SharonSharpe
Bio
It started with Bloody. He was a six-eyed heart monster that my 2nd grade brain conjured up to delight and terrify my peers. I am a fanfic writer (A03), an aspiring author, and hold an M.A in English.
Stories (18/0)
Warrior Nun
Warrior Nun is for everyone that has ever questioned their life’s purpose. Set in the world of demons, lemon drops and free-willing ass-kicking nuns, the show is a call to action for us all. Ask the questions. Live in the moment. Love out loud. Ask for help. Accept your beauty.
By SharonSharpe8 months ago in Critique
Love for Granite
She was love personified. The first moment I met her I knew that the raven-haired wonder that entranced my soul would be my wife. I grew to cherish the feel of her hand in mine, our fingers slotting together like puzzle pieces: perfect but too easily separated. The cold slab that marks the resting place for her earthly shell is a meager representation of her warmth, but it is all I have now. No warm lips pressed to my skin. No soft smiles amidst the tousled sheets. No laughter. Only frigid etched stone until our souls unite again.
By SharonSharpe12 months ago in Fiction
Green Boots
Everest bodies. Of heart attacks or frozen. Eternal landmarks.
By SharonSharpeabout a year ago in Poets
Maris
Sunlight filtered through the slightly frosted glass above my head. The rays flickered across the surface of the water danced along the surface as the first beluga popped its head up from the water. A smile involuntarily spread across my face and I had to force herself to focus on what the instructor was saying.
By SharonSharpeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Call to the Void
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Truthfully, it wasn't the first time the candle had burned but it was the first time in over forty years that anyone had been unfortunate enough to see its bright flame.
By SharonSharpe2 years ago in Horror
Dear Diary
April 10, 1912 Dear Diary, Forever feels like far too long. I know I should be happy, after all it’s the first day of my new life as Ms Mrs. Greta Hughes. Nathaniel is a nice man. He has kind eyes like orbs of fresh ground cinnamon, curls that frame his face and a strong chiseled jaw like my father. All the girls were excited when he proposed, and they were even more excited as they tossed the rice above our heads as we exited the chapel yesterday. He’s a provider, set to take over his family business when his father retires. It was nothing for him to spend the money to buy two tickets for the maiden voyage of this ship as our honeymoon. I’ve never been on a ship before, but Nathaniel says that the RMS Titanic is special. My mother didn’t want us to go on the boat, seeing as how I never learned to swim. I told her she worries too much, and Nathaniel reassured her that he would take care of his blushing bride. As I write in you now diary, we are watching the crew bustle about filling the ship with cargo and luggage. We haven’t even boarded, and I am abuzz with excitement, but I’m afraid I’m not excited like I am expected to be. You see, I am not excited because this will be my first night with my husband, but rather I am excited about the prospect of adventure. I have never left England before, so the thought of traveling to an entirely new country fills me with a flutter of butterflies that until now I thought was only reserved for schoolgirl crushes.
By SharonSharpe2 years ago in Fiction
#LLHENRY
It couldn’t end this way. Water lapped against the side of the overturned canoe. It was the only sound in the otherwise still lake. Henry dragged himself up onto the boat and attempted to rock it upright to no avail. Again he rocked the boat, clutching the little black book close to his chest. The pages were already waterlogged and the words were an illegible smear. A shout ripped from Henry’s throat as he hefted himself onto the top of the boat, but the momentum sent him over the other side and back down into the depths.
By SharonSharpe3 years ago in Horror
Bits of Coin
Dead people are always forgiving. Wind howled through the abandoned cemetery, breaking the silence that normally settled amongst the moss covered stones and crypts. Benjamin Mayfair made his way through the graves overgrown with grass to the plot of freshly turned dirt in the back of the cemetery. Word of Jeremiah Hawthorne’s death had reached his ears earlier in the week, giving him time to make his plans.
By SharonSharpe3 years ago in The Chain
Carrie's Que
There are memes all over the internet that true grill masters wear a specific type of shoe. It’s a black or brown leather sandal that crisscrosses across the foot. I don’t own a pair, but anyone that has had my BBQ knows that I am a pitmaster in my own right. Even though I don’t don a special pair of shoes, I always perch a hat atop my head. I place a hat firmly on my head like I’m Ash Ketchem preparing for battle. It’s my signature style, but also my way of remembering and connecting with the woman that taught me everything I knew.
By SharonSharpe4 years ago in Feast
