Best of 2015

Before I start the list of my most popular blog posts from 2015, I just want to take a moment to thank all of you for being a part of my year. Without you, this blog wouldn’t be what it is today. I had a great 2015, and I hope you join me next year as I take this blog to new places.

Without further ado, here are the best posts of 2015, as determined by you, the fans and your likes:

PTSDiaries (you guys made it so popular it needed it’s own category!):

My Poetry Journey

Black Widow: Photography

Alternate Way to Present Poetry

Writing as Conversation

Flash Fiction: Ganymede

Poor Old Jack: A Nightmare Before Christmas and Depression

Last Christmas : Flash Fiction

It was official. Santa wasn’t coming.

The milk I left out was already starting to curdle, and I knew that the cookies had gone stale. I try not to cry, but tears spill freely from my eyes. I hear the zombies groaning outside and my crying becomes sobbing.

It took me weeks rummaging through convenience stores and abandoned shopping malls to find powdered milk and packaged cookies. Mom and Dad helped me pick out the cookies that Santa would like the best out of the piles of unopened boxes on the shelves. Dad almost got scratched by a zombie when he had to carry me out of the store. Now Santa isn’t coming.

One of the other survivors says that Santa isn’t real. I told him to shut up, but now I wish I hadn’t. He was right. I am too old to believe in Santa Claus.

I blow out the candle and start to load the gun at my side. I’ve waited for Santa long enough.

Off in the distance, I heard the sound of sleigh bells.

My sobbing becomes a smile. I finish loading the gun and run up to the roof. If Santa’s coming. I’m giving him a clear path.

Flash Friday: Chimera

Handel had once been sure of many things, but now he was only sure of one: humans were not meant to have wings. His new appendages barely fit in his cage. Handel could feel every tendon and muscle and ligament in his wings as they ached in protest from being put in the tiny cage. And his wing itched, but every time he tried to scratch it, his talons would pierce his skin. His once crisp white feathers were sticky with dried blood.

They told him that there would be no side effects. Handel chose to believe them, even as he heard the observation room’s doors lock behind the scientists. His belief had only started to waiver when his back roared in agony and his fingernails grew and hardened into heavy claws before his eyes. He felt heavier.

The scientists had shuttled him from the observation room to his current cage. They had been speaking latin, but he understood from the shock in their faces that he hadn’t been meant to survive the procedure that made him what he was now. He had understood one other word: griffon.

Griffons hadn’t been real until Handel, and now his creators didn’t know what to do with him.

Handel saw someone twice a day when they fed him. It was always raw meat. He wasn’t sure what animal it came from. He was ashamed of how easily he ate it. The person who brought him his food always wore a hazmat suit, and never spoke. Handel could smell their disgust in the air with his new predator senses. He couldn’t blame them. Handel was acutely aware of how he smelled, and his limbs. His tail was continuous getting caught in the bars when he flicked it. He was just as disgusted with his inner world. The animal in him hungered, could hear every noise and smell every scent. The animal in him wanted flesh, wanted to rip and tear. At the same time, the animal in him wanted to fly.

At first Handel had thought that the animal in him hated the cage, but he knew now that it was only him. Humans weren’t meant to be in cages, he thought, it did things to them.

But Handel wasn’t human anymore.

Author’s note: I realized that I posted my flash Friday piece, “Ganymede” a week early, so I decided to treat you guys to two flash fiction pieces this month! This piece was written to get some ideas onto the page for a longer piece. I hope you enjoy it, and if you like it, don’t forget to like and comment! 🙂

God Bless,

Kelsey J. Mills

Flash Friday: Ganymede

Ganymede’s hands shook as he lowered the jewelled pitcher to the lip of Apollo’s goblet. The ambrosia’s scent was still heady after thirty years on Mount Olympus. The liquid splashed over the goblet onto the sun god’s hand.

“Forgive me, my lord!” Ganymede cried, jumping back as if stung by a wasp.

Apollo raised his eyebrow, not getting up from his throne. “Why do you jump like this, Ganymede?”

Ganymede never realised that Apollo knew his name. “I spilled your beverage, my lord.”

Apollo laughed, “Come now boy. I will drink ambrosia forever, what’s a few drops?”

Apollo’s voice sounded like his father’s. His voice brought back memories of dark rooms and broken bones. Spilled drops of blood.

“Not a thing, my lord, not a thing.” Apollo watched, confused, as Ganymede set the pitcher beside his goblet and walked away. Ganymede felt the sun on his face as he left the throne room and stepped out onto the balcony over looking the earth.

Thirty years and he still could not forget Zeus’s voice, long after the god had grown tired of him and his forever youthful body. Long after Zeus stopped taking him to the dark room where not even Helios could see them. The sun stung his eyes.

His hands still shook, thirty years later.

(Looks like I was a day late–sorry friends! More on Ganymede on Monday)

God bless,

Kelsey J.