Sticky: And well-met! This is my writing blog! Where the world of imagination combines with letters to form words and then into a (possibly) coherent piece of work. Poems, short stories, etc. Whatever springs forth from this mind into a collected string of words shall be here.

You are hereby warned that the content here may contain that suited for 18+ years of age (this is not an adult themed blog).

The short stories are inspired by a book that provides sentence prompts as a catalyst.  The book is published by Picadilly (USA) Inc. Copyright 2018. The cover writing is very fitting.


And without further ado, my humble and amateur works, COMMENCE.


#3 – The Feeling

I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and most of the time that’s fine by me. But in late fall when the sky fills with the birds migrating south for the winter, traveling thousands of miles, I get homesick for places I’ve never been. Places like a castle overlooking the countryside; the sky, soaring through the clouds, with the birds high in the atmosphere; moving with and against water currents, playing with the ocean dwellers; traversing the great underground caverns and tunnels. Inexplicable joy and longing at these…memories? Dreams? Wishes??

The feelings are so powerful I’ve considered asking my family, but something keeps telling me not to. To keep it a secret.

The town is small and only getting smaller as the youth leave for the cities. They are drawn by the allure of jobs, mates and lights. It’s not like I’ve never been to the city before, but the countryside, the land, always calls me back. Urbanity oppresses me, induces anxiety, closes in on me as if I’m being fettered and choked. No one understands it. They tell me I’m a strange hill-billy.

They don’t have to get me. Heck, I don’t even get myself.

Today, I’m sitting on a fence after finishing my chores for the day, when Farmer Tom leans on the fence beside me. We watch the fields, the cows and the setting sun for a while in silence, the chilly autumn breeze feeling good on our skin. Suddenly he says, “You feel the call, dontcha.” It’s not really a question. It startles me that he seems to have read my mind: I was just trying, for the millionth time, to make sense of the urges and tugging at my mind, heart and soul. He catches my eye and winks. I gasp aloud. For the first time in my life I see eyes that look like mine. Ever since I can remember I’ve worn special contacts in order to disguise the unique shape of my pupils that change depending on what and how I wish to see.

He then raises his nose to the air and says, “Goody Martha’s quiche is about ready to come out of the oven, but…”

“The crust and cheese are slightly burnt,” we both finish the sentence together. I can’t help but stare at him. Good Martha lives on the far edge of the town.

Farmer Tom just smiles and after a moment asks, “Do you want to know? There’s no taking it back once you do.” There is weight in his words, but a clear message appears in my mind. It is time. I only nod at him, my mouth unable to operate. He puts down his pitchfork and beckons me follow across fields, through trees and into the rocks.

My body tingles with anticipation, but my hands wring in anxiety. We stop at the edge of the highest cliff, the sun almost completely sunk below the horizon. I can see the lights in the town below us.

He turns to me, sheds all his clothes, and falls backwards off the cliff. I am transfixed to the spot, terrified, when a massive beast shoots into the air and lands with a thud before me. The eyes prove his humanity, but the scaly hide, the gorgeous wings, powerful tail and the ferocious heat emanating from his body…Farmer Tom — and I — are dragons.

#2 – The Dream

Perhaps it was a dream, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream world where the three people she cared about were healthy and safe. Her brother, her childhood friend and the love of her life. Being wrapped in his strong, gentle arms, feeling his familiar weight and that comforting scent. Through everything they’d been through together, he was always there when she needed him through thick and thin, risking it all for her without regard for his own safety. He always had her back despite her vicious betrayal, and it was his unrelenting faith in her that reignited her stone-cold heart and freed her Soul from its bonds. Literally. Two of the three were accounted for.

Well, at least she didn’t have to pinch herself. A fierce kick roused her from her reverie and the bite of the cold stone on her bare skin brought reality rushing back.

“Open your eyes,” a grating voice demanded. She obeyed to deter further blows, but it came anyways. The sharp iron taste of blood contacted her tongue. One of her eyes could not open all the way from inflammation, but she already knew who loomed above.

“Where is he?” she demanded back at the loathful woman before her. With a smirk, the large woman gestured. She strained against her bonds, the metal biting into her skin, to behold her brother hanging from the wall and covered with wounds in various stages of healing. Relief flooded through her. He was alive. Alive! And conscious. Although his face was obscured by his unkempt hair and beard, her acute vision caught the glimmer in his eyes and they exchanged imperceptible nods. Giggles threatened to bubble up from her belly at the foolishness of putting brother and sister in the same cell.

