Writing Prompt- Plot of Earth…?

Prompt-  ‘You’re given a plot of land and have the financial resources to do what you please, what’s the plan?’


what a wonderful idea! This really got me thinking, what would I do with unlimited resources and land? Many may say ‘build a house’ or do something for themselves, personally if I were ever luck enough to be in this situation, in all honesty I think I would…

Build a food kitchen, in the most poorest areas in third world countries.


It breaks my heart to think that there are people out there with not enough to eat! Especially children. I think I would have to start in Africa and set up a place in different areas, where nutritious food is prepared and served daily. If there are  people in remote villages near by, who are unable to get to it, part of the service would be to bring the food the the village.

Build a few schools and invest in education….


Education is so important to me, as an ex-high school teacher of ten years service I love to see people achieve! I think, I’d select some states across the USA with really low records of student achievement. Here, I would provide the resources needed to help increase students achievement.  Or even just build better and newer schools. In particular I would focus on marginalised students, who have learning difficulties.

In the UK we are pretty good with educational achievement, but one thing I do think the system lacks, sometimes, is enough classroom assistants to help support learners with learning needs. I’d invest in this, in the UK. Increasing the number of schools for those with special learning needs, that are very extreme it holds them back from mainstream school. In mainstream schools, I’d increase the money put into employing special needs assistants in mainstream schools. 1. to support the students in class 2. to help reduce some classroom stress and worry for teachers. Who often worry if their teaching is effective when there are learners with learning needs.

In other third world countries, I’d just build brand new schools! And focus on  increasing the level of students who are able to learn and have access to education.

If I had unlimited money, and land that’s what I’d do focus on feeding people, and increasing education.


Bad Reviews- In My View They Ain’t So Bad! #MFRW

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So it’s Monday and like clockwork I woke up at 7.00a.m after snoozing the alarm a few times, with a list as long as my arm, with things I want to complete today, in order to have a productive writing day. For one we’re one week into National Novel Writing Month, I’m participating this year, while I have 20,000 words down I’m still not quite happy with all of it, I have emails to respond to, one half of a story for The Suspenseful Collection #2 to write…. before tomorrow!  And let’s not forget the ‘day job writing’ also… I’m a translator by day!

Waking up to this list,  I knew today would be busy, right on cue my five year old son moseys into my room, jumps under the covers…”mama, I’m sick.” I sigh, roll my eyes, peel his warm five year old body off me and look him in the eye, then ask what’s wrong? He  holds his legs in the air like a tent under the covers. When he was born he had complications with his legs, now it’s fine but  I take his complaints seriously. I roll over thinking ” no school looks like today’s a sick day then, some much for productivity.”

It’s lunch time, what is he doing as I write this writing response?  Dancing and singing (rather loudly) to the Lion King movie, before that it was Frozen the movie. What else has he done today, given me firm instructions to leave my desk, to play kick the ball in the garden , attacked the washing line then ran around the house with my bra on his head, pretending he’s a “pirate of the Caribbean.” Clearly, there is nothing wrong with the little shit, boy… whoops sorry. He just fancies a day off to watch Disney all day, and disrupt his mama!

So I may as well do a writing prompt as it’s clear I won’t get to focus on any manuscripts until this evening after bed time…. sighs #shoutoutallparents.

 Bad Reviews, How They Can Help?

So bad reviews? The question  and writing prompt this week is how to overcome them. In all honesty, I don’t think bad reviews are really that bad as you grow as a writer. You soon learn that you can’t, should not try to, and DO NOT EVER want to try to write to please everyone, it’s impossible. If you do that, you’ll lose who you are as a writer,why YOU WRITE and you’ll have no idea of who you actually please- your target market and actually create sales, and a readership.

I also say this as I personally feel as a writer you get to a point where a bad review, you realise does so much more than make you feel bad if you have done the best you can on your work. 1. a review is a review whether good or bad, and sometimes the odd 1 star or someone not feelin’ your work shows a genuine picture or balanced picture. 2. a bad review can cause other people to pick up your book, out of curiosity anyway. How many times have you read reviews on somethings you wish to purchase, or a new product you wish to try and noticed the odd bad one or less positive review but decided ‘I think I want to give this a try, and see for myself.’ 3. it can also allow you to see what someone did not enjoy, genuinely as  long as they are not just on a bitchfest for no good reason.

So… how could you overcome a bad review?

I feel there  is the difference between a ‘moaning’ review and a genuine less positive review that’s more like ‘ this is critique that’s useful.’ I also feel it’s our job as a writer to weed out the two. If you can do this, that’s half the job of ‘overcoming’ a bad review. If the person is just going on, and on, and on, and on about why they hated your work with no real depth to it just…. just “hatin”’ on your work, disregard it and see that they are ‘moaning’. Instead pay attention to those who seem to be more realistic in their less positive review, and see what’s of use for you to know. Even then, take what’s helpful and leave the rest and focus on writing the next book.

Lastly, try  recognise if you have just sadly attracted the ‘wrong reader’ I hate to say this, sometimes it happens. It has happened to me, and I have also been the wrong type of reader for other books. This is when the book calls you,  the cover, blurb, genre whatever…you dive in and the connection is not there. If you can recognise within less positive reviews if this is ‘the wrong kind of reader, not someone you’d hope to attract or genuinely  a target reader’ for your work, this helps you to overcome bad reviews also. It is also helpful to define for  yourself as a writer who is, potentially could be, and definitely is not a target reader for you. Within the less positive reviews.

This is my honest approach to this subject that so many of us writers lose sleep over… a bad review pifff… I don’t allow it to bug me out so much these days. I take what I need and leave the rest, and know that it’s impossible to please all, and I would not ever want to, how the hell do I stand out if I do that?

Take what’s helpful, leave the rest. Just like when your work is rejected by a publisher, or an agent or an editor requests your work …but asks you to make what you would call major changes….that you’re not really feeling. Leave it if it does not help or changes your work too much in your view in a way you’d not really want it to. There will be someone out there that will say ‘yes, gimmie that’ as it is, you just have to find them.

Lastly, don’t ever lose your confidence over a bad review, once you develop that thick skin, this is impossible to happen anyway. But on the way to getting to this place of thick skinned and unflappable, don’t beat yourself up if someone did not connect, as remember you write for those that do connect.


Poem: Is She You?

 Reblogging this poem I wrote and blogged for all mothers a long, long time ago. Today in the UK it is Mother’s Day.  This Sunday, I’m celebrating and saluting all mothers, no matter where you are in the world. I feel blessed, I have a British and European day to celebrate motherhood! If you were celebrating with me today, I hope you have had a wonderful day.

quote 1

She, who is she? Is she me or you? If not you then she is who? All I know is she always says whatever it is I need to do …. trust me I’ll do. No matter the weather, no matter the stress her attitude is always “can do.”

Times get tough, troubled and unsettled waters maybe ahead, but does that make her see red?  Let me ask you a question, if you could do it all again in life would you? What would you seek to go back and re-do? You have a long list! Wow, my point, you have missed. Each experience is either a lesson, or blessing in disguise. Wrapped up in drama,  or feeling like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.  But  If you never travelled that road of drama, would you be able to hold your head this high?

Read between the lines you’re much better, you’re like titanium, and much more refined after all that drama you left behind. You’re now one of a kind, so leave those bitter memories behind.

Each day, look in the mirror and figure out what it is you must do, or what you want to do? What’s your next move?

Never be bitter or never be so unkind to yourself, so that you can’t read between the lines.

Gather your strength, keep your goals in mind, never look behind. I promise you with this wind under your wings you’ll fly. Now you must reach for the sky. Some days will be hard, you have the kids, work, school,  dinner to make, cleaning, the list never ends and the worst bit – everyone has their demands of you! You’ll want to scream hold up! What more do you want me to fucking do? Huh?  But remember it’s your strength,

That will see you through. So let me ask you again who is she? Is she me? Is she you? Oh she is you! Then get out there and do what you need to do. Remember Proverbs 31:25 now who is she?? Is she you?… Yeah, that’s what I thought, I knew you had it in you.

High five, keep going and do what you need to do.

 I just felt like writing. Salute to all the mothers, carers, breadwinners, goal makers and hard workers out there!


Prologues: Love Or Hate?…It’s A Game Changer! #MFRW

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Interesting writing prompt for this week’s blog challenge, a really relevant one for me. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly become a better writer than I already am,  (just kiddin’ 🙂 ),  I discovered the beauty of a prologue (not kiddin’ about that), and highly recommend using them to writers who have not tried it. (Not kiddin’ about that either).

Seriously, though… prologues?… no. Up until recently, I never used one in any of  my works, not in the true sense of one. Then I did in my last novel I finished this month, from the experience I realised  it’s a game changer for the story, reader and me as a writer…. yes, it improved all three elements of the latter.

When I  published the first book I ever completed, the  publisher at the time really encouraged prologues in books, but what I have learned since then is that how they encouraged their use, was not really a prologue in its true form. It was more like a copy and paste of an existing part of the book, to ‘grab the reader’ , I was told at the time. So I went with it, it really made no difference to me,  the story I don’t think or even the reader. As they re-read the same thing  later in the book. From research, from what I understand and correct me if I’m wrong, a prologue is an introduction or scene setting and not something that appears again later down the line.

