#wheninkbleeds

You weren’t present. You were scrolling.

And you inattentively watched everything happen from the back seat in the balcony in between scrolling through social media on your phone.

Some days break differently. With a gun, not the sunrise.

A grocery store trip should be routine. I gathered all my listed items. I stood in a line. The gunman changed everything.

Attribution:

You asked how I felt. You really don’t want the answer.

I’d just as soon glide down a slide made of razors into a pool of alcohol than have anything to do with you ever again.

She didn’t have to say “stay.” But I would’ve. If she had.

I made no efforts to hide my packing, my things, my boxes, loading them into the truck. Walking back and forth. Load after load. She sat there crying. Hysterical. Kept apologizing. All she had to do was ask. But she couldn’t form the words in her heart. So, I tipped my hat and drove away. I even waited for the phone to ring. The silence was deafening.

You came here to kill me. But look around, does this look like evil to you?

The hero enters the villain’s throne room in chains. “You came here to kill me because that’s what your father and grandfather taught you was your destiny. They told you I stand for everything you are against.” They walk to a window. “Look. Everyone here is fed. Everyone is cared for. I have no quarrel with you, except the one in your head.” The villain nods to the guard. The hero is unshackled. Weapon returned. “You are free to go. You are free to strike me down. My guards won’t stop you either way. But either way, you leave here with your eyes wide open forevermore.” The villain continues to watch his people go about their daily business.

Some mirrors don’t crack. They just disappear.

This house has no mirrors. Mirrors don’t lie. I no longer recognize myself in the mirror. My soul has been compromised. I became the very thing I fought so hard to eliminate. (Read it forward and backward.)

When Ink Bleeds This is where the stories spill.

Micro-scenes. One-liners. Emotional wreckage disguised as fiction.

I can’t promise you’ll find happy endings here. But, I can promise you’ll find something real.

I write paradox. I write ruin. I write what others don’t say out loud.

Some of it’s raw. Some of it’s personal. All of it’s intentional.

If it cuts—good. If it lingers—better.

Available for: – Ghostwriting – Dialogue punching – Scene-building – Creative collaborations with edge