“He has been a most…delightful prisoner…” The woman was staring at him hungrily before the same gaze trailed back to the young, captive girl. The desire in the woman’s eyes grew thick with malicious intention and her lips curled into a perverse sneer. “I wonder if stubbornness runs in the family…?”

The girl laughed aloud.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been bound and tortured, lady. Besides,” she shrugged, grinning and ignoring the pain it caused, “you won’t even get a chance to try.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Too late she realized what was about to happen. Before she could sound the alarm, a massive black wolf had overpowered its quarry. Guards came rushing at the commotion only to be faced by a monster wolf with blood dripping from its maws as well as a black panther that lunged from the shadows.

The guards’ screams extinguished, brother and sister fled into the forest so thick even the full moon could not be seen from within. Back in human form, they embraced in an emotional reunion. At long last, it was over. Her quest had ended happily.

Perhaps it was a dream, but if it was she never wanted to wake up.

Poems from the 9th Grade

I just so happened to be poking around my hard drive for old pictures and stumbled upon an interesting folder of data from an old computer. In that, I was able to find a file called, “Poems from 9th Grade.” They’re very…crude…and admittedly rather macabre. Not smooth at all. Initially I had zero recollection of writing them at all, but then I did start to remember. Most significant was the memory of how proud I was to have written them. Looking back on them is hard given how poorly they sound out loud, but I will preserve that young high school freshman pride because I had very little self-confidence back then. Weird to get a glimpse of what was going on in my head at the time.

And here they are:

Poems from 9th Grade

What Happened?

Watch the eagle soaring high,

Symbolizing freedom as it flies

O’er rolling hills and spacious plains,

Dazzling waters and fields of grain.

Enjoying the warmth of the sun on his wings,

And listening as the birds melodiously sings

He rides the air currents in the sky.

As he glances down, something catches his eye.

Without warning he dives

Like a jet to the ground

With perfect aim and lightening speed

He grabs a fish with hardly a sound.

Grasping the trout tightly in his talons,

The eagle’s victory cry echoes through the trees.

Gliding over a luscious forest and to his nest

He flies, to present the prize to his babies.

Now imagine an eagle soaring high,

Wheeling up towards the hazy sky,

O’er crowded hills and thick city fog,

Murky waters and dump-filled bogs.

The harsh noon sun beats down on her back,

As she watches smoke spew from smokestacks.

All she sees below are tree stumps as she flies,

When she hears a bang and something whizzes by.

Without warning she plummets

Like a stone to the ground.

For the last time she wonders:

What happened to earth when my ancestors were around?


The Feast


Hopping along in search of good food,

She thought to herself, I think I’m in the mood

For a fat juicy caterpillar to be my lunch

Then I’ll snag a passing ant for later to munch.

But as she kept on jumping

Arachna was getting quite concerned.

She hadn’t seen a single caterpillar,

Not an ant or a worm.

Then she reasoned to herself,

How about a baby earwig?

It’s not as big as a roach, or like an ant, small.

I’d rater have an earwig than nothing at all.

As the bright yellow sun began to set,

She still hadn’t found a cricket yet.

This was giving her quite a scare

So she though, I’ll eat anything, I don’t care!

As the moon was coming up,

Arachna still hadn’t found a thing to eat.

Her eight legs were extremely sore,

And she was greatly in need of fresh meat.

In despair she crawled home,

Starving and alone

When suddenly in the moonlight,

She almost danced in her delight.

For she saw an unsuspecting weevil

And Arachna, feeling quite evil,

Pounced, and with one bite killed the beast.

So that night enjoyed a plump weevil feast.

#1 – The Hope

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was to sell our home and oil rights, buy a large parcel of land near the mountains and then travel. There were other ideas, but the possibilities were endless! Everyone dreams of winning the lottery and here we were. It just didn’t feel real!

My first inkling that something was wrong had to do with Daisy, our dog. She refused to go near the bubbling black mini-fountain in the yard and would bark incessantly at it if we didn’t stop her. It was as if she feared it would harm us. Then, I noticed that wildlife gave it and our property a wide berth. No buzz of insects nor birdsong graced our property after the find. Nonetheless, we called the oil company. Both of us were nervous wrecks when the inspector took a sample and ran it through the portable lab in his van. This was our future at stake here though there was no real reason to fear: we could only gain from the outcome. I studied the man’s face ardently as he walked back to us, clipboard in hand. Consternation marred his features. Before he could speak, the ground trembled violently, knocking all three of us off our feet. It lasted maybe 10 seconds, but it seemed like whole minutes! Earthquakes were not uncommon in those parts, but I felt uneasy. Was it my imagination or did that feel different? Less like plates shifting below us and more like—I was distracted from my thoughts by yelps and yipping from our house. Daisy dashed out the door with her tail between her legs and ears back, running far down the road before anyone could call to her or react.