In my most recent works Sacrifices a romantic suspense, with a hint of history to it, once it went through a round of editing, my editor pointed out ‘Kim, this really needs something here.’ I walked away like ‘hmm, okay so I need to add a new scene to ‘introduce’ the story.’ This is largely as, if you have seen the film Pulp Fiction, I have ‘stolen’   ‘been inspired’ the talented movie director Quentin Tarantino’s, excellent story telling technique. I  start my story twenty-five years ago, but not twenty-five years ago from the present day…from the 1960s! Which makes the opening scene the mid- late 1980s…then tell the story ‘back to front’ if you like, to end up in the present day, while moving through different points and key events from 1960s- 1980s in different countries,  and then the present day!


women writer funny

I know I’m nuts, right!? Imagine how much fact checking and challenge it was, to give birth to a story like that. Thankfully, and very proudly it works, it came together finally. So anyway, once I got that feedback I reflected, then decided  I do need a prologue in the present day, before we head back and move forward. I really researched into what the general feel is on prologues, and the use of them as I never worked with one, or used one before properly. I’ve simply never needed to.  A lot of what I read, stated that ‘you should be able to tell the story without a prologue or a epilogue.’ I reflected, I saw this point of view and understood it, as that’s how felt before, I wrote Sacrifices.  

I also read a lot of articles that advised romance writers to ‘stay away from them’! One very popular romance author wrote a very interesting article advocating using one, also stating that in her experience ‘readers loved them’, especially epilogues. Yes…I used an epilogue also, but this was already there due to the nature of the story, and ending.

So in all honesty, I believe that as a writer, experimenting with a prologue has actually made me a bit of a stronger writer. It feel it has also added an extra layer of ‘wow, that’s a cool story, and not a rehash of current romance themes’ to my current work. I also feel that readers will be able to keep up with the pace, and connect with the story, due to the technique I used to write it with the addition of the prologue.

Now, I’m a strong supporter from this experience, and I’ve learned what a true prologue is, not a copy and past to ‘grab someone’. It’s a whole new scene, setting, part of the story or peel of the onion to unwrap, to draw a reader in. It’s also very very helpful when writing from a historical perspective, where you are not always in the present day.

Yeah…I think I’ve convinced myself that I am a prologue lover, as well as a epilogue lover and I would do it all over again, if the story called for it with no hesitation. I’m always one to happily break rules to…so as a romance writer, I won’t ‘stay away’ from them as generally in the genre it’s not something that is used often or supported, so they say. I’ll do what the story is calling me to, and allow myself to become better and write stronger stories by not being bound to rules! So in response to this week’s writing prompt for romance writers ‘ prologues helpful, or hurtful?‘…. Helpful 100%.  I recommend you all do too, look at your last or current works, regardless of what you write or your genre. Do you need a prologue, what about an epilogue? It might just help, and change the game.

NaNoWriMo: Is It Motivational or Pressure? And What Are You Writing?? #amwriting



So, I’ve received the email today, like every other writer around the world  inviting them to Camp NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month is here people! What’s funny is two seconds before it landed in my inbox, I opened a manuscript for a crime fiction I started to re-craft 2018.  I opened up the email from NaNoWriMo and thought ‘it’s a sign’ jump in this month!’

I have signed up to NaNoWriMo before and did complete my writing projects, but not in the time frame of the month of NaNoWriMo. My questions to those of you who take part in this are, have  you successfully completed a novel or piece of work in this challenge? Do you find it motivational or more pressure to be part of this? And do you join the camps?

Personally, I am in a position now were I am waiting to hear news on the last work I completed this year, so now I am ‘idle,’ and technically should get my shit together and complete a project in the challenge time. (So she says!)

I have in the past found it a bit of a ‘pressure’, but not in a bad way,  it was just that I beat myself up after the event as I never completed what I planned to. Partly, it could have been because I had so much on my plate. Now I’m a lot more ‘idle’ I want to test run this challenge, and see if it’s really enjoyable and motivational, when I take part and life is not so crazy.

I’m about to sign up, have you? …Will you?… If not why not?… And who wants to be my NaNoWriMo buddy? We could check in on each other, and make sure we are hitting that word count?

This year, I am going back to that same manuscript I have been wanting to finish, that I have ripped apart about three times ready LOL. I’ve focused on so much romantic suspense,  I’m the mood to craft the perfect  London based crime.  The last time I opened it was 9th January 2018…yikes!

I hope to see you in camp, drop me a message if you are taking part.


Rambles and Randoms #MFRWauthor #amwriting

2019 badge blog challenge 640x640 Amerigo BT

A few years ago I joined in on the fifty two week blogging challenge for romance authors, using the prompts from this great organisation. I’m jumping in for 2019 at week eleven, and go back and answer a few of  what missed…. in other words take a break from proof reading.

Question: Do you hold, share or hide an odd hidden talent?

I love astrology, I just can’t get enough of  how the study of the planet movement can impact on life. I studied it, got a diploma in astrology and yep every month I do look at the what the plants are doing.  Sometimes  I plan things I want to do based on what star sign the new or full Moon is in, or where my ruling planet for my star sign is in the universe.  Yep, I know my birth chart off the top of my head, and do compare it to the day that certain astrological major events are happening, like a planet moving signs or whatever event is taking place like an eclipse for example. Just to see how it may impact me, or what ‘house of life’ the planet transit is happening in. Is that weird? Probably.

Question: The difference between collecting and hording?

I found this such an interesting prompt, as I really had to think and question myself.  My paranoia set in big time!

Kim’s brain ticking, and eyes narrow: To collect, means you collect things that are valuable, rare or something useful.  Hording is when you’re afraid to let go of something you’ve collected, no matter how broken or unusable it is. Hmmm yeah,  when my shoes are old and battered…. I chuck them out, and buy a new pair to add to the ‘collection’. Same with all the beauty products.  Hmm yeah yeah.  If kept hold of the old shoes, finished glosses or lippies…. then I’d be hording right?… right.  *Nods head slowly while pouting* …. yeah, that sounds about right you’re collector girl, don’t panic.

Question: stress eating, whys and wherefores?

You know, I don’t and never have done this. I  get that some do, but when I am feeling stressed I turn the other way from food. I tend to not eat, if there’s very stressful things happening, not like everyday stresses or challenges but real life stress. I can’t answer this one from the why or wherefores.

 Question: Point of view choices and preferences?

Now, this is going to sound very strange from a romance author, but I proudly break every rule in the ‘romance writing’ cookbook of ‘how it should be done.’ In fact, I recommend to any new writer to stay away from those books, as they mass produce the same old. I stray whenever I feel like it, if the story calls me to.  I write first person, present tense and I don’t give a hoot who thinks what. And that is probably why I stand out, I’m not the only romance writer that does it I know, but those of us that do we’re the rebels and the bad asses to go against what’s considered the norm and ‘way to write romance’. And we are the ones probably turned away from agents and publishers  the most, because we are rebels.  But I’ll be honest… I chucked that cookbook right out, along with the cookbook that says every male lead is ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and every female lead is ‘ waiting to be saved’. * Smirks* nooo, no no, I like my women like I like my coffee strong! For the most part anyway, same with the men.

The romance genre is very full of third person past tense, which is nice and okay, and yes I can write like that if I feel like it or feel the story needs it, but that’s not what got me my first publishing deal, that’s not what made me an award winning author, and it’s not what landed an agent’s interest in my the novel I wrote to submit this year.  So I keep it real, and I keep it how I like it and where my true gift shines.

I’ll let you into a secret too those very same chapters I submitted to two agents, one came back and said to me ‘ I need to follow the rules’ and asked me if I’d consider doing a rewrite she did want my work, I kid you not, I actually laughed told her ‘no thanks.’ The other one she requested the full manuscript, in order to know where I stood with them I checked if the tense is okay , they said ‘yeah it works keep there.’ From this I feel be creative don’t feel bound to rules.

Personally I feel that POV’s should be written from the angle the story calls for it to be written from, if it’s an intense thrilling story there is nothing like bringing the reader up close.  My honest POV, on writing POV in the romance genre and generally is, be brave because there are readers of this genre (which includes me), who are sick and tired of the same old same old, same plots done over, same feel of the story the same predictability.

On the other hand I could feel like this and write how I write, as I write things like general thriller and crime, so I guess that’s where I get the rebel streak in me from. But, in a nutshell there are ‘rules’ and then there’s talent and creativity which will allow you to tell the story,  and find your own style and not have to follow ‘rules.’ Don’t be afraid to use it and stand out, there is nothing wrong with that.  This is by no means a knock to any writer who sticks to the rules either, it’s just an honest response to this prompt.

Question: reading, writing or living?

All three, damn I can’t do one without the other two. I can’t write without the urge to read, reading is what brought me to writing, not the other way around. I ran a book club for years ,and read two books or more a month before I even even wrote ‘Chapter One’ and wrote a story. But I always had a love of writing, I needed a push I got it and never stopped.  I need to live to read and write, and and live for reading and writing, so I need all three in my life!

Right! Okay, back to the proof reading before bed, I am going  over the stories from The Suspenseful Collection Volume Two. I can’t believe how going back over work I did with Didi from 2017, has made me smile so much, mainly as the challenge was and still will be to write the story over a weekend LOL. It’s such a great challenge every week, I need to thank you again if you voted in the writing prompts we used for the stories we have so far for this volume.

Right now, we’re writing the bonus stories ( that will only appear in the actual published book only), and extending the ones you all voted for to be extended  in the actual volume. This trip down memory lane is pretty cool. Thank you guys!

I hope once I speak with Didi again next week, we’ll have a plan on how we go about the challenge in 2019, and voting. I have never been more challenged by this kind of writing prompt challenge I LOVE IT. Thing is I  have no say on how the story ends ( unless I’m author two), but the challenge of being author two is I need to just roll with what Didi puts on my plate, and lap it up I can’t change it as  we don’t talk about the story it’s against the rules!

On the other hand being author one, is also just as challenging as you need to  break the ice and give the reader something interesting quick as it’s a short story, and the other writer something good enough to work with, and hope they don’t hate it! I could go on, but seriously it’s brought a much needed smile back  to my face, after personal withdrawal to deal with life it’s great to be back doing what I love.

Catch y’all soon.


