Category: Writing
-
Witch Fires
Every last full moon of summer the witch put fresh flowers on his grave, picked from the fields soaked with ash and blood, where the fires had burned, and hope had died…
-
Bloodlust
The air in the cellar was still full of dust; the builders had just left this afternoon, others would come to pick up the last stones in the morning. Had it not been for the water damage after the last heavy rain, nobody would have ever opened that wall, nobody would have accidentally freed what…
-
7-Days Writing Challenge
Since I’ve got more time to focus on my writing at the moment, I am starting a new email newsletter for everyone who likes writing, is looking for a challenge or wants to start something new: 7-Days Writing Challenge. I’ll send it out every Monday, it’s free and offers you a writing exercise for every…
-
In a Frozen Field (2017) – Short Story
Where am I? Do my eyelids stick together or is it entirely dark? Have I gone blind? I can still smell it: a mixture of moss and disinfectant. It smells of illness, pain and freedom. It is the smell of being reborn once again, of saying goodbye just to be greeted by familiar faces –…
-
Zombie – A Short Story
A mask made of disgrace and decay covers my face. I am the worst of my wandering nightmares. I am a killer of men. I tear up their warm bodies, rip away their flesh and bury my hands deep in their chests. I squeeze their hearts until no life is left; I shred their veins…
-
Reset – A Short Story
‘Liar!’ she said. ‘You are a liar!’ ‘You are killing me!’ ‘I want to hate you. Why can I not hate you? Please make me hate you!’ Later, she listened to what friends had to say. They gave good advice: the pain will pass; the suffering will go away. You just have to endure; you…
-
Death after Midnight – A Victorian Ghost Story Murder Mystery for 7-9 Players
Best played by candlelight only The Background Story: There was a silent scream at night, soon drowned in darkness and endless hallways, the fear of the dying woman evaporated when she took a last shuddering breath floating mid air, before her skull smashed unto the marble floor and her neck bent and broke. They…
-
Poem: No Title
I can still feel your touch on my skin. Sometimes it is like a feather, so soft it barely makes an impact. Other days I can feel the muscles of your palm, as you hold on to my shoulder. Your lips, I do no longer remember what they taste like. I imagine strawberries and the…
-
Der Spiegelkobold – Kinderbuch ab 7 Jahren (Auszug)
Die Sage von der Prinzessin der Spiegel Alle Spiegelprinzessinnen weinten.Sie weinten, wenn es regnete. Sie weinten, wenn die Sonne die Welt in ein goldenes und warmes Licht tauchte. Spiegelprinzessinnen weinten und ihre Tränen waren wie flüssiges Silber, das in winzigen Tropfen ihre Wangen hinab lief. Mit ihren zarten Glashänden fingen sie sie auf und webten…
-
Lone Survivor
He wished he could call himself strong, strong and steadfast as his sisters and brothers had been before him, a steady beacon in the fading days of joy. But as the wind battered his leaves, his soul shook and his branches withered in the wind he felt his brightness was nothing but a façade to…
Jessica Holzhausen - Writer & Artist 