“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”

— George Bernard Shaw

Eventide Love

Short Story 8 – Eventide 8/1 – Dark Refuge

‘Eventide’ was originally written as ‘Micro Chapters’ a psychological, erotic, personal story of emotional abuse at the ripe age of forty nine. It ended with me desperately struggling to hang onto my sanity and life. Due to threat of defamation I now write the story as a factual fiction Psychological Thrillers. Meet Me. Hi how

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Eventide Love

Short Story 7 – Eventide / 7 – Crazed Passion.

Chris kissed me, drew me close to him. The heavy curtains tightly pulled; there was not even a flicker of the morning brightness following the awful rains from the night before. Entombed in the serenity of the room and eroticism of their passion, intoxicated by his lips, his mouth, his tongue, Alike kissed him back

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Eventide Love

Short Story 6 – Eventide/6 – Alien Life

As she runs faster and faster, her gut tells her it’s in vain. Her sides are burning, begging to rest. Her hair clings to her face and neck, slick with sweat. He is getting closer. It’s so dark, the only visible light from the cracks and crevices in the walls: a dim green glow adds

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Eventide Love

Short Story 5 – Eventide/5 – Dying.

Chris dropped Aliki home from a visit to a psychotherapist. At the session, Chris banded around cliché’s “I love her but I can’t be seen to be a marriage breaker. She needs to do the leaving then in time we can be together publicly. If she were free, we would be together. I love her,

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Eventide Love

Short Story 4 – Eventide/ 4 – Vital Force

This Post contains sexually explicit content. Why did Chris love clutter? Aliki was frustrated attempting to prepare a surprise dinner. He was paranoid about strangers calling to the house; he disallowed it. It was a horrible day out so Aliki decided she would ignore his obsession and plan a romantic evening. While Chris was in

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Eventide Love

Short Story 3 – Eventide/3

Please note this post contains sexually explicit content. Lying in his bed her bony arms blackened from the assaults of obsessive forcible grips. Her eyes are either open or shut. Either way, she sees little and sleeps less. A plush heavy silk bed throw covered her from the waist down. Her long dark hair falls on the pillow

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