Comfort Zone: What Are You More Comfortable With? #amwriting #writingprompts



img_20190314_104032.jpgI’ve got some time to kill before I leave the house, perfect to fit in a quick writing prompt right?  I opened up my 365 days of writing prompt book on today’s date. This seems like a very fitting topic right now!

“What are you more comfortable with, routine and planning or laissez-faire?”

Well, to be honest as a person, mother, and human being I do like planning and routine. If there was no routine in my life then the house would not be tidy, there would be no dinner made, and the bills would all be left unpaid it would be chaos. There would also be no fun times for me and my family…which is planned for. I think in life we all need some kind of routine and planning, if not it is very easy to lose your way, or destiny. How do you know what direction you are meant to head in, if you don’t have some kind of plan?  Also if I work on projects and do things with others the same applies, where are we going? In that respect I do prefer and think we all need it. Even those of us who like to fly by the seat of our pants, you can’t always take that approach you’ll probably achieve very little. Even down to minor things like how you’ll spend the day, what you will eat, what you will wear today, etc. There is no avoiding it, planning is needed.

Aside from that,  my personality generally is that  I do like to go with the flow, once I have a plan or loose idea about something which could be about anything.  My personality is more carefree, I don’t tend to be a stress head, as long as I have an idea of what’s going on I’ll go with the flow and know that, because I have some kind of loose idea ‘it will work out’.

I guess on reflection as I write this, my ‘comfort zone’ is to have a plan and routine of some kind. That’s what I think stops me from being a stress head. If I don’t have a plan no matter who loose it is, I would become very stressed, and my personality is to flow with things providing I have a direction.

You’re probably thinking, well what about as a writer do you like to plan or go with the flow. It depends on what I’m writing as a fiction writer  I do very much go with the flow while writing. Yes I plan characters, yes I plan my surprises and twists in a story,  yes I plan endings but no when I actually write I hardly, if ever look back at that plan. To be honest, I don’t think I have actually written anything that ended how I planned it to on paper. That’s because as a  fiction writer I tend to jump into the story and behind the character, which means I come out of myself if that makes sense. I am no longer ‘Kim writing a story line.’ I am the serial killer, the female lead, the drop dead sexy male whoever I am writing, and I’m at the location of the crime, the sex scene whatever I’m there not behind my laptop. It’s very strange my imagination removes itself from me, so half the time I go with ‘what the character would do’  or the situation that’s fitting for them, not me.

As a non-fiction writer, as in writing an article or ghost writing something for someone else, who has an idea of what they want. As much as it might a pain in my ass, as I may have other creative ideas I do 100% stick to what’s been asked of me to write about, or the style I have been asked to use. That’s the only time I will be ridged  with plans when I do non-fiction writing . It’s a lot more fact based and aimed at making a particular point more time, so I am kind of forced to plan to make that point by the end of the article, or whatever it is I’ve been asked to write that’s non-fiction.

So… I guess no as a writer my comfort zone is that I don’t like tooo much of a plan, just a tiny bit so I know where to run wild and flow. But in my own life as a person I need and do better with solid planning.

What about you to plan or not to plan that is the question? Where do you plan the most in life? Love to see what you all do! Also, does anyone know where we find the old WordPress daily prompts these days? Do they even still do them ?







KD SUSPENSE 2019         Long overdue, a story extended by a few scenes by reader’s request from 2018. Be warned this one has a lot of gore… you voted for it!

Author One Scene One


The voice is a blend of husky and shrill, like nails on a chalkboard. Alice cringes at the sound of it.

“Alice.” It repeats. “You better answer me, dammit!”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The rickety steel framed bed creaks as Alice rolls onto her side. She’s cradled by the dip in the overused and extremely stained mattress, that she’s been sleeping on for nearly twenty years. It’s the same bed she slept in as a toddler. A waft of her uncleansed flesh floats into the air with her movements. The sour pinch of the smell wins its competition with the week old garbage pile to her side. Alice mozies to the window of her bedroom to let a breeze in, as she listens to her crippled father’s voice. She knows full well what’s coming.

“My babies are starvin’, get yer fat ass out there and feed em’.”

“M’kay, Daddy.”

“We’re runnin’ low on chow,” he shouts through the thin wall separating them. “It’s time ya’ go ta’ town and pick up some feed.”

“‘M’kay, Daddy.” Alice answers his barking orders, completely numb to what the request entails.

“Well, get to it! An’ make it snappy. I wanna’ watch ya’ prep the meat before dark.”

“Yes Sir.”

Alice’s nose pleads for the fresh earthy scent of the white oak forest, that she can see in the distance. That luxury is denied, and only the rotten smell of her father’s pig farm bites into her room. They grunt and pop their jaws, searching their large shit filled pens for dinner. Directly below Alice’s window, everything about the hogs gives her nightmares. Especially what they’re fed. She complies with her father’s wishes either way.

At a very young age, Alice was taught exactly how much a pig can consume. Teeth, bone, everything. They don’t even shit out the evidence, their bodies absorb every last bit. After a while the horrid screams of her father’s victims became nothing but routine, a familiar sound fighting its way through the emotionless fog of her brain. The farm is secluded, miles from Chicago where the homeless pickens have always been abundant. She learned to tune out the screams very well…until his accident.

Alice was there when her daddy crashed, and so was the middle aged man knocked out in the back seat of the pickup. The man happened to be twice her size, so she had to take extreme measures to get the job done. It was the very day her father passed down his legacy, and the first day of his new life, bound to the restraints of a wheelchair.

The sounds of that day are what playback consistently in Alice’s head. Her daddy was trapped in the truck, smashed at the waist, and the stranger had been tossed out through the front window. Alice withstood the roll completely unscathed, leaving her to clean up the mess her daddy had started. The squeals of the tires and the crunch of metal and glass, were nothing compared to what came after they rolled.

“Do it, Alice.” His voice was younger then. Still husky, but with less of a scratch.

“You have to kill him, Alice! Do it! Do it before he wakes up!” Alice was only thirteen at the time. Her hands shook as she squeezed her body out of the broken glass of the truck’s windshield. In a panic she searched through the chaos of scattered shards, as they glistened in the summer sun. Thousands of tiny shining chunks covered everything from the back of the truck that had been tossed out, all over the pavement. Alice ran to a shovel, only to be shut down by the voice.

“You’re too small for that! Use your fuckin’ head!” Alice dropped the shovel, her body froze. She didn’t want to do it, but knew it was up to her. They lived in a very remote place, but they couldn’t risk being seen nonetheless. She also knew that if the stranger woke up, he’d likely get away. Although Alice was very large for her age, and strong, she was still much smaller than the man. A sharp jagged chain shimmered in the sun, calling to her. Alice shook her head, afraid of her own thoughts.

“Do it Alice!” Hesitation set in, she reached for it, her meaty fingers gripped tight around the handle of her daddy’s chainsaw. The pit of her stomach screamed out in horror. I can’t do it, she thought, I’m not ready yet. He yelled even louder from inside the smashed truck bed, while she stood staring at the stranger. Mute.

“Just fuckin’ do it, Alice!”

“Daddy I…”

“Do it now, before he fuckin’ wakes up!”

Alice swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled the chainsaw’s rope. She was no stranger to the tool having used it on the farm often, yet it still took her shaking arm a few tries. The buzz of the saw cut in and out, struggling its way to life. Rununununun, Runununununun.

“Do it!”

Finally the chainsaw’s roar became steady. Alice made her way  over to the man, her weapon vibrated both arms as she gripped it with every bit of strength she could muster. With ease, the saw chewed through the man’s flesh like butter. Scarlet chunks painted Alice’s face with a splat. She closed her mouth to keep the taste out, and wiped the wet pieces of him from her eyes with the long sleeve of her once floral print dress. Without missing a beat she went back to work. As soon as his head rolled away from his body she held the loud running saw to his middle.

The pieces of him had to be small enough for her to carry by herself. Her daddy’s voice bounded over the destruction of her running metal weapon. Chewed up chunks of intestines spilled onto the pavement, like bloody heaps of broken rope.

“Do it!”

As Alice remembers the sounds of that day, she stares at her daddy’s pigs. It’s a new bunch of animals. Most of the hogs that had eaten her first kill are now dead. Sliced into the bacon that fills the old power sucking freezer, in their dank basement.There’s only one of those particular hogs left. Alice recognizes this very pig because she watched the oval black spot on top of its back, as it chewed through the skull of that man’s severed head. Each bite with a crunch. It was a tiny piglet then, now it’s grey and aged.


His voice cut through her again.

“Yeah, Daddy?”

“I said make it fuckin’ snappy!”

Author Two Scene Two

Alice sighs, and cut her eyes at her dad’s voice. He’s a mean old bastard, her daddy. Never one to show any compassion to anyone. All he cares about are his fat pigs. She remembers in her childhood, when he was not yet wheelchair bound, that he’d slept with them on the hay in the barn, right under her window. As if it were normal for folk to do that. When her mum was alive, Alice swore that’s what turned her crazy. An unloving husband more interested in intercourse… with pigs.

She shudders at the thought, and sight of it. She remembers well the day she walked in on him with his pants around his ankles, humping a pig in the ass, she felt disgusted. She ran out the barn screaming and confused, not sure what to make of it all. She reasoned with herself the best thing to do was to tell Mum. She laughed as she sat by the window with her grubby shawl wrapped over her shoulders, rocking in her chair, chain smoking cigarettes.

“Get used to it baby girl, that’s your father for you.”Was all her mum said. In a flat unmoved tone.

