walls of the jar were several books with pictures of insects. Coleoptera one of the books read as it displayed pictures of several other species of beetles. One picture of a black beetle on the cover looked as if it could be his twin. Seeing another insect in his likeness brought him relief in this strange place. He longed to squeeze through the barrier and interact with his fellow beetle. But his mental ease was short lived with the pound of heavy feet as an even greater threat entered the room.

“Stupid bug!” a husky male voice hollered. Into the room, a stocky boy ran. He was far more of a monstrosity than the first boy who had a lanky frame. This boy had a large face and tiny gray eyes that darted.

He grabbed the jar, shaking it. Beetle did his best to plant his legs on the surface of the jar, but the force of movement was greater than he could withstand and he flew around the jar like a ping pong ball.

“I don’t see why my brother loves to collect bugs!” The lid of the jar pulled open and beetle rushed to the top to escape, but the large hand covered his escape. He darted back down the jar to dodge his hand. “Come on, buggy don’t you want to play!”

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice said. Beetle glanced to see the first boy entering. The hand drew back.

“Just getting ready to kill your bug friend, loser!”

“Get out, Carl!” he said glaring at his brother. The two stared at one another without speaking then finally the second monster left. The lid of the jar enclosed, and the exhausted beetle shut his eyes to rest.


In 3 days I’ll be 24, as many hours are in a day, but as I prepare to add another year to my lifetime, I want to reflect on being 23.

At 23 years old, there’s a lot of transition that occurs. For some, they’re adjusting to working after college like myself while others might find themselves returning to school if they haven’t gone already. I just graduated in May after being a super senior. I also landed my first job and am contemplating furthering my education with graduate school in another year or so. I’ve also begun to think more about long-term goals like investing in a home, and other expenses as well as thinking about my college debt. It’s the last year of my early twenties, now everything is transitioning into the get the serious stage where you’re no longer super young and more is expected of you as an adult but you’re also still too young to be taken seriously.

According to scientists, there are two years left until your brain stops growing. I guess, it’ll be interesting what that means for someone like me who writes novels, how that will affect my creativity. Although, I’m not in a relationship more people are beginning to ask me as I approach my mid-twenties about dating, marriage, kids and a family. I’m still in a stage of not yet and it can wait as I do my best to navigate adulthood. Yet I watch many that I graduated high school with, which is now 6 years ago, more than half a decade, tie the knot and build a family. At the same time, while many are doing so there are still some people my age who are living at home with their parents saving and figuring things out. Twenty-three can be a fun or stressful time depending on what you do during that year. For me, it’s been one of the best years despite losing my sidekick, Rocky the family pet. I’ve graduated, published two novels and started working my first adult job.

Thirty years old is just seven years away and although might seem like a long time you realize it’s almost as long ago as you graduated high school and realize just as fast as the time between now and then went by so will the rest of your twenties.

A Huge Celebration and Thanks

Thank you everyone who has followed the blog throughout its two year lifespan. I apologize for not posting as much as I ought to. I’ve been swamped with finishing out senior year of college and balancing it with this novel launch. I want to invite all who are interested to check out my debut novel Volatile releasing Wednesday April 18, 2018 at midnight. You can order the ebook early on Amazon today!



February is the shortest month of the year. It’s black history month and the third month of winter. Punxsutawney Phil predicts if there will be a longer winter or if spring will come soon. Regardless of his prediction, spring is just a month away. Usually February is as bitterly cold as January with chances of ice storms. Second semester of school is in full swing. People are chatting about Valentine’s day and for some there’s Mardi Gras. Purim often occurs in this month and it’s quite eventful for such a short month.

It’s been a personal important month past and present whether I’m thinking about the fact I moved to my current town on February 27, 2004, which makes this 14 years since I lived here. On the 26th of this month I uploaded my first video, which made it the start of my Youtube career. On the 6th day in 2015 I almost died when I was hit by a car and on the 20th I had my first car wreck this year in 2018. This is also the month on Valentine’s day that our family dog Rocky passed away. In short, this month represents a period transition and remembrance.

There’s No Month Like April


In the northern hemisphere the weather warms, the grass greens. Life is in full bloom with flowering fields, fresh produce, animals awakening from hibernation and mating. A burst of colors on the horizon. Spring is in full swing. Warm showers water the terrain. In the Midwest the risk of tornadoes and severe thunderstorms increase.

A semester closes, and graduation is around the corner. Taking a trip down memory lane, I recall grass stained jeans, prairie dogs, swinging in the park, and field day in elementary, spring mixers and track and field in middles school. In high school prom and last preparation for finals and projects in college.

Cloud watching during the day and stargazing at night, enjoying cookouts and ride with the windows down. The sound of children playing, sprinklers, dogs barking, the chirp of crickets and birds, and lawn mowers returns. The smell of barbecue and fresh cut grass permeates the clement breeze. Light jackets replace coats, dresses exchanged for sweats, and shorts, and blouses in place of jeans and sleeves.

A quarter of the year is over, and it’s a wonder what the remaining part will yield. April is a time of global and personal triumphs and tragedies. The third week has historical ties to horrific events. It is also a period of reflecting on those who entered and exited my life.

It’s a month and season of transition and transformation. A merging of innocence with maturity, loss and gain. The antithesis to autumn where everything slows, cools and dies instead all is revived in a new form. There’s no month like April.