H. Winters
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Stories (5)
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Where is Marie?
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. As she lay Charlie down in his crib, she turned on the koala mobile and watched for a moment as the twinkle lights lit up the green vines that started slowly spinning. With one last tummy rub, she turned and crawled into bed. This will be the last night she spends with him, she thought as her vision blurred. She got back up and carefully picked up Charlie before getting back into bed. She nestled him under her arm and she began quietly sobbing.
By H. Winters3 years ago in Fiction
Sanctuary
Calypso panicked as she threw the blankets onto the floor. Griffin had been seen only thirty minutes ago when she had left him to play while she showered. After she searched under the crib and through the dwarfed linen closet in vain, she stopped to breathe, combing her fingers through her hair to pull it out of her face. Her mind raced, trying to figure out where he could be; she had looked everywhere and he was only two. He could not have gotten far.
By H. Winters3 years ago in Fiction
The Homestead
There weren't always dragons in the valley. It was once filled with sunlight and a variety of wildlife that would have put Noah's Ark to shame; everything from owls to elk to field mice, the valley was home to all animals and humankind alike. It has since been abandoned by most, but not overnight.
By H. Winters4 years ago in Fiction
Silence
Silence. That was all there was now. Once upon a time, there were birds in the woods, chirping at one another in seemingly random symphonies. Deer rustling through the bushes, searching for something to eat. Owls hooting at night, guarding the trees as the others slept. Not anymore. Now these woods echoed a silence. The colony wars and haphazard hunting practices during the years of scarce resources and panic by poachers and eager salesmen emptied this home a long time ago. But still, the silence was beautiful.
By H. Winters4 years ago in Fiction
Sea Urchin
These meetings were the by far one of the most dreadful part of my job. Reasonable to assume that their tedious and dream-crushing nature was why they ended up on my schedule in the first place, being the lowest on the proverbial food chain. No one wanted to be the one who had to tell a hopeful and perfectly lovely, middle-aged housewife that her “unique” and “original” cookbook was not as special as she had thought, or the young, college-educated dreamer still paying off the thousands of dollars in student loans that they wasted four years working toward their English degree. No one but Mr. Stapleton that is, he had no problems being a cruel man.
By H. Winters4 years ago in Fiction