Gathering herself together and shaking off the early memories of her childhood, Alice walks over to the cracked mirror on the wall. She takes a deep look at herself. For a woman of twenty three years old she looks nothing like her peers. Compared to all the other women her age Alice is a state. She always wears her wavy dark brown hair in two French braids, her eyebrows are unattended to, they look more like caterpillars crawling across her face, rather than a set of threaded and plucked neat brows. Her skin is grey with lack of sunshine and vitamin D, she hardly leaves the house, it also has a slight dirty look to it. She’s far from fashionable, even if her father had the money for her to buy the latest trends, the mean tight fisted old bastard  probably would never allow it. She donned a plain grey sundress, no matter the weather come rain or sunshine. Her dirty off white ankle socks completes her look of an un-kept woman, clearly poverty stricken. On her feet as always are pair of worn brown sandals, Alice looks a woman trapped in a time warp.

“I’m on my way, Daddy.” She calls over her shoulder as she tears her eyes from her reflection.

“Good, like I said hurry the fuck up, they’re hungry an’ so am I.”

The sound of his voice as it  penetrates through the walls struck Alice differently this time, instead of fear she feels annoyance at his demanding, unappreciative ways. She’s waited on him hand and foot since he became wheelchair bound. How does he thank her? … He doesn’t, that’s the messed up thing about it. After she pulled him from the smashed up truck and saved his life, not to mention kept his ass out of prison by disposing of the stranger’s body, he has not once thanked her.


Alice makes her way down the dirt gravel road from her house then takes a left. She heads toward the town centre. It’s winter and the days have become chilly, she feels it as she pulls her worn cardigan tighter around her. The chill bites through her to the core of her bones. With her bare legs and low ankle socks she has no protection from the bitter air.

Alice looks around her as if seeing her neighborhood for the first time, through a new set of eyes. How has life just slipped away so quickly, the rhetorical question hangs between her and the open air. The years just rolled into one since her mum passed away. “Natural causes” the Dr. said, Alice found it hard to believe. Her mama was crazy yes, but apart from a slightly disturbed mind she was fit and well. It had crossed her mind at the time that maybe, just maybe, her dad had something to do with her death and “natural causes.” She pushes the thought away as she spots Bill up ahead.

“Hey Alice, what-chaya doin’?”


“Don’t look like nothin’ ta’ me.” Bill teases her as he runs over to her, and steps in line with her pace.

“I’m headin’ to town.”

“What for? An’ you walkin’ all that way?”

“Yeah, I’m walkin’”

“What for though, what ya need over there?”


“Oh them damn pigs. You mean ta tell me ya father’s still got ‘em?”

“Yeah Bill, I swear he loves them more than me.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Hmm.” Is all Alice can say. Numb to any emotion regarding her dad.

“What-do- ya say we take a lil’ walk in the woods on the way?”

“Not today Bill, I gotta get goin’.”

“Oh C’mon, Alice… you love our walks in the woods.”

Bill takes Alice’s hand and leads her off the dirt road toward the woods. He’s hard already at the thought of slamming Alice up against the trees. One thing he likes about Alice is she’s an easy goer. She never talks much, not the intelligent type. She spread her legs and that’s all she needs to do, that is good enough for him. She likes to get fucked and has no problem with servicing two, even three men in the woods at a time. Often, he wonders what caused her to be so mute and unemotional when it comes to sexual relations. She seems unfazed by it all. Alice stops in her tracks and pulls her hand from his.

“Bill not today, I really gotta go.”

“It won’t take long, let’s go.”

Alice gives in with a sigh, she notices the twinkle in Bill’s eye as he smiles and walks ahead. She follows behind him into the depths of the woods.


Bill wastes no time as he grabs Alice’s hair and bends her over. He pulls the hem of her dirty dress up, then pulls her panties to one side. Alice holds onto the tree for dear life as he slams into her. Her mind goes blank as he thrusts in and out of her from behind, grunting and moaning. He slows himself down to hold back his climax, and slips out of her. He spins her around and put her back against the tree, he looks down at her with a smirk on his face. Bill is far from handsome. He has dirty blond hair cut short, a wide forehead with a thick nose. She never focuses on his looks when they are intimate in the woods. In fact, she’s never focused on any of the men’s looks she allowed to have their way with her. For her, sex allows her to not think or feel.  At least someone, anyone paid attention to her during the one on one sessions, or many three or foursomes she had with the town’s men.

“Ya ganna treat me nicely today Alice, maybe suck me off a bit?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Maybe, that’s not what I wanna hear.” Bill retorts as he pulls down Alice’s zipper at the back of her dress and slides it over her shoulders. She’s braless, as always. Her full breasts fall out and greet him. Bill massages over her breasts roughly as he stares down at her. The air is now so cold he can see his own breath as he speaks, the sight of Alice’s nipples hardening against to cool air hardens him more. He gives into temptation and lowers his mouth to her right breast, he takes her nipple in his mouth and begins to enjoy her. Alice tips her head back and lets out a slight moan. Her back arches against the tree as she allows him to take her into his mouth deeper.

Bill’s hand travels south, it makes its way between her legs. He forces her thighs open, and slides his middle finger inside her. He feels her slickness as he finger fucks her into heaven. Alice’s eyes rolls back as she bites her  lip, Bill slides in a second finger and fucks her within an inch of her life up against the tree, as he nibbles and enjoys her breasts at the same time. Alice pants and breathes heavy but that’s all he’d ever get from her.

For Alice secretly, this time things feel different with Bill. She feels a sense of satisfaction from the way his fingers worked her insides. Usually, her body would react in its normal way and she would become moist at his touch, however her internal feelings are always still numb. It’s like her body has its own mind. Today she feels alive internally.

“Do I make you feel good Alice?”


“You like that?”


Bill laughs at Alice’s response, or lack of it. He ups his game a little, he removes his hands from between her thighs, then drops to his knees. With the hem of her dress pulled up she is on show for him, all of her. Without a second thought he leans into her and put his mouth between her thighs to taste her slickness.


Alice loses herself control, for the first time she becomes verbally expressive.

Bill, gets off on the reaction he causes from the usually mute Alice. He buries his head between her legs, and with his mouth set to work. He’d never given Alice head before, he usually saved that for girls that actually mean something. He’s had enough of Alice’s distant mute reactions, she’s now  a challenge sexually to get her to react to his touch. He pulls back to tease her and looks up at her. Alice smiles down at him, with a very satisfied look on her face.

Alice slides down the tree onto the wet grass. She spreads her legs for Bill. For a moment Bill stands in front of her, and stares at her mound inviting him in. Alice slides her hand between her legs and starts to masturbate herself in a vicious way. Bill drops to his knees. He gladly obliges and continues to service her with his mouth. As he dips in and out of her with his tongue, and licks slowly and softly the tip of her clitoris, Alice fondles her own breasts. He watches in excitement as she squeezes, pinches and plays with herself.

Bill feels like he is going to explode in his pants. He is more eager to explode on her ass.

“Get up, turn around.”


“Alice, you heard me get up and turn around c’mon I gotta go soon.”

Alice does as she is told and moves onto all fours. With her ass in the air he enters her from behind and pumped away until he exploded…. On her bare ass.


“Alice, Alice I’ve been waitin’ over one God damn hour for you. Where ya’ been?

“Nowhere Daddy.”

“Nowhere, don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”

Alice stands frozen at the entrance of the house. The musty smell of the house is drowned out by her fear. It  runs deeply through her, has she really been gone that long. Bill took her by surprise today, she never knew he could do what he did with his mouth, at twenty three years old she has no real girlfriends to learn from. Men never offered to do that before. She hears her dad wheeling his chair into the hallway. He stops opposite her.

“Where ya been?”

“Nowhere, Daddy–”

“Well that’s not the right fuckin’ answer is it? I sent you to town for the God damn chow an’ some food, ya come back here an’ tell me ya been nowhere? After ya been gone a fuckin’ hour?”

“I got it Daddy I got it, well I got the food but forgot the chow I’ll go back.”

Alice’s dad slowly wheels his chair closer to her, his face twists into a mean scowl. He  picks up a wooden stick that is within reach as he rolls forward. Pointing in Alice’s direction he begins to curse her.

“You… ya little bitch, ya forgot ma’ damn chow.”

“Daddy please no, don’t, not the stick, it hurts.”

“Hurts? Hurts? I’ll show you what fuckin’ hurts means.”

“Aww Daddy no, no please.”

“What… what is that? What the fuck is that smell? Alice ya smell even more disgustin’ than usual. Have ya been in the woods again. Fuckin’ boys again?”

“No Daddy.”

“No Daddy.”  He mocks in a whining voice.


Alice feels the full throttle of her dad’s anger as he beats her with the wooden stick that came loose from the stair banister. It has sat in the corner of the hallway for months.

“Daddy no, please.”

A flashback of all the times Alice had walked the two miles to town in rain, snow, and anything in between comes flooding back to her. Her anger builds over the way her dad treated her mother, causing her to lose her mind.

“You, yoooou!  You pervert fuckin’ pigs in the barn, you deserve to be in a wheelchair. After all I’ve done for you, this is how you thank me?”

“Alice you better watch… ya… mouth.” Tom responds as he beat her three times to punctuate his words.

“Fuck you! You freak.”

Before Alice can even live to regret her actions, her dad is overturned on the hard dirty wood floor of the hallway. She yanked the stick from his hand with such a force his chair overturned. Tom’s face moulds from anger to fear in the space of seconds as Alice takes control. He looks up at his only daughter as she stands above him. The rise and fall of her chest and deep breathing are enough to let him know his luck has run out, when it comes to bullying Alice. She points the wooden stick at him as she speaks down to him.

“Now, you’re gonna to be taught a little lesson, Daddy dear.”

“Alice, you don’t know what ya doin’. I’m your father.”

“Haha father!” Alice throws her head back mocking him with laughter. “You wouldn’t know how to be a father if it jumped up and spat in ya ugly face!”

