The Stain

The Stain
- triggerwarning -

I plunked down into the leather couch and tugged the patchwork quilt over my legs. Maria, my ex-wife, made it during the five long years of our marriage. She made it for Amy, our little daughter.

I petted the fabric, fingers tracing the sewed areas, for the hundredths time, maybe for the hundred-thousandths time by now…

It had been vibrant and colorful, with the reds and blues and yellows thoughtfully arranged on twenty to thirty-five inches. Baby animals playing under the stars and the moon. Pink hearts lined beneath those little paws. My fingertips knew all the stitches.


It was one of Maria’s wonderful pieces. You could feel how she poured her heart, her soul, into it. Like she did with Amy. Now it was dirty, soiled with life and death, but I’d never dare to wash it.

Continue reading “The Stain”

Fiction Circular 8/17/2018

Fiction Circular 8/17/2018



Flash Fiction

Noteworthy was the (very) short story Rescue from The Dark Netizen. A humorous excursion of misbegotten Don Juanism.

Short Stories

Give Was Her Resting? from Terror House Magazine a read, echoes of Reynolds Price.

“Well, ain’t that sweet? Old fool and his doggie.”

The voice came from behind him, and Bud jumped and turned. Standing right behind him was a a pale, cadaverous young man with a tuft of hair on his chin and large metal discs in his earlobes. He was wearing a filthy T-shirt and the rank odor of his body struck Bud like a fist. Behind the young man was an even younger black man, dressed all in black and wearing a knitted skullcap on his close-cropped hair. Both of them were sneering at Bud, and both of them had glittering, crazed eyes. The one closest to Bud lifted a pistol and…

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begin: here
remember, this is still WIP

The trees creaked as if the moon itself rolled on top of them. The sky was still bright enough but caught amber on the west side. The silence was accompanying a sense of dread and heaviness on my chest. “We should hurry,” I told Frank. No birds chirped, no animal rustled the leaves. The longer we had our feet on the trail, the quieter the forest got. Continue reading “DEVIL’S PEAK (2)”



“THE HORSE DID IT!” I roared at Detective Inspector Redfern, pointing at the nervous beast in the box behind me. He rolled his eyes. The Detective Inspector, not the horse. This was my only chance to solve the murder of Beggy, the jockey, and save myself.

“You, braindead ululating crumpet! You snuck into my crime scene to – what?- brighten my sad little day up?” I kept out of his and the horse’s reach. My jaw still had vivid memories of the time he caught me good with his famous left hook, and no way I came close to that thing. Continue reading “Improbable”

Having Chronic Fatigue, ME, Fibromyalgia etc, commonly co-occurs with severe PTSD/Complex PTSD.

Oh, this makes sense. Nevertheless, there are also higher occurrences of autoimmune diseases.

Healing From Complex Trauma & PTSD/CPTSD

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The above is from

I have many the symptoms of Chronic Fatigue and I am aware it is all part of the bigger umbrella of having Complex PTSD.

It makes sense after decades of trauma, anxiety, an overworked adrenaline system, prolonged fear from young childhood onwards … and the affect on the body, as well as the brain…… that fatigue and many other physical illness will be a part of the effects.

I see clearly the impact of being in a continual state of trauma and survival, has upon a body. And obviously the longer the body and mind have been exposed to trauma and it’s affects, the greater the likelihood of physical illness occurring.

So in my situation, it would be odd if I didn’t have physical illness co-occurring.

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