We picked ourselves up and exchanged wide-eyed looks before turning warily to the inspector. His frown had taken over his face and sweat poured from his head. With an audible gulp he asked, “How did you come across the liquid?” We explained that construction crews had used a large augur to drill a hole for our construction project, when the liquid spurted out and hadn’t stopped since then.

“Was there anything…strange…before the crews started work?” The question took me by surprise. Biting my lip, I answered hesitantly, “Y-yes…around the time we’d gotten the right permits from the county to start the project, a fellow appeared in the yard and told me that we’d regret harming the ground. Dark, messy hair, a red and white cap, blue vest, backpack…I told him to screw himself and get the hell off my property. We’ve been planning this project for years!” The ground was vibrating again. We remained upright.

The oil inspector squeezed his eyes shut after my response like he was in a lot of pain. The tremors increased in ferocity. He snapped them open, thrust a paper into our hands and sprinted to the van. We heard him floor it as we both stared at the computer printout. It contained a picture of a Torterra with the image of a man standing only as high as its knee for scale.

“Is this a joke?!” I shouted aloud.

Right then, the quaking became impossibly powerful and two massive, glowing eyes lifted from the earth. As the ground split apart beneath us to reveal a yawning abyss, I laughed hysterically.

I’d always wanted to meet a real, live Pokémon.

I Know, I Know…

I’m well aware that I started this blog to display my short story writings, and have yet to deliver. My problem is presenting a product that I haven’t revised over and over again. What if it’s not perfect? gah!

I’ll try to overcome myself, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be 100% satisfied by any of my works. My first post after this!

Please remember, then, that these short stories are from a book with writing prompts. The bold, italicized font is the prompt. The rest of it is mine.


One of my co-workers and I were bouncing to some beats randomly, and I joked that I should rap, but I’m terrible at coming with stuff on the fly. Then, some words started going through my mind and it ended with this:

Today is Friday the best day of the weekdays
Can’t wait to go home and hang out wit mah home-maes
Chillin wit ma dawgz and loungin’ on the couch, yea
‘Cuz it’s Friday the best day of the weekdays.

Rolling in, in the morning,
Y’all slow, least it ain’t pouring
Lying there, don wanna go in
Through the door, headache’s growin’
Aight people, let’s keep flowin’
Where my food, belly’s crowin’!

Today is Friday the best day of the weekdays
Can’t wait to go home and hang out wit mah home-maes
Chillin wit ma dawgz and loungin on the couch, yea
‘Cuz it’s Friday the day before Saturday!

So come on quick, do my exam,
Ready to jet outta here, I am
Out into the clear streets, I scram
Cranking up my sick beats, I jam!
Charging down the road like, a ram,
Won’t be too long ’til we doing it again!

Today is Friday the best day of the weekdays
Can’t wait to go home and hang out wit mah home-maes
Chillin’ wit ma dawgz and loungin’ on the couch, yea
‘Cuz it’s Friday, better known as Fri-YAY!

Haha. Too bad I don’t have a keyboard to turn it into something. The beat’s all over the place, though. Still fun.


One of my co-workers is getting married tomorrow, so she only worked a half day and is off of work today too. A few of us got together to give her a gift and a card. I was super proud of myself for coming up with a small poem on the fly and was excited to give it to her. She was reading it and then looked confused and it took me until this morning to realize exactly why she was confused. Here is what it said (roughly):

I wish you love,
I say congrats,
Like a glove,
Like nice hats,
You fit like glue
No longer one but two.

It occurred to me that the last line not only didn’t match the others, but implied they were splitting up. OMG. I think she knew what I meant, that she was no longer alone but together, but good grief!! Face palm, face palm, face palm!!

So of course as I’m thinking about this in the shower, I’m trying to come up with different iterations of it to make it better.

I wish you love,
I say congrats!
Like a glove,
Like nice hats,
You fit, you do!
Woohoo, you two!!


I wish you love,
I say congrats,
Like a glove,
Like nice hats,
You fit oh-so rightly
May your union shine brightly

Buh. Oh well, too late now.