“Alice, c’mon now.” Tom pleads as he attempts to crawl away from her with his hands.

“Where do you think, you’re going?” Alice pulls back her arms in the style of a baseball player and strikes her father across the back.


“ Awww! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittttt! Alice for God sake will you get me off the floor?”

“No, it’s time you learned a little lesson of your own, you shit for brains piss poor excuse of a husband and father. Wait here, oh sorry I forgot YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ INVALID YOU CAN’T MOVE!”

Alice lets out a roar of laughter as she swings the bat back and beats her father around the head, face, ribs and groin area. Blood splatters all over her and the walls of the narrow damp infested hallway. Just like it had all those years ago when he made her saw off that poor stranger’s head. She hears every crack of a bone, pop of of his skull and break of his jaw. She loves it. It feels rejuvenating, after all the years of his bullshit.

“Alice, please, don’t do this please I’m–”

“Shut up! Just Shut up”


“Awww fuck me Alice, Jesus, ya can’t do this” Tom strains to speak his slurred words through a cracked jaw.

“Poor mama, the poor woman lost her damn mind over you ya piece a-shit. Treated her like dirt, when really you were dirty, a pig fuckin’ dirtbag at that. Take that ya bastard.”


Just like that, Tom’s lights go out. He’s gone. Bloody, barely recognisable and in Alice’s eyes pathetic looking. For fun, she hitches up her skirt and pisses all over him.

“There, that’ll teach you, Daddy.”

Pulling the hem of her dress down she stomps into her Daddy’s barn.


It was tough but she did it, she managed to drag her father’s lifeless and bloody body through the back door, out into the dark late evening and into the barn. There she places down some sheets of plastic her father had left around and dumps him on top. Alice is covered in blood it’s matted her French braided hair, and smeared itself all over her face and hands. There she stands, in the barn with the pigs going wild to her left. Hungry and acting like savages in their cage at the smell of fresh blood.

Ruuuum rummmmmmm! Rummmm rummmmm!

Alice lifts her father’s chainsaw with a lot more ease than she did when she was thirteen, She slices down on his thigh just above his knee, a smile of pleasure a crack of laughter rings out as she watches her dad’s left leg fall away from his body. Into the wee hours of the night, Alice chops up her father into bite sized chunks and feeds his sorry ass to his beloved pigs. They devour him, every last bone.



Five Years Later:

Alice stands at the window  and watches for Bill on his return home. She listens out for his nosey truck making its way up the dirt road. She centres her mind to the present day, after she re-lives her night in the barn five years ago, and the night she drummed up a theory about her father’s disappearance, once she fed him to the pigs and cleaned up. All these years later word around town is, he had a terrible “freak accident” and must have fell into the river, as he hit a rock with his wheelchair, while he took an early morning “stroll” by the creek, before she woke up. Well, at least that’s what the police thought after they found his wheelchair overturned by the creek, with no one’s prints on it but his.

Alice takes a deep breath and looks down at her husband’s shirt. He’s been at it again, a smudged lipstick mark is on his collar. She never cared for lipstick and cosmetics, Alice is not that kind of woman. She tried for a couple of years, but it didn’t last long before she let herself go again. She never mastered the art of beautifying one’s self. For two months now she’s restrained herself to not cause a fuss over her suspicions about Bill and his floozy. Until now she’s felt lucky to have Bill, he stuck by her after her father had his “accident”, when she was left all alone. They got married six months after her dad disappeared, while no children have appeared yet she is hopeful. That would be fucked up with another woman in the picture. Of late, Bill seems distant, and uninterested. Secretly her inner voice keeps pushing her… if he comes home again smelling of perfume, or with makeup on his shirt, he’d meet a terrible fate in the barn just like her dad did.

Right on cue, Bill pulls up outside the house and jumps out his truck. Alice grits her teeth, narrows her eye, then moulds her face into the loving welcoming wife. She hides his shirt in her closet and makes her way downstairs to the front door. It swings open just as she reaches the bottom.

“Hey Bill, how was your day?” Alice greets him in her most friendly, loving wifey voice.

“Ah same old, just work, work, work. What’s for dinner?” Alice narrows her eyes, as she watches him walk past, he smells of cheap perfume. She follows him with her gaze as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“ Dinner? Oh… something reaaaaaaal special baby, just you wait and see.”

Author One Scene Three

Slop… Alice chucks a bucket of table scraps over the fence, along with newly tossed away animal parts from a local butchers compound heap just out of town. The chow is devoured in a matter of minutes. She watches as her ten new little piglets chomp the skin, and crunch the bones of freshly discarded animal carcass. The smell is atrocious. But, at least the babies are cute, she thinks.

Just as she’s about to turn a heel and make her way back across the field to her house, an arm snakes around her middle. The warmth of his skin shocks her. Not only because it’s unexpected, but because she hasn’t felt such intimacy in his touch for weeks. Alice closes her eyes and leans into him. The grunting sound of her piglets ring  a sweet tune in her ears. Soon, she daydreams in Bill’s arms, soon it’ll just be us again.

“You’re home early.” Alice says, relishing the feel of his chest against her cheek, and the sound of his heart as it beat in her ear.


His voice crawls through her veins, and confirms that she made the right choice. She loves Bill, it’s his bitch that has to go.

“God, it stinks out here.” He said. “Why you gotta’ feed ‘em that shit anyway?  Can’t you give ‘em somethin’ a little less disgustin’?”

“It’s free, and they need the protein. They’re growin’ so it’s the best thing for ‘em.”

Alice’s lies roll off of her tongue with ease. Pigs can eat anything. She’s only giving them such an unthinkable diet because she’s prepping their digestive systems. It’s one trick that her father taught her well. She doesn’t want the pig’s bellies to reject the real meat she plans to give them. Her intention is to toughen them up. Hopefully she only has to do it once.

After weeks of mental confusion and debate, the decision has been made. Bill’s little fling has to die. She’d followed them, and has her plot all mapped out. She’ll do it as soon as her pigs are big enough to dispose of the woman’s fat ass. In the meantime, she waits and continues to feed her pigs. Twiddling her thumbs as she  regains her own personal self-worth while they grow.

“I still can’t believe you wanted ‘em. I know how bad ya’ hated growin’ up on your father’s pig farm.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not my daddy.”

Her ghostly sigh lowers her shoulders a few inches. Admitting her excitement for a kill was be like admitting to any sort of similarity to her father. The thrill is undeniably there, but Alice will never relish on it… not even to herself.

“I guess they just remind me of my mum,” more lies, “I really miss her.”

“Well then, if pigs make you happy, then pigs you shall have.”

Bill teases playfully, then releases her from his grasp only to slap an open palm on the lower side of her left ass cheek. He giggles, then follows the gesture with a quick but juicy peck on the lips. Alice is in heaven, even with the stench of dead animal only inches away. She misses her husband’s good humour. It has  been missing from their relationship for too long. Alice doesn’t know what brought on Bill’s sudden change of banter, but she knows that she can’t let the moment pass. A slug to the shoulder is offered before she takes off in a sprint back to the house. Over her shoulder she shouts at him.

“You’re it!”

Just as they reach the porch, Bill scoops Alice into his arms. Rolling laughter is cut short by an awkward snort in the back of his throat. Alice wraps her arms around his neck and lets him carry her across the threshold, just as he had the night they were wed. The weak floorboards creak under his feet. He lowers her slowly, and he allows his hands to explore the length of her bare legs as she regains her own balance.

Bill takes a long look at his wife. She’s been different since he let her buy the pigs. A sexy confidence has been restored. There’s something about the way she let her hair back out of their regular braids, she wears it long and wavy, just as she did after the incident with her father. The independent and determined air about her is irresistible to Bill. The lively spark in her devilishly dark eyes, intoxicating. Even her brows are manicured again into two perfectly curved lines. He knows her father didn’t disappear, because we watched her that night. And in the five years he’s been married to Alice he hasn’t said a word. Her daddy was a miserable man, and had it coming. Bill watched Alice close, and saw first hand her transformation. She cleaned up,  applied herself and cared about her looks for a short while. The shyness melted away. The changes in her were fascinating and utterly irresistible.

It wasn’t until about a year ago, when she  slipped back to her old looks and careless ways that he began going out and drinking at night. By the time Nancy came along, Bill was so distanced from Alice that he was numb. He felt like he’d already lost his wife as the strong woman she’d become after knocking off her daddy. Nancy was and still is an outlet, a way to escape his fears if he loses Alice for good.

The pigs have changed everything. Bill knows without a doubt that Alice has to be up to something, but he doesn’t care what. Hell, he’d even help her with whatever endeavor she’s got up her sleeve. Whatever it takes to get his wife back. Even death won’t stop him. He’s seen her kill before, and in all honesty the whole thing only turned him on. Just a couple more fucks with Nancy and he’d break it off.  Alice is finally coming back to him and that’s all he needs.

Their kiss is electrifying, just like the first real kiss he’d given her in the woods. Bill shoves his tongue deeper into her mouth, and hardens instantly at the sound of her wanting moan. Alice is wearing a skin tight button up jean dress that stops at the knees. It’s too tight for him to merely lift the bottom to access her, and there’s no time for foreplay. He wants her, now. He needs it, they both do. The rise and fall of her chest, and the pounding heart in his, tells him that she’s ready. It’s a pleasure he’s been denied for too long.

The passion of the moment is heating Bill’s core and boiling his blood. Strong hands grab at the buttons covering the centre of her breasts, and he rips. Buttons snap, and fall to the cheap linoleum floor with ting ting ting. Bill takes in the sight of his wife’s naked skin as the denim falls from her shoulders into a heap on the floor. Her ample breasts stare back at him, naked and full. He lifts her onto the kitchen counter with ease before tugging his belt from its loops in one swift movement, and freeing his long stiff cock from the restraint of his old stained jeans.

