Trust
It keeps coming back to me. Lately more often than before. This tiny little word. It might not be much, but sometimes it could mean the world. Trust. From a reader’s perspective, in my case trust is a big deal. When I read, I trust the writer not to violate my soul. Sounds melodramatic? Well, it is. I am careful when I choose the books I read. There’s always the risk of disappointment in some cases, but in the worst cases - it’s even disgust. Yes, I have read a book with high expectations, because judging by the blurb, I should like it. Oh, the blurb… the wonderful tool of deceit. I felt as if dragged through mud after reading this one book. It was well written, a ‘page-turner’ as they say. That’s why I read it, despite all the dirt it contained. I trusted the author. I trusted the blurb.
Reading is trusting the writer with your heart and mind. To me a book has always been a door to a world yet unknown to me. I hesitate to enter. It takes courage to trust the writer.
I have seen writers abusing the readers’ trust. I think it’s only respectful to be honest about the content specifics, and I am grateful to the writers who pay attention to details like these.
When you find that one door, that one perfect fit, the book which reflects your heartbeat… it feels you’ve found a home, or at least a shelter. It can be a place of danger or adventures, or even horror, as long as it resonates with your soul.
I’ve spent some of the most beautiful hours of my life reading. A sunny morning in May reading under a blooming apple tree, or a hazy afternoon in August reading underneath the same tree, eating the juicy fruits the summer has gifted me. Strange how writing has come to me as a fruit of reading. It took me a while…
I am grateful to anybody who reads my stories. I hope I don’t disappoint. Thank you, for trusting me!
Now some flash fiction and poetry I’ve written over the week. It’s not all - I managed to write a romantic short story, which I can’t share with you. I wrote it for a specific submission (I had to use the first line provided by the journal). My writing buddy/beta reader didn’t like it, so I’m not hoping for much…
Voices
Ever since I moved to this place, I’ve been hearing voices. I wish they would just stop. I’m so tired. I want to rest. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they read. They sound familiar. They’re calling my name. They’re calling me back. But I feel so good here, bathing in the warm light. Why would I want to return to that mangled body lying in the hospital bed?
Ghostwriter
He was good with pretty words. He knew how to warp and twist myriads of fancy phrases into a tapestry of richly written prose. Or at least, how create an illusion of it. Some said it was a gift. He thought it’s a curse. He despised the people sending him their half-baked, shallow ideas. His job was to make them “pretty”. Afterward he received a fat check, while the authors got praise for their ‘masterpieces’. He knew it was all a lie. An illusion. Vanity projects. But most of all he hated the good ones. Authors sending him truly good ideas to ‘jazz them up’. Why? Because he wished the ideas were his. As gifted as he was playing with words, he was unable to come up with a single good story idea of his own.
Glass
She shattered the glass plate against the wall. It felt good. She smashed a whole set of fine wine glasses against the floor, one by one. Then a wonderful Bohemian Crystal vase exploded after colliding with the wall, disintegrating into a million light-catching particles. She laughed like a mad woman, smashing the remains of their marriage. The glass didn’t feel any pain when it shattered, unlike her heart.
Cabin (a horror poem)
The cosy old cabin
Down in the woods,
It’s seen them all coming
The bad and the good.
The hunters, the lovers,
The hikers, the killers.
The warm wooden
Cabin, away from the crowds,
Far away from the city
with no one around.
They all sought a shelter,
A place safe and sound.
They all rushed to enter,
But they never came out.
This next flash fiction was done as a challenge from another Substacker to describe the image… (a dark one…)
"Yep, there he hangs," the old folks said, sitting on a bench in the dusty street opposite the gallows. He did always say he'll never be an old feeble sack of potatoes like they were.
"Yep, he was damn right! He ain't getting any older," the old folks pondered and chuckled as the deadman swung in the wind back and forth, back and forth.
Of clouds and love
The clouds draw
Soft landscapes
In the distance.
It doesn’t seem far,
Just reach out
Above the evening star,
And touch the cloud.
What was that song
About? Neverlove is
The distance between
The clouds. How did
Our love become
A cloud? The landscape
Afar isn’t real. That’s who we are.
An illusion, pretending to heal,
When it hurts. I don’t feel
You anymore, my beloved,
The one I adored.
Our love is never-more.
***
I’m afraid to look at myself
Through your eyes.
I’m afraid, I’ll see a face
You despise.
I wish I could cry.
After the years of flood
My tears have run dry.
I don’t understand your cold
Edges of ice. I don’t see
The love in your eyes.
I’ve never been perfect,
You knew what I’m like.
I’ll never be a hard-working wife.
I never lied. What now?
Do you want to change your life?
Do you want to leave?
Tell me now, don’t keep quiet.
Give me a raging riot,
Give me thunder and fire,
Not the icy cold voice
Of silence.
Some micro news about what I’m planning to share during the upcoming week.
On Monday, May 6, I’m (hopefully) sharing the next chapter of my urban fantasy Cirque du Macabre 2: Cabaret Sauvage. I am way behind schedule, I hope I’ll make it until tomorrow.
On Wednesday, May 8, I’m sharing another chapter of my dark romantic fantasy The Heiress of the lake. No worries about that one, I’ve finished it long ago.
On Thursday, May 9, I’m sharing Thorny Thursday, a compilation of romance and love-themed works by other Substack authors. My own contribution this week is still a mystery (talk about trusting the writer, huh? I don’t know what I’ll share…😅)
On Friday, May 10, if I’ll have the strength, I’ll share another Sci-fi flash fiction from The Gravediggers of Orpheus series. I’m hoping each one could be read as a stand-alone as well.
On Sundays I usually share my ramblings about some random theme, along with flash fiction and poetry.
Thank you for reading my works! For the new subscribers - it may seem I’m sharing a lot. Some of it has been written long ago, I just hadn’t shared it before. The good news is - you don’t have to read all of it. I do hope you’ll read some of it. Thank you!
Love,
Kathrine 🩶