How We Roam, We Die


Our love is a thief of darkness and grief

Our grave proves the tale

The sea she’s cruel and will always rule

Storms will come, and we fail

Heave, heave, heave you bailers

Our love speaks once again

Heave, heave, drunken sailors

How we roam, we die

Our love is a beaute but a vexed bruit

Our grave proves the tale

The sea she’s cruel and always will rule

Storms will come, and we fail



Is our life set in the threshold of realism, as in do we truly exist?

Does anyone definitively know if we are in fact, real?

Remember that proverb, “To know life is to live life,” or is it the other way around?

In any case~

What if we are mere figments of imagination? Conceivably a dream or reflection in the mirror, like an imitation of what might or would have been. If the universe was created by a simple flight of fancy, and if that fancy becomes monotonous, will all life come to its final conclusion and be forever removed from existence?

And if this is true, and I’m genuinely not here, then it’s impossible that you’re reading my little rant and therefore we are delicate fabrications allocated into sections that make up an entire narrative. But not of our own.

Impossible, right?

So many questions, too few answers. Which in turn leads to the day-old query as to which the answer permanently eludes, “What is the meaning of life.”

Perhaps that’s not really the question. Maybe, just maybe, that is the answer.

There are so many who are broken and adrift who contemplate this lost cause when the cause was never fair-minded, to begin with. Making the what, in this case, irrelevant because if what doesn’t exist and if there’s no logical reasoning in regards to the truth, then such a question serves no purpose. Therefore the only possible conclusion is, “just live.”

Like the proverb suggests, carry on and reject the possibility that one day this life will end at any given moment, terminating all that coincides within the illusion. Even if every last one of us is a fantasy caught in the swiftest of rivers with no hope of escape, life implores us to flourish, gain experience, thrive, and fall madly in love.

And there we have it, problematic actions with countless, frivolous interpretations to come full circle.  Therefore the question arises once more and will do so for always.  So I ask this, if the question returns back to itself, then isn’t it possible that the answer resides in its own uncertainty?


I had fallen once,

into a dark oblivion of the most serene slumber time has permitted

The void enclosed in emptiness,

with no recollection of consciousness nor perceptions of being

Derived to an end nonetheless commits to embark,

yet considers no motive other than invasive methods to pull reveries out from under a door eternally locked by its author

And as I fell under the beat of my heart commenced slowly to pause,

forgoing the resolve to live

If this was approaching death I should find it troubling


there was nothing

The insight of a credulous acquaintance left only ignorance as existence ceased despite a pending delayed awakening

Only to become aware of a faint indistinct tone bellowing my name

It was a designation exclaimed repetitively by a nurture in revival demanding my response,

only to reciprocate questions in regards the results

At long last,

responses eventually set about disputes as to why

Then comprehension of the significance of being nothing




Unaware of my own presence results in harsh realizations of the inevitable yet untimely expiration of my vivacity

Simply to be so apathetic of one’s erudition of dying

There was no pain,

I saw no light,

nor were there sensations of coldness or warmth

If it were death,

the knowledge of it eluded me

Wariness may be the condition poisoning my considerations in which consequences supervene

And now instigates questions of religion and faith for my experience was of voided darkness

I had fallen once,

into nothing

Children Coping With Grief


“Life asked death, ‘Why do people love me but hate you?’ Death responded, ‘Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth.”

—Author unknown

Death, the inevitable fate of all life.

Everyone manages grief in their own way. For a child, the devastation of such a catastrophic event can forever alter perceptions of their reality.

Children are so emotionally dependent upon those who are closest to them, it’s impossible to acknowledge life without those people. Yet acceptance is a fine line.

The younger the child, the easier it is to accept the loss. It isn’t that the child doesn’t care, it simply isn’t possible for those under the age of four to understand the concept of death. A toddlers’ reaction to the death of a loved one is based on his or her surroundings. Any changes within in a home with children are more complicated due to the disruption of their routine.