Alice is wet and ready to take in every inch of her animalistic husband. She slides her ass to the edge of the counter and spreads her legs wide granting him access. A deep gasp of air is sucked in with shock as he forces himself inside of her. It causes her back to arch as she lets her head fall behind her shoulders, and her mouth to open. His pumps are rough and hit the very spot she’s been longing to feel. It doesn’t take long for the pressure built up inside, and for her intimacy to crash around him. The release is intoxicating, and Bill pulls her body against his. Drinking her in like a forbidden fruit. He continues to push and grind himself against the soaking slick walls of her centre until the dynamic simulation can no longer be contained. He explodes violently, then carefully lowers them both to the floor to relax and catch a breath.


It’s been two months since Alice and Bill began to rekindle their passion for one another, yet he’s still been going out late at night to see her. Alice is fuming. She enjoys her husband’s touch and knows with every ounce of energy flowing through her body that he loves her back. It’s even written all over his face when he’s with Nancy. Alice dresses down to her old grey dress and watches them from the shadows. She sees the way Bill looks at the floor, and the way he avoids the touch of his mistress. The distancing is all too familiar, and the memory of him treating her the same way, makes Alice cringe.

In a weird unexplainable way Alice is actually glad the he hasn’t stopped seeing Nancy. It gives her an excuse. A reason to stalk the bitch. And, it justifies the want and need that Alice has to see the woman suffer. The pigs are finally big enough, tonight is the night. Bill told Alice that he’d be going out with the guys and not home till late. So, when he bids farewell to Nancy early, Alice knows that this is her chance.

Crouched down behind an old beat up Chrysler, Alice waits. She’s close enough to hear the hum of her husband’s voice.

“I told you, Nancy. I won’t be able to meet up with you at all next week. I’m busy.”

Alice grins to herself.

“But I miss you,” Nancy wines. “It seems like you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

Silence greets Alice and she holds her breath. Listening, and waiting for her chance to slip into the bed of Nancy’s pickup.

“I. I. I don’t know what I want.” Bill stutters and lets out a sigh.

“All right well… whenever you’re ready I’ll be here.”

The annoyed defiance bleeds through the cracking of Nancy’s already high in pitched voice. Alice rolls her eyes and thinks, no you won’t bitch, by the time I’m done there will be nothin’ left of your stank home wreckin’ ass.

“All right.” Bill mumbles.

The sound of Bill’s clumpy boots trail off in the direction of the bar they just came out of. Back in to meet up with his friends no doubt. Alice creeps behind the car that’s concealing her and just as the engine of Nancy’s truck roars to life, she slips into the bed of it. She lodges herself between the cab of the truck and a large toolbox.

Alice knows that the drive won’t be long. She knows exactly where Nancy lives, and has her own truck parked a few blocks away. Waiting for them both.


Nancy’s eyes slowly creep open, and the first thing she can feel is the thick rolling drop of wet blood down the side of her round face. It sticks to the tiny peach fuzz hairs that frame her chin. The instinct to wipe at the wetness is interrupted by the heavy restraints of her wrists. She wriggles and squirms, with her heavily made-up eyes still half closed, and her thickly lipsticked mouth  taped shut. Her vision snaps to fully alert as she remembers the last thing she’d seen before the lights went out was Alice — inside her home holding a baseball bat.

Nancy struggles for air, drawing in shallow breaths from her nose as the oxygen to her mouth is closed completely off. She can’t scream, only a muffled noise as if she’s yelling  underwater cuts quietly in the air.

They’re in a dank wooden shed with a concrete floor covered in dirt, pig shit, and scattered clumps of straw. Shovels, hoes, and saws are leaning up against one of the old cracked wooden walls. Nancy is chained down to the a large metal chair that’s bolted into the floor. She thrashes around as the distorted image of Alice standing over her with a chainsaw comes into focus.

Alice pulls at the starting cord of her weapon. Rummmmm rummm rummmm. It struggles to fire to life. She gives it another tug, but before it can light up, the wooden door behind her swings open. Nancy again struggles to yell, pleading with her tear soaked eyes. Bill stands in the doorway, but the lack of shock in his surprisingly amused gaze takes both Nancy and Alice by surprise.

“Bill!” Alice gasps.

“Hey sexy.”

Bill talks to Alice as if it were any regular day. Nancy is stunned, chained down like a rabid beast awaiting her deadly fate. Still gasping for air, and growing more petrified by the minute, all she can do is watch her lover with his insanity stricken wife.

“I thought you’d be home late.” Alice said, letting the chainsaw in her hands nearly drop to the floor.

“What? You think I didn’t see those ugly old sandals lurking around underneath that Chrysler at the bar?”   

“I um, I…” Alice is at a loss for words. “But, why… I mean, did you…”

Bill chuckles under his breath, excitement rising in his chest like the ocean tide. Arousal at the heinous sight before him is a pleasant surprise. He’d imagined the fire in Alice’s eyes as she murdered her dick-of-a-father all this time. Dreamed of the passion in her twisted face.

“Well…” he laughs at her stutter. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“But Bill… I. I.”

Alice watches her love closely as he walks past her and begins to circle her prey. He looks down his nose at her like a piece of meat. He stops between the two of them, and with one hand slid casually in a pocket, he scratches at the stubble on his chin with the other.

“Alice, I know what you did to your dad. I watched.”

Again, Alice turns mute, as Bill’s eyes smile from his cheeks.

“It’s okay, Alice, my love. I love this about you.”

Then he turns to Nancy and gives her the full evil grin that until this night he’d hidden from them both. The excited wrinkles around Bill’s eyes show both the women his eager anticipation. He steps aside and leans against a wall of the shed. He sweeps an arm in front of himself and continues to speak to his loving wife. The woman he is still ready to spend the rest of his life with. The woman he admires, and that excites him. The woman ready and willing to kill for him, just to keep him for herself. The woman he will clean up after and fuck all night while the blood of his dead lover is still fresh on her skin.

“I didn’t know how to get rid of Nancy anyway, my love. Proceed.”

Alice locks her eyes on his. For a moment unsure of his intentions. The wanting admiration in his eyes as he looks into hers tells it all. Still without words, Alice pulls the chainsaw’s chord.

Author Two: Scene Four

Rummm rum, rumm rumm.

Alice swallows hard as her eyes remain locked with Bill’s. The scene in front of her sends a pang of want between her legs, Bill’s gaze the lustful ‘I need you now’ look he used to bless her with in the early days of their marriage has returned. Alice carefully places her beloved chainsaw down on the ground beside her, its hum in the  background exciting her further. Bill shifts his weight and draws himself up to his full height, Alice makes her way over and stands under his gaze. There is no need for words to be exchanged between the two of them, they read each other’s mind as a menacing smile creeps across both of their faces. Alice and Bill move their eyes back over to their prize, Nancy strapped securely to the metal chair.

“Go on Alice, don’t be shy now.”

Alice peeks up at Bill slowly moving her eyes from Nancy to his broad chest, upward to look him in the eye. Both of her hands cup his face as she embraces him, then blesses him with a full on passionate kiss. Bill returns her passion without hesitation, his hands make their way round to her ample behind as she pulls her in closer to him. Alice feels the bulge against his jeans as his manhood strains to contain itself in his trousers. Slowly she grinds her hips up against him, teasing him.

“Mmm, Alice you better make quick work of her. I got plans for you.” Bill playfully slaps Alice’s behind and spins her around to face Nancy. Nancy sits trembling in her chair, even from a distance her fear is visible. Panic sets in, pleading with her eyes and  mumbles from behind the tape over her mouth. Alice gives no mercy.

“Right, ya little homewreakin’ slut!”

“Mmm mmmm mm”

Alice stamps her way over the Nancy and rips off the tape from her mouth in one swift quick motion, drawing blood and lipstick along with it from her bottom lip.

“What was that you said?”

“Alice, please listen to me it was just–”

“Fuccccccccccck you, Nancy!” Alice draws back her open palmed right hand.


Nancy’s face flies to Alice’s left from the force of her slap, leaving a red palm mark as a souvenir on Nancy’s right cheek.

“Now, open your Goddamn legs. I’ll teach you to fuck with my man.”


Bill’s stomach churns as she watches Alice do away with his one time lover. He feels no guilt, instead he has a hardon that seems to grow throughout the entire scene. Nancy is toast, completely unrecognisable her bodily remains scattered around the shed. He watches closely as Alice dismembers the last piece of Nancy.  Impatience gets the better of him, removing his shirt he walks over to Alice and surprises her from behind, as she’s bent over Nancy’s body. Standing directly behind her he places his hard bulge up against her and closes his eyes as he rubs up against her. In his mind’s eye he relives the vision of Alice dismembering Nancy. The blood, flesh, smell of the kill all sending testosterone through his body like wildfire. As he rubs himself up against Alice,  Alice keeps busy with her chainsaw. Over the loud hum of the machine Bill speaks up.

“That’s enough Alice, she’s good and done now.”


“Let her be Alice, I can think of better things to do.”

Alice shuts off the chainsaw, wipes her brow with the back of her bloody hand and straightens up pushing her back against Bill further.

“Better things to do?” Alice teases Bill.

Bill responds by reaching around and unbuttoning her dress, as usual Alice is bra- less. As her breasts fall out he wastes no time as he cups both of her them wet, and covered in blood. Alice throws her head back slightly and drops the chainsaw.



“Nothing, don’t stop.”

Alice’s hoarse breathless voice urges Bill on. He rips open her dress. The coolness against Alice’s skin soaked with Nancy’s blood arouses her. With one hand busy caressing her left breast, Bill’s right hand snakes its way down between her legs. His fingers find the exact spot he knows will drive her wild. Alice’s moans of pleasure are music to his ears.  He wants to worship her and show her that it has always been her that he wanted and needed. Nancy was just a phase.

