Welcome to my blog! My name is Chloe and I am a writer. I was born and raised in the Chicagoland area. Here you will find snippets of novella, short stories, poem, articles, and maybe a journal entry or two. Much of my work has LGBT influences, topics, and characters. I have always loved creating … Continue reading Indeterminate Time
Click goes each bead, falling into place. Different colors run along a thin translucent line, tailored to whom it will be worn. My heart sank as one line was cut, small spheres going in directions.
The cold machines roll thunder through the countryside, aimed, poised. They have never ventured this far before. The monsters perch atop the machine's cabins. She peers through the blinds, knuckles white against her broom.
Met her in the summer heat by that river running through the neon city. Arrived with billowing flowers, reds and yellows. Beautiful.
The witch climbs her tower and realizes that it has gotten a little taller over the years. One cantrip later, the tower comes down to the size of a cottage and her heart grows warmer. The ribbon of her hat flutters in the wind, as she basks in the summer heat.
Slathering the mess upon her face, she feels as though mud cakes her eyes and pebbles accumulate blocking her tear ducts. She rubs her eyes causing everything to shift. She looks up into the mirror in wonder at the young woman before her.
Hello! Yes, I'm still here though things have gotten pretty hectic in real life land. A couple of updates, less so for the site but things just happening in general. Number 1! I have gotten a new job and it has been taking a lot of my time both on (and unfortunately) off the clock. … Continue reading Journal Update
A familiar, sweet smell and a taste of love. She brings the cup to her lips, feeling the heat rising as goosebumps coil down her legs and arms. She closes her eyes, listening to the cat’s playful pounce and serenity of the dog’s snore.
Tick, tick, tick. Each one goes left. The game should be easy by now, but then this is not a game. And the pieces are people.
The air gathers in a gentle warm breeze. Center of the spire, a blinding light stands, radiating tendrils down the corridors of the spire. The witch sits with book in hand, ever waiting.
The witch found a cottage on the river she would call home. Even still the broom and flight called to her senses urging her for adventure.