Writer's Muse Magazine: Spring 2014 Issue



  Writer’s Muse Magazine – SPRING 2014

  Writer’s Muse Group

  Copyright 2014 Writer’s Muse Group

  About Writer’s Muse Group:

  Writer’s Muse Group

  Cover Photography by Sumiko Saulson

  Layout: Sumiko Saulson

  Editing and Proofreading: Darlene Steelman, Haven Malone, & Sumiko Saulson

  Founder of Writer’s Muse Group: Richard Cotton

  Fool for Love

  By Kerry E.B. Black

  I don’t feel the petals landing on me like whispers anymore. They gather like a down blanket, as though seeking to comfort comfortless me.

  I stare in the direction he walked, leaving me beneath this make-shift modesty. On my face, tears freeze as my cleaved heart beats its last.

  He left, his kisses remembrances burnt into my skin like shame. He left, taking with him my maidenhood, my dignity, and my belief in love. He said that he loved me, would love me forever, still here I lie on still frozen ground, without him.

  I wonder how long until my demise is perceived, for, yes, he killed me. His words, once sweet murmurs groaned into my neck, became body blows. His laughter crushed my soul this springtime afternoon, after I yielded what he demanded.

  After, he gathered the blanket which caught my first-time blood, rolling my gasping self onto ground from which grass sent its first tender stems. He left few traces of his involvement, nothing to link us together.

  I landed face-up beneath the slender dogwood tree that bore witness to the crime. I try to move, but my muscles, paralyzed, would not. Not even a blink, just a shocked stare. His scent seeps into the ground, mingled with my blood, musk and metal.

  A breeze shakes the fragile branches, dislodging oblong white petals. A golden sun reigns heatless, rays rendering translucent the chartreuse leaves. From this vantage, the scene resembles cathedral stained glass. The petals, soft as baby cheeks, said to be pierced with the nails that held Jesus to his cross, coat my abandoned blue jeans, under panties, socks and shoes. The burgundy sweater that my mother cable-knitted for me was rolled in a ball with my white lace bra and Thinsulate coat. During the scuffle, it was kicked down the slope. There is no coating on them. They are too far afield.

  I lie in a field far from town, populated with only this one tree, decked in spring finery. Because he insisted on privacy, no one knows where I am, with whom I spent time.

  Even if I could move, I have no way to reach home. My innocence flutters with the depositing blossoms, spent. I await discovery, unwilling to leave the scene of my betrayal. No lights for me, not yet, nor will any come. I must face my family and my friends, knowing that duped, a fool for love, I die.

  Spring Time All Year Round

  by Katherine Magnoli

  One day a girl named Jennifer woke up with an empty and sad feeling in her heart. She looked around and saw very little that she was proud of. Though she knew she had already accomplished a lot she knew she had a long way to go. She began to realize that if she really wanted to live the life she knew she deserved, she would have to work for it.

  Sally then spent some time making a list, of all the things she had to do. She would finish school in 2 years, become a teacher, and maybe even write a book series in between. She had her plan all mapped out and thought that she should start right away. She started with step one: Study hard which would then result in good grades, leading her to goal of graduation.

  She began to feel a pride in herself again, but there was still something missing. Days passed and seasons changed, and though it was beautiful and sunny outside it was cold and dark in her mind. She thought “if I just keep trying harder this feeling will go away.” Soon the flowers began to bloom outside but it was still empty in her soul.

  However, she did not give up, and soon it was 2 years later and she had achieved her goal of graduating. She began applying to teaching jobs, thinking this is the ticket, this will help me feel better, and it did. Teaching helped her feel as if she had a purpose in life. She was helping mold the minds of a younger generation and there was nothing more fulfilling then that, or so she thought.

  In time she realized she still had something missing in her life, so then she thought, “Now is the time to write that book series, I always wanted to.” She began writing day and night, and sooner or later became completely engulfed in the imaginary world that was flying off the pages she wrote. She was now a super hero, who would help those who were being treated unfairly.

  She began spending all her time writing, she would pour her heart out onto the pages, and know that someone somewhere would be able to relate to her words. This gave her a feeling of hope and a gratitude that was unexplainable. She began to travel to schools all over the country, talking to children of all ages. At the end of each event the children would tell her how inspired they were by her and this would make Jennifer feel so good inside.

  However, when the day was over and Jennifer would go home, that feeling would slowly fade away after about a week or until her next event. This changed her perspective of what she was doing, and slowly it became more about how people felt about her as oppose to how they felt about what she was doing to help them. Jennifer knew in her heart that this was not the right attitude and began to feel very guilty. She searched for people who were connected to similar activities and began to look to them for guidance on how to shake this shallow feeling. They would tell her inspirational quotes that she would later tattoo on herself, as a reminder of their wise words.