He spins her around and in one swift movement picks her blood soaked naked body up, and places her on the concrete floor of the shed. Blood, body parts, it doesn’t faze either of them, it adds to the ambiance of their love making . A fresh new experience for them both. Kneeling between Alice’s legs, Bill unbuckles himself allowing his strong erection to spring free. Placing one of Alice’s legs on his shoulder he rubs himself up against her opening, before he slides into her slowly, making a full connection, they become one. Rocking slowly enjoying every stroke, Bill watches Alice’s expression light up the moment he makes full contact with her.

“Billllllllllllllllllllll, jez!”

At Alice’s moan of pleasure, Bill moves up a gear as he penetrates her deeply placing both legs on his shoulders. In the background the pigs are nosey spectators, above their grunts for food Bill slides Alice around the blood splatter on the floor and brings her to  an earth shattering climax.

This was the first night of a new era for them. A spree of death, and elated passion is ahead. Alice and Bill will soon grow as a team, terminators, the worst kind of killers at their finest. This night is one that will never be forgotten, and will forever change the lives of everyone in their deadly path.

 Oh my God this one was something totally out of my comfort zone to write. Thank you for reading ,and the writing prompt challenge from both of us! Stay tuned voting for writing prompts in 2019 will open soon!

Week #5 Short Story: A Miracle Baby. ((And Announcment from Kim & Didi) #kdsuspense #amreading


Author One Scene One

The newspaper is thick and crunches heavily in my hand as I wad it into a tight ball, and squeeze it in my tired overworked fingers. The outhouse is dark and the smell makes me nauseous. Everything makes me nauseous. I’m guessing myself to be a couple months along, but it’s hard to tell. There are only three things I know with absolute in my life right now. One, there’s is definitely a baby growing in my sixteen year old belly. I feel it move and I’m even starting to show. Two, it’ll never be accepted. Even less so than myself, if that’s possible. And three, I’ll have to take Jesse up on his offer to take me far away from this place… eventually.

“Adsila!” My mother shouts.

“Yes, Momma?”

I yell back at her before I use the thick newspaper to wipe. Then I stand to adjust my knickers under my layered green striped dress.

“Adsila. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Momma’s speed walk carries her in my direction, chickens scattering at her feet.

“We’ve got a lot of work ta’ do today, that corn ain’t gonna pick itself.”

As I step out of the outhouse, a different rancid smell consumes my nostrils. I’m downwind from the beef and we just had a massive rainstorm. It’s not as bad as the smell inside, but the switch from one bad scent to another hits me like a twister, nearly causing me to either faint or throw up. My body can’t decide which need is the stronger. Instinctively I hold out a steadying hand and lean against the old cracked wood of the outhouse door, to aid in holding myself upright. I look up at mama with pleading eyes, willing her to cut me some slack from the chores.

“Adsila, my blossom, are you okay? You look sick.”

My momma is a very beautiful woman in her late forties. She’s muscular and her once smooth pale skin has leathered by the sun, but she’s pretty nonetheless. Blossom is the meaning of my Cherokee name, and every time my momma says it I can see the love and reassurance in that concerned wrinkle between her eyes. She told me once that she named me Adsila as a sign of hope for us, because the most beautiful flowers blossom in the hardest ground. They’re tough, and so are we. Momma is white and was engaged once to a confederate soldier. After riding four weeks to meet up with him, she wound up raped and beaten within an inch of her life in the middle of an unexpected battle.

To her fiance, it didn’t matter what she’d been through, or that it was an attempt to visit him that brought her there in the first place. The man saw her as ruined. She was dirtied by an Indian, so he left her behind on the battlefield to rot. She’d been taken in by an elderly Cherokee woman. She picked up bits and pieces of the language, and grew to love the people.

Momma quickly learned that the man who’d raped her was an outcast in the tribe, and the only one of their men who would do such a thing to a woman. Rape was deeply frowned upon by the elders, and no one grieved for the man when he died in the same battle that he’d ‘ruined’ my momma. Just over nine months later, I was born with full square cheekbones, thick dark hair, and the purest olive Native skin. Momma stuck with the Cherokee people until I was three before settling on our makeshift ranch on her own. The people she loved and called family we’re being pushed west, and picked off regularly. Being alone with an Indian child was a big risk, but so was staying with them.

Our ranch sits on a vast prairie land in Tennessee. Our home is small and we barely keep enough animals to get us by, but we’ve made it this far. There’s a town a day’s ride from us, but we don’t make the trip very often. Mainly because I’m not welcome. Most of our supplies are brought to us by the women in town. They come to our ranch for Momma’s famous “mud”, or so she calls it. After spending so much time with the Cherokee people, they taught her many things about plant life. She has a green thumb, and is seen as a healer of sorts. No matter the rash, wound, fever or sickness, Momma can mix up something to help. It’s the only thing that’s kept the townsfolk from coming out merely to slit my throat in my sleep. They’re not too keen on allowing Indians to stick around. Even young ones. I keep to myself with my eyes at the ground. Except with Jesse.

“Sorry Momma. I’m okay, just a little sick.”

“You get sick a lot.”

Momma stares at me with her hands on her hips, just waiting for the confession. She knows I’m pregnant. She has to, it’s getting obvious. But, I still haven’t actually told her, and she’s the type of woman to wait for me. She’s tough, but when it comes down to it, we’re a team. She isn’t going to force it out of me until I’m ready to talk. I remove my hand from the outhouse door and force myself to stand up tall despite the swirl in my guts.

“I’ll be okay, Momma. I’m sure it’s the heat.”

“The heat,” she rolls her eyes, “yeah.”

Momma reaches up to tuck a long thick strand of my black hair behind my ear. After moving it from my face she takes a long look into my guilty eyes.

“If you’re sure you feel okay, we really do need ta’ tend ta’ the crops.” She says a little gentler than before.

“Okay Momma.”

“I tell ya’ what,” Momma starts. “If we get all this corn down before the sun drops, then tomorra’ we’ll take a day off and go into town.”

“Town?” My head snaps up.

As much as I hate the people in town, our trips are always bitter sweet. Momma holds her head high and marches us from shop to shop. I get to pick out something nice, and as long as I don’t make eye contact with anyone the abusive comments are usually minimal.

“Well, I was thinkin’ we could pick out some new material and make ya’ another dress or two. What do you think about that?”

She definitely knows. I look down at the stretched material around my middle and nod. This must be her way of making me talk. I’ll have to tell her while we measure me and sew I’m sure of it.

“‘Kay,” I agree, a little embarrassed. “Let’s get to it Momma.”

The chickens cluck and scatter as we make our way to the small fenced off corn field. I’m in the middle of filling my second basket of freshly plucked ears of corn, when the sound of a galloping horse pierces into my eardrums. The butterflies in my chest are confused with the sinking feel of a rock in my stomach. I never know what to expect with visitors. Please be him, I think, please be my Jesse.

“Ms Hattie!?” The voice is deep, and definitely  does not belonging to Jesse.

I let my hair swoop back to its usual place, covering a quarter of my face. The man is clearly drunk, as he struggles to swing a foot to dismount from his horse. He ties the animal to a post of our fence by its reins. Momma straightens her back and sashes proudly in his direction. Ready to face the world.

“Where’s he at, Hattie?” he slurs. “I know my boy’s been foolin’ ‘round with that mix breed of yours.”

Momma lets out a sigh, she knows how bad this can turn and how fast, but she keeps her composure.

“Sherif, why don’t you let me pack a few ears of this fresh corn in your pack, and send you off  with some coffee. We haven’t seen your son.”

I keep my hands busy, picking corn and placing them in the basket. Jesse’s dad hates me even worse than the rest of the townsfolk. Especially when he drinks. Momma reaches a kind hand for Sherif Brink’s shoulder. He throws it aside and marches at me full force, like a bull ready charge.

“Where’s my boy?”

His breath is thick with bourbon, it nearly makes me gag. A light spray of spit showers my face.

“I haven’t seen Jesse, sir.” I speak to the dirt at my feet.

“Bull shit!” He shouts, before reaching down and wrapping his fingers around a rock. He stands back up tall, “He didn’t show up, you mutt. Jesse was supposed to help me at the jailhouse today, and he never came. He ain’t home neither.”

Momma has been on his heels since he began swaying to my direction.

“Sheriff put down the rock.” Her voice is firm. “What in the world do you plan on doin’ with that?”

“You shut up!” He demands, pointing a finger in Momma’s face. “Answer my question mut!”

“I don’t know sir, maybe he forgot.” I plead, my eyes glued to the rock in his fingers.

Thwack. Everything goes blank.


My vision begins to focus, Momma’s face transforming from two to one and the blur lifts. As my consciousness regains I feel a thick wet warmth down my legs. I must have been out for a while because I’m lying in my bed and a familiar hand is laced tightly in my fingers. I try to speak, but my voice catches in my dry throat. I want to tell her. I want to tell her, but I can’t form words. As my eyes roll back in my head and I start drifting back away, I listen. His voice is deep and sweet, it warms me through the cold dark pain.

“Ms Hattie, please,” Jesse pleads. “Please tell me me she’s gunna’ make it.”

“I don’t know Jesse. If you hadn’t have showed up when you did he woulda’ kept kickin’ her.”

“Oh my God, she’s bleeding” he cries. “The baby.”

Again darkness consumes me.


“Adsila, my love?” I whisper her name.

“Yeah?” Her voice is smooth.

The grass is soft under our backs and the sun is blinding above us. Her hand is small and warm in the palm of mine. My heart thumps as I look down at her rapidly growing belly. She’s due anytime. My father hasn’t been to her ranch since the incident, thank God.

