creative writing

On the Last Day

/ roughwighting / 124 Comments

bath, writing in the bathOn this dreary day, Thea wrote sitting in the tub, her favorite place for creating stories. Writing allowed her to sink into another world while candles lit the steamy room and bath bubbles glistened.

But Thea’s story was side-tracked when a knock at the front door roused her from the fantasy world she’d created of knights and lasses and a well-spoken dragon. By the second, louder knock, she dried herself off with a towel, grumbling that she could have stayed in the tub another half hour.

The third knock was obnoxiously insistent, so Thea pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and stomped to the door.

“Yes?” she asked, irritation noticeable in her tone.  Continue reading →

Marshmallow Suspense

/ roughwighting / 117 Comments

mystery, suspense, unopened box, blogDebra unties the ribbon around the mysterious box and slowly opens it. Her puzzled look doesn’t leave her face when the side door rams open and two men enter. (https://roughwighting.net/2018/09/28/strangers-in-the-dark/)

“If you want to help your friend,” the stockiest man growls, “empty the box and show us the rest.”

Debra laughs, but not with humor. “Are you kidding me? You must be the agent Eugene told me about last week.”

The man’s face falls as flat as a bad soufflé. “He told you about me?” Continue reading →

The Tattoo Artist

/ roughwighting / 136 Comments
tattoo, ghost story, blog post

By Vogler from Wikimedia Commons.

As a tattoo artist, Jilly had met many “unusual” people, but this particular repeat customer was the most unique.

Jilly shivered as the tall lean woman floated through the parlor door and sank immediately into Jilly’s “design” chair.

“Hi!” Jilly greeted with a nervous wave of her hand. Usually blunt and confident, Jilly’s demeanor changed when this client appeared weekly.

Jilly began again: “This is your 13th appointment.” Continue reading →

Eating My Words

/ roughwighting / 135 Comments

eating my words, blogging, Winston Churchill“What’s for breakfast?” my son asks. He’s visiting from California thanks to a Boston business trip.

“Malevolent . Ensorcell. Palatable.”

Sean watches me pour the words into my cereal bowl. “Are you adding milk to that?” he wonders out loud.

“I like my words dry,” I respond.

My sophisticated adult son sits down with a thud. The look in his gray-green eyes changes from amusement to concern in seconds.  Continue reading →