It’s important to keep your explanation simple, to the point. The dead aren’t hungry, cold, or tired. They are simply gone. If religion is part of your life, explain the passing like crossing a bridge or flying up to heaven. There isn’t a need to be dramatic or embellish. Answer questions the best you can, and remember the importance of being nonjudgmental. Your little one doesn’t have your life experience.

Older more mature children are likely to perceive death as it is; the permanent departure from who they love and care for.

It’s hard for them to muddle through the sorrow and pain. They become terrified of losing everyone and might attempt to withdraw or revert, becoming demanding and needy. Hold your ground and remain supportive by encouraging them to express their feelings. Help them develop healthy coping mechanisms to get them through their grieving process. Consider seeking professional help.

“The unmarred innocence of a child is a temporary veil of protection that every mother begs God to preserve, always”. ~Shell DeToni

Below is one of many letters written by a child searching for answers while trying to make sense of a life that had been turned upside down by the death of a loved one. She blames herself for how this tragic event has tore her family apart. The child’s lack of life experience simply makes it impossible for her to comprehend the simple fact that one cannot be held accountable for other people’s choices, nor is she responsible for those affected by the decisions other’s have.

It was her first experienced with death and while time has been kind, her lamentation has yet to be concluded. Perhaps someday, that blessing will be meant for her. Nonetheless, acceptance looms nearby.


Hi gramma. It’s been a year now since I’ve talked to you. I know you won’t reply back, but I just really miss you so I wanted to say I love you. Every day I’m gonna be silly and childish thinking that you will respond, but in fact, I know deep down inside, that you won’t. I just really miss you. I wish you could come back. Because you’re gone, dad is getting worse, and the family is also. I keep listening to songs that remind me of you. Music is the biggest escape in life. I’ve noticed that you don’t have any pictures of me. Sometimes I get mad at you because I make myself think that I’m not really important and I get really jealous of the other kids because you played with them more when in reality, they will hardly or not at all remember you and I will remember you forever. I get really upset with myself for being mad at you. I don’t like it when I am. I made a note for you. It’s only three words though. I didn’t give it to you because I forgot to. I’m such an idiot. I hate forgetting things. Because of my stupid head, I forget a lot of things. I forget the good times, but remember the bad. I miss you too much gramma. I want you back. If I could take every single one of my tears your loss has brought me, I bet I could build a staircase to heaven with them so I could see you. I wish I could come and see you. Or at least call you for one last time, so I could hear your voice and your laugh again. I know I’m not the most important person in your life but I still miss you and cry almost every night for you. I just love you so much. I’m even crying right now as I type this. I’m trying not to wake everyone up. I just really miss you. Sorry this note was so long. I just wanted to get my feelings out to you. Well, I love you and miss you. Bye.

Grief has bonded the child’s innocence to this moment forever, yet love will someday grant her serenity. Children are easily distracted and might show behavior suggesting they’ve moved on as if they have accepted the lessons of finality. Weather it be they forget or they move on, time truly is the magical remedy for grief.



Permitting her imagination to run amuck, Emma lumbered through the heavy blanket of snow while cold flakes stung her cheeks. As she took a deep breath, her ears winced as the silence was broken. If they found her, she’d be forced to go back to the confines of her room. The thought of going back to that place made her wince more than the frozen patches that bit at her nose.

She trudged through the drifts, avoiding obscure stumps and dead, low-hanging branches. Knowing exactly where to go, Emma continued through dense forest-like plot until she reached her hiding place.

Intermittent shivers are now unmanageable as Emma hides and waits, hoping no one would notice the trail left from dragging her best friend. Looking at Toby, she knew leaving him alone wasn’t an option. Although, his weight did burden her, she wasn’t about to go on this adventure without him.  She could only hope the snow would quickly bury any evidence of their whereabouts.

The unruly lot she had run-away from would surely come looking for her. She knew this without a shadow of doubt. But they won’t find her, not here. This would be the last place any of them would care to look. She imagined the look of contempt on Jack’s face when he realizes she is gone. The thought pleased her.

In the meantime, Emma’s brother Jack and his friends, Peter, Drew, and Rob searched almost every inch of the house looking for the tot without success. All three of them were dumbfounded that this twit of a girl could outwit them.