“When are we going to talk about leavin’?” I ask, for the hundredth time, hoping that just maybe this time she’ll listen.

“We can’t Jesse. You know I can’t leave Momma.”

I watch closely, completely relaxed as she rubs her free hand over our miracle that’s somehow still alive. My mind races back to that day. The day my father nearly killed them both. I shudder, and close my eyes tightly.

“What if someone sees the baby? What if he comes back?” I plead.

I want more than anything to take my beautiful Adsila, my blossom, away from this place. I would have left two years ago, the day I turned eighteen had she agreed to come with me. But she won’t. I understand her need to stay with Hattie, I do. But, how are we going to hide a little one?

“I know we have to go, Jesse.” She finally admits. “They’ll find a way to take her I know they will. But we need Momma. I can’t have this baby without her and we both know it.”

“Her?” I sit up, and smirk. She grins back at me, her tall cheeks lift even higher.

“It’s a girl, I just know it.”

Author Two Scene Two

“Oh yeah? Is that so?” I mock her in a playful tone. “What happens if it’s a boy?”

“Then I’ll be just as happy, as long as it’s healthy.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I turn my attention from the blue sky above us and look at my one true love. She’s beautiful, no matter what my dad or any of the town’s people say. Her black hair, coco coloured skin, full lips and bright brown eyes blow me away. I don’t understand it, I don’t understand the hostile attitude toward her just because of who she is. She never asked to come into this world as she did, as a product of a rape. And even if she had been conceived in love between two different people from different backgrounds, what’s the big deal? I can’t help but have a different opinion to the rest of this town, even if I never fell in love with her.

“So what’s the plan Adsila? You’re due any time now and really we need to decide what we’re gonna do. It’s a miracle you’re both alive after what my dad did. I plan on keeping it that way.”

“Okay, let’s do it, I don’t wanna leave my momma but we need to stay safe.”

The words fall out of me before I even have a chance to really think about it, life won’t be easy here not with another Cherokee child one half of the community will accept the baby, maybe as he will be part Cherokee but the other half won’t. Life’s hard enough for me as it is. And then there’s Momma, if I stay her life will be even more harder, if I go I’ll break her heart.


“I’m not sure you’ve thought this through  Adsila, Georgia? You wanna head to Georgia?”

“Yeah Momma, we might be more welcome there.”

I watch my momma pull herself up to her full height, as she takes in my plan.

“Child, there ain’t no way you’re goin’ ta Georgia.”

“But Momma, it’s just the next state and maybe people will accept us, me and the baby.”

“That may be so, but how are y’all gonna live? That’s my concern as ya momma ya can’t live off thin air.”

“Will you come with us?”

I know it’s a stupid question, but I have to ask. For a second, Momma’s face looks like she’s considering a life in Georgia. Then it clouds over as she looks off into the distance at the chickens running free in the yard.

“I can’t.”

“Why not.”

“ I just can’t I’m too old to be doin’ that journey and settin’ up a new home.”

“But Momma–”

“Nothin’ else to say Adsila.”

I get to my feet from the steps of the porch and reach out to her, to try and reason with her some more, she turns her back as she heads over to the chickens. I never imagined that it would come to this, that I would be forced to make a decision between my momma and baby. I need them both, and I need Jesse too.


“Arrrrgggh Momma please make it stop please!”

“Stop hollerin’ and focus  Adsila. Your body can’t do it by itself.”

Momma pats dry my damp brow as I pant, yell and try my best to stay calm.

“It’s  a few weeks early, sometimes it happens. Now push  Adsila… pusssssssssssssh!”

I snap my eyes shut and do as Momma say’s ,she knows best, but this pain is killing me how to women do this more than once?

“All right, I can see the head. Deep breath now, that’s it. Push Adsila pusssssssh!”

“Awwww Momma make it stop please.” I clamp down and push again.

“That’s it, that’s it…. here come the shoulders, keep pushing…. Good girl!… That’s it….push. You done it!”

Waaaaah  waaaah

The sound of my baby greets my ears, and for the first time in my life I know what true pain feels like.

“It’s a boy…  Adsila we gotta boy child!”

“What… what, really? Oh gosh Momma,, why didn’t you tell me it hurt so much?” I manage to pant between breaths. I can’t believe it. I have a son… a king.


I rest with my eyes closed, the fan on full blast next to me and  my king cradled across my chest feeding. He’s a hungry boy, I feel like the life is being sucked out of me. I’ve been in bed since he arrived, just over two hours ago. Not one part of my body feels like what it once was, before or during pregnancy. No one prepared me for what childbirth really means, how it feels and how amazing the end result is. For nine months I’ve felt the connection with him inside me, every turn he made, or leg that kicked out as he bedded down in my womb for the night will never leave me. There’s something about carrying a child that changes you, I’m only sixteen but I feel much more older now, now that my body has gone through the whole experience of feeding, keeping safe and protecting a baby. I feel grown.

I hear a light knock at the door which causes my eyes to snap open, and pull my king closer to my chest to protect him. I’m full of nerves thinking about the reaction he will get from town folk. His dark hair, eyes and tan skin giveaway who he really is skin deep.

“Ma’am, can I see Adsila please.”

“Go right on through.”

I instantly relax at the sound of Jesse’s voice. I listen closely as his boots clunk against the floor, then my door slowly creaks open.


I look up at Jesse at the foot of my bed, with his hat in his hands and a broad smile on his face.

“Hey, you okay?”

“More like are you okay? How are ya’, can I see?”

“Sure, come on over.”

Slowly Jesse makes his way over to the side of my bed and peers at the tiny bundle in my arms. I watch his face light up.

“Wow, can I hold?”

“Mmm hummm.” I give nothing away, I hand over our king and wait for Jesse to notice it’s a boy. He unwraps the blanket gently to get a good look.

“No way, haha well, what have we here? That don’t look like no girly parts to me!”

I can’t help but laugh at his surprise.

“A boy, amazing.” Jesse shakes his head and smiles down at the baby as he covers up his tiny body.

“Look at him, he’s just fine, all of him. He has your hair too.”

“Sure is, he’s a miracle.” I look up at them both beaming.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come over sooner, dad was around and he would only ask questions. I had to wait until the bourbon took over and he passed out.”

“It’s okay.”

“Have you spoke to your momma yet?”

I watch Jesse move around the room rocking the baby back and forth, with a proud look on his face as he talks baby talk to him. My heart swells.

“Yeah, kinda she’s not happy as you can imagine, and I’m not sure if she will come with us.”

“Adsila we have to go, you know this as much as I do we can’t stay around here. Both of us are targets as well as the baby. Already, the town folk are avoiding me, I know they’re  callin’ me names behind my back. Not that I care, I just don’t want him to grow up in this environment, this … I don’t know what to call it  He is a miracle as you say, after the beating you took, he deserves more than these narrow minded folk here.”

“I get it Jesse, but Momma’s right how are we gonna live?”

“I’ll think-a somethin’”

I lower my lashes to the bed, and pray he does.

“Maybe I can find a job too maybe–”

“Are you crazy? No way! You stay home look after… after, what we gonna call him?”

It feels like I’m frozen in time, as we stare at each other. To see Jesse and the baby bonding already my mind is made up, we need to leave and soon. No matter what people think our baby was conceived in love, no violence, no hate and he is so innocent. If people can’t accept me or us around here we’ll travel across the USA until we find somewhere that will. Maybe even farther overseas if we need to, there must be a place we can fit in. A white American boy, with a Cherokee girl and bi-racial child.  He’s mine, ours and we’ll protect him.

“Earth to Adsila… did you hear me, what we callin’ the little guy?”

“King… I wanna call him King, let’s pack a bag.”


Thank you for reading and voting. Didi and I will pause this week on wards, don’t worry we’ll be back soon. Like I said last time we paused, it’s the quiet before the storm. Then what happened?… The Suspenseful Collection Volume one was published. 🙂 Sit tight for more Kim and Didi’s Suspenseful Collection, with a twist! You can read all our stories here.

And The Most Voted For Writing Prompt is: A Crime Scene… Damn Kim’s excited!! #kdsuspense #amwriting #crimefiction



Thank you, thank you and THANK YOU!! For all your votes on Twitter and the blogs this week. This week Didi and I asked you to vote for your favourite type of movie scene.  This week we will start a story at random, with the most voted for type of scene. It was a close call between romantic comedy – first date and a crime scene.  However, a crime scene won the vote. We are SO excited,  as suspense authors we do love a bit of crime fiction. While Didi likes to write them (characters) a little psycho, I like to keep it fast paced and edgy so this should be a GOOD week, as we join forces again!  Don’t forget we’d love to see your stories , please write with us. Start your story at random with a crime scene and let us see. Post your link on one of our blogs and share with #kdsuspense. We’ll catch you Tuesday. Have a wonderful Bank Holiday weekend if you’re in the UK.

This Is How Kim & Didi’s Suspenseful Collection Works!

We never discuss beforehand how a story should go or who writes what. It’s a surprise for each other to see how their story ends, or what lands in their inbox to finish off.

This interactive writing challenge is simple and insanely creative. It’s a group effort and we are so glad to have you join in the writing fun!!  I hope you’re ready to challenge us by choosing which prompts we can transform into stellar suspense!  Give us your best shot!  You vote on our weekly prompt, and we provide the entertainment. It’s that simple!  The super easy steps are as follows:

STEP ONE: Every Wednesday we’ll post a voting poll with a few prompts to choose from.
STEP TWO: With the click of a button, you cast your vote on a prompt. (voting will stay open for three days.) Once the winning prompt is announced you can join us and write a story too. Use #kdsuspense to link in.
STEP THREE: READ AND ENJOY!  Every week on the following Tuesday we will post the short story that transformed from the very winning prompt.

Read Previous Stories Here!