The Forbidden Fruit

Okay, so even I have to admit I am not sure what the inspiration for this was. Something of a deal with death going on here, took me a while to figure out where the pomegranates combined with that. Side note, surprisingly large amount of info on pomegranates on google, apparently there is speculations that they were eating pomegranates in Eden and not apples, hence the title.


selective color photography of pomegranate

The scent of pomegranates lay heavy on the air, and I knew that I was in trouble. That first bite all those years ago had brought me vigor, the taste of a life renewed, but this was different. There would be no salvation for me, from the moment the tangy juice exploded in my mouth my life was extended, but there was a price to pay, and it was time to pay it.


I pulled out my pen and stationery, the good stuff I had kept for years and never found an occasion for, and I wrote out my goodbyes. When my letters were complete, I placed them carefully on the kitchen table so that they would be found by those who would come looking for me, few as they were. I shed my clothes, the last vestiges of my old life with them, and donned the robes I had sworn to wear, and walked barefoot into the dark of night, never to be seen or heard from again.

You Can’t Go Home Again

This six-sentence story using the word “Shelter” is proof that you can be inspired by one thing, and write something entirely different. I was thinking shelter from the storm, listening to Castle on a Cloud, thinking about pour Cosette, when I wrote a story of a girl who wakes up somewhere with no clear memory of how she got there, and the overwhelming temptation of food.


When she awoke it was like she was laying on a cloud, she had never felt something so soft and hadn’t been so warm since summer. She would have stayed there forever had it not been for the smell of warm bread, and she was so hungry when she hopped down, she didn’t notice the strange texture of the walls, like the bark of a tree, or that the ground beneath her feet was actually a thick moss; she didn’t even notice the strange gown she was was wearing, light as feather, soft as silk, and terribly warm.

She found the bread, along with fresh cream, fruit, more food than she had even seen before really, and she barely resisted the urge to cram her mouth full of it. Something about this seemed so familiar to her, and yet it was hovering at the edge of her memory, just out of reach.

She blinked as she tried to clear her head, remember how she got here, but all she could recall was running into the forest, snow like knives against her bare feet, desperate for shelter from the cold of winter, knowing if she returned to town she would lose a hand for the theft of a meat pie a week prior, and if she stayed outside she would die.

Her last clear memory was of finding food, a circle of mushrooms, she had whirled around in the center of it at her good fortune, and, and, the smell of bread overwhelmed her thoughts, she was half way through the load when she realized what she had done, but by then it was too late, she could never go home again.

Winter Wonderland

Hello, and Happy New Year to All! New Year, Same Me, and just as dark and depressing, sorry if you were expecting something else. I saw the picture below and wrote something disturbing, about a woman out in the cold, knowing she can’t stop moving. It’s just as dark and creepy as it sounds… based on the photo provided by Jimmie.

Please note, starting next week I am doing biweekly posting for the microfiction and short stories. I will alternate weeks. More information to come Wednesday.


She squinted her eyes against the harsh glare of the winter sun, and it seemed wrong to her that it could be so bright and yet, so cold. The snap of a branch startled her into a gasp, that turned into a cough as the deep breath of frigid air burned it’s way into her lungs.

She turned, frantic, but there was no one in sight. She wasn’t being followed, yet. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore, and only the sound of the snow crunching beneath her with each step assured her that she was still moving forward.

She couldn’t say for certain how long she had been going, it felt like hours, and her running had long since slowed to a trudge. She couldn’t stop though, no matter how tired she was. If she stopped, even for a moment, she knew that she would never get going again.

If she was lucky, she would freeze to death, lying alone on a winding forest path. If she wasn’t lucky, he would find her, and she would only dream of getting such a sweet relief. Each new noise, sounding like pursuit, spiked adrenaline though her system and kept her moving. She went on hoping against hope that around the next bend, she would find someone to help her.

Finally, she saw a figure in the distance. Relieved, her legs gave out under her, and she was unconscious before her head hit the frozen earth.

For the Love of Dairy

This was written for the six sentence story prompt juice. It is an ode to milk, and the sad story of someone who found out that they will no longer be able to drink it. As I exist partially on cheese, I cannot myself imagine enduring this.


She looked down at the “milk” in her glass, and a frown furrowed her brow. It wasn’t milk, there hadn’t been any milk in months, since she finally went to the doctor about her stomach problems and was diagnosed as lactose intolerant.

She couldn’t do soy, not with her thyroid issues, and as much as they wanted to call what she was trying now milk, there was a part of her brain that remembered the meme, and could only remember the term nut juice.

She stared into the glass a little while longer, trying to get up the nerve to try it, everyone said that she would love it, it was better than milk even, but at the end of the day it wasn’t what she was craving. She probably would have thrown it out, but it was so expensive that she just couldn’t bring herself to do it, it was a waste of food and money.

In the end, she was saved by her roommate, who loved almond milk, and was more than willing to take it off her hands, and Ashleigh had an unsatisfactory glass of water.