“I swear when we find her she’ll be sorry,” Jack promised his three cohorts.

But they didn’t find her and after more than an hour of searching the boys burst into Emma’s room only find the unthinkable. Jack was all but hysterical when he burst into the kitchen to tell his father, Ron, about Emma being outside and alone in the storm.

He explained that they were playing a game of hide and seek in the massive basement and how he and the boys can’t find Emma. It was only when Jack noticed Emma’s oversized stuffed bunny, Toby, wasn’t on her bed that something wasn’t right. Curious, he went to her closet and discovered that her coat, gloves, boots, and hat were also gone.

Sobbing Jack choked, “I told her she had best find a good hiding place because if I found her before anyone else, she’d have to play by herself in her bedroom and stop pestering me and my friends for the rest of the day.”

Ron, jumped up and quickly dressed for the weather then went out to search for his five-year-old daughter. “Get everyone outside and start looking! We have to find her before dark.”

The farm sits on one hundred acres and it was with great hope that Emma went through the backyard into the thickened trees that she called a forest. In reality the trees lined the farm for agricultural purposes, but Emma always thought of the large cluster as her own private woodlands. By the grace of God, his youngest child would be there unharmed and not frozen to death.

It’s much colder than Emma thought possible, not even Toby is able to keep her warm. Slowly drifting off into a sweet dream, she heard faint voices calling out her name. A smile graced her lips as she whispered, “You’ll never find me, Jack.”

Emma has been waiting her whole life for the day that Jack would ask her to play hide and seek with him and his friends. She knew he really didn’t want her to play but bothered him about it until he said yes. The anticipation of the game more than thrilled her and she immediately knew where she was going to hide.

His heart nearly stopped when Ron came upon what was left of the tiny boot prints and the trail from Toby being dragged behind her. “This way! Over here,” he yelled to the boys.

Jack turned to run towards his father but tripped on some fallen branches hitting his head on a snow-covered tree stump. With blurred vision and a terrible ringing in his ears, Jack stumbled to his feet with help from both Drew and Rob, then ran to his father.

When they found Emma she was unconscious, cuddle up with Toby and blue from the onset of hypothermia. Ron was swift to get her back to the house. Peter had already called for an ambulance.

It didn’t take the doctors long to revive Emma even though her pulse was weak. Her body temperature became normal and within an hour she opened her eyes and immediately asked for Jack. Through purple lips, she gave him a big smile that lit up her eyes, “Will you ask me to play again, Jack?”

Sitting next to her with tears in his eyes, Jack hugged his little sister and answered, “I’ll play any game at any time you want from now on. Just get better ok?”

That was the last time Jack and Emma spoke.

The doctors told Ron that when Jack hit his head, a piece of bone from his skull caused his brain to bleed. When Jack laid next to Emma, he didn’t go sleep, he slipped into a coma and before anyone knew something was wrong, Jack was gone.

This is a short story that I wrote for a contest in January 2016. Though my entry didn’t win or get any special kudo’s, I feel this is one of my better narratives. I thought outside of the box on this one. The rules were:


  • Be written within 24 hours upon receiving the subject
  • No more than 960 words
  • Must touch on this subject:

A heavy blanket of snow illuminated the night while cold
flakes pecked at her chapped cheeks. As she took another
deep breath, her ears winced at the broken silence.
Shivering continuously now, she trudged while cold
flakes pecked at her chapped cheeks. As she took another
deep breath, her ears winced at the broken silence. drifts,
avoiding obscure stumps and black, low-hanging branches. The
item she dragged behind her left a noticeable trail but she
knew it would be deeply buried by the storm come morning…

  • Type the story in an email and send to the editor
  • Wait patiently for the announcements

This is a story I could’ve ran with yet; I was bound by the word count. I struggle with these because my imagination runs wild and it’s extremely difficult to keep it short, sweet, and to the point.

Please share your input. It’s impossible to improve without constructive criticism from both readers and fellow authors.