woundikins

He was going to die. He knew that much. Christian just never expected to die hunched behind a peach tree. Albeit, the tree was nearly ripped to shreds and it wasn't much in the way of shelter.     It was sweltering, the middle of July in Pennsylvania. It had rained heavily that afternoon and Christian didn't know what was worse: the muggy, humid air or the mud that went up to his knees. He slipped in the filth every half-step and could hardly breathe through the thick, clogged smoke.     Cannon fire sounded in the misty distance, amid the clipped volleys of gunshot and ricochet. He finished reloading the rifle, hoping that the powder wasn't

  My creator is inside my heart. Coating the organ like wax, like mud—stained is His name in ink, on my heart—branding me in righteous fire. His words snap my ribs and opens my chest to His  Love. It covers my shame and clothes my sin. He Loves me—every bump, indiscriminant mark, every bruise. He seeps into my pores and looks out of my eyes. My lips speak of him—my teeth reflect His smile. His voice soaks my lungs. He loves every hair on my head, every scar.    And He loves me.   The One that was before and after. The one older than the stars and sands. The Alpha and Omega. The Author and Finisher. The One that lived

  I hummed along to Sympathy for the Devil, it was playing softly on the radio sitting on its usual dusty shelf. It was crackling and slow, almost like a hymn. I scrubbed my mop to the beat, the music pushing itself into my ears like pushpins.  I was so absorbed in my song that I didn’t even notice the soul until it reached out to touch me. Well, of course it didn’t actually touch me. It was a cold feeling, like a ghost nothing more and nothing less to its measure. I glanced up and turned the dial down to hear it better though I knew I could understand nothing.  At a closer look, I saw a woman. But she wasn’t my woman. N

My eyes opened slowly, to the surprise of a heartbeat. At first, I was startled and dazed at the thought of being alive. Then, as my head cleared I realized it was just the hangover.  One of the perks of being a vampire, we come ‘alive’ every time we drink in rather copious amounts. That meant about three or four bodies were somewhere in my house.  Great.  I sat up and began searching for my guests, through scent alone. It really wasn’t that hard. See, a blood hangover sent my senses into overdrive., I heard every single creepy crawly under my floorboards, the dog two houses down digging a hole in his yard, the rain comi