The margins spill over with
intricate loops of doodle-cipher,
every flower and leaf a silent scream,
every cross-hatch-darkened corner
hiding secrets
of the soul.

It’s a garden


a jungle

into which
the girl tried to escape
every day.

And now
she has.

With a breath of a wish
and a brush of a curse
she fell flattened and inked
into a world of her own making.

If they flip through the pages,
if they look in the right places,
they’ll find her

climbing the vines to a floating island
a blue sketched demon-dog

a graphite bazooka
slung over her shoulder.

The next day, and pages later,
they might see her
riding a living
into a forest

They might, but they don’t.
They never look at her world.
They never did.

She told them where she was going;
in between neat rows of
facts and numbers,
she told them.

In black and grey and blue
she told them
In rarer reds and greens
and in bright highlighter s
of yellow,
she told them.
Her nightmares and dreams,
she told them.

She told and told
told them of
her two-dimensional haven,
but no one knew her language
and no one saw her screams.

No one read the margins.

They look for her
in the facts
but they’ll never find her

She’s lost to them


in the wild,



Part Nine: Truths Best Forgotten

A 100-word chapter of a 1,000 word story. Part one here.


He wondered at her stunned and pale face when she returned from the healer’s.

“Pregnant?” he guessed, knowing she didn’t wish to be.

“Not more life; less,” she whispered. “I’m dying, love.”

His heart grew suddenly cold, though he kept his face smooth. “Isn’t everyone?”

“In weeks, love.”

It wasn’t fair. She was yet young. If she were to die, it ought to be on adventure’s height, not from withering sickness.

“Let’s have weeks of adventure, then,” he spoke gaily, trying to shake off despair’s sticky fingers. “And no more talk of death, dearest. There are some truths best forgotten.”


To be continued.