  Those people were able to help her a lot on the journey she was on by telling her how she should feel, and being an example for her. However it was not until one day when Jennifer decided to step outside and look at the arrangement of beautiful flowers and the blue sky above that it all started to make sense. She had missed it, the real meaning of it all, which is to love and cherish the simple things in life, and stop looking for answers in material things or people.

  The answer is to just choose to be happy, and to enjoy all people and things that are in your life. That way no matter what path you choose you will enjoy it. Now this is not to say that her books or her teaching job was not important because of course it was, but that day Jennifer found out that if you can’t be grateful for what you already have you will never truly be grateful for the things you work for. From that day on Jennifer, lived a life of happiness and gratitude not only with the people in her life and no matter what was going on outside it always felt like spring time to her.

  About the Author

  With a birth defect affecting her spine but not her mind, Katherine Magnoli spent twenty-nine years viewing the world from her chair. She lends her unique perspective to authoring children’s books about the challenges facing those with disabilities. Originally from the suburbs of New York, Katherine lives in Sunny Isles Beach, FL.

  https://www.realspecialeducation.com/

  Killer Romance

  By Sumiko Saulson

  People love, you know...

  We do love, untrue love,

  And there are puppies and kittens,

  Chubby babies who don't

  Have bows...

  And arrows...

  All trivialized in February

  (That was my grandpa's birthday)

  Because they are now

  Iconic representations

  Of an infatuation

  More impure than

  The sweet-smelling rose

  We chose

  To kill, to represent...

  Incense, sickly sweet

  I have allergies

  It makes me sick

  It reeks...

>   Like a grape-favored cigarillo

  And I know that you know

  When it lies...

 

  I like the natural

  Look of love

  You know, the way it is.

  I said I was tired

  And you didn't keep me

  Up all night...

  Almost like you recognized

  I was a human being

  With needs

  Like sleep

  To me, that is love.

  But I am not

  Romant-ick...

  It makes me sick

  Like if sex is good

  You don't always have to

  Talk about it

  You're too busy

  Doing it...

  And love is like that

  If you do love

  True love

  Not just constantly hot

  New love...

  It's real.

  Like a kitten, not a card

  Like a baby, not a cupid

  Like a grandpa, not a holiday

  Like a real, live, rosebush

  It lives because

  You tend it

  Like a garden

  I water my garden

  I don't just

  Write poems to it

  About the Author

  Sumiko Saulson is the author of three sci-fi/horror novels, and a horror blogger. She is a native Californian, and has spent most of her adult life in the Bay Area.

  https://sumikosaulson.com/

  The Battle to End All Battles

  By Richard Cotton

  There could only be one winner that day. I knew I shouldn’t have opened that book. The Phoenix was first out of the pages and into the real world.

  Why oh why did I do it?

  The Dragon next. Last of all was the giant snake, although I don’t know what legend he came from. They all went their own way at first. Until they all heard that they were free. It was then that a battle to the end was called, and the rest of the humans would pay for their freedom. I wouldn’t, as I was the one that let them out.

  Oh woe is me!

  I feel I have wrecked so many lives by just opening that book. Is there no one out there who can help me turn back time? We have seven weeks to the battle, so there’s not much time to save the world. Where are all of the heroes?

  I have shut the book for now, but a wizard has cast a spell on me. I don’t know how long I can contain myself till I open it again and the next lot of beasts is unleashed into the world. My mind is full of beasts and I wonder what they will be like once set free. The hero’s job, when one is chosen, will be to win against some of the most powerful myths in the book.

  Oh my hands ache from me sitting on them.

  Be quick you heroes.

  This will be the last battle, I fear, if we don’t subdue them. I have chains nearby but I can't put them on. If my hands are free, then the book will open and the battle to end all battles will begin.

  How many mythological creatures hate one another and want to win? How many would help humans? How many want humans dead?

  Most want humans dead, I think.

  These beasts are strange, and look good on paper but when real they become deadly. Why so many are against humans, I can only guess.

  Perhaps because we killed most of their kind in the past.

  Do you want to battle the tall beast and feel like you have saved lives? If so, then help me.

  If not, you’re one that will end up in the soup. Heed these words I have written and pasted to walls far and wide around the globe. Anyone is welcome as long as you want to help.

  If you’re wondering how I wrote these words without getting off my hands, I had help from a magic spell that made my speech turn into writing.

  Oh the daemons! They will be freed, if I’m not careful. They are as bad as the mythic beast. Anyone up for taking on Daemons would have to be very brave.

  Heed my warnings in this note. If you do not help, then the battle of all battles will begin. It is up to the heroes of the world to come together to end the beasts that have escaped and to guard over the Book of Beasts.

  Its pages must be kept closed at all costs.

  About the Author