Vashti Quiroz-Vega's Blog, page 52

A Time to Mourn and a Time To Dance – Finale

Happy Monday everyone! I hope you enjoy the 3rd and final installment of A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance. Be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 of the series before you read the finale. Your comments are helpful and very appreciated. Thank you!

 

 

 

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

 

“What is the matter?” I asked her.

 

 

“I feel weary, that’s all,” she said, but I knew it was more than that.

 

 

“Are we going for a walk today?”

 

 

“No, I don’t feel up to it.”

 

 

“Have you lost your will to live?” I asked.

 

 

She looked at me sideways and then scowled. “I do not want to walk. I do want to live!”

 

 

Sparks of life flew out of her eyes. I grinned at her. She tried to stay serious, but burst out laughing instead. I sat by her side. She leaned her body toward me and rested her head on my chest. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

 

 

I was overcome with emotions new to me. How did I get here? Why has this strange girl grown so fond of me? What does she see when she looks at me? Does she not see the blackness in my eyes? Does my long, sable, tangled hair not look suspect? I am large in stature and powerfully built–does this not seem menacing?

 

 

It would be so simple to place my hand over her small nose and mouth while she slept until she could draw breath no more, or break her neck with a quick flick of my wrist. She would never know death had come for her. But she slept the sleep of an infant over my beating heart. Surely death could wait for another moment, one that would be less filled with upright virtue and pure faith. She believed in me, and she saw goodness in me that no one had ever seen. Most people knew me instinctually and tried to flee from me in fright. She welcomed me into her heart. Yes, death could wait.

 

 

She awoke. As she opened her eyes, the day seemed brighter.

 

 

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

 

 

“Not very long. Did you sleep well?”

 

 

She smiled widely. “I never slept more soundly.”

 

 

“Now that you’ve had your rest, would you like to go for a walk?”

 

 

She extended her hand toward me, and I reacted. She caressed my face. I closed my eyes to isolate the gentle stroking. No one had ever shown me such kindness. I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and she was touching my face in a way that made my heart beat faster.

 

 

“I must leave now. I promised my mother I would not stay out late today.”

 

 

She stood up slowly, and I watched her walk away. She looked over her shoulder once and smiled. That’s when I decided to disable the communication with above. I knew I could not complete this task. Not now–perhaps not ever.

 

 

I returned to the forest several times after that, but she never showed. After a few days, I decided I could not wait any longer. I missed her. So I went to knock on her door. A burly man opened the door, and I got the expected wary look.

 

 

“Yes, who are you looking for, son?” he asked, while looking at me sideways.

 

 

“I’m looking for Abigail.”

 

 

The man’s face turned solemn. “What do you want with her?”

 

 

“She is a friend. I haven’t seen her in a while. I worry for her.”

 

 

“There is reason for worry. She is very sick. The cancer has come back with a vengeance. Her life is only about pain and anguish now.” His voice was hoarse, and wells formed in his eyes. “She was always such a sweet, happy child. She does not deserve to suffer so.” Shaking his head, he turned to go back inside the house.

 

 

“Wait! Where is she?” My pulse raced.

 

 

“Oh, you don’t want to see her like this. It is an awful sight.”

 

 

“I do want to see her. I need to see her. Please tell me where to find her.”

 

 

“She’s at the hospital,” he croaked.

 

 

The hospital was not far. I was there in no time. I watched her briefly from a distance. She squirmed and groaned on the bed. I locked the door and approached her–my heart was breaking. I waited too long. It is because of me she suffers so. I could have spared her this agony. When I reached her bedside, she saw me and smiled despite the anguish she endured.

 

 

“I knew you’d come,” she groaned. She tried to remain still and quiet, but at times she could not, and a moan escaped her lips. I passed my hand over her head and caressed her face. She held my hand with both of hers.

 

 

“Abigail, do you want to live?” My voice quavered.

 

 

She shook her head slowly and whispered, “No.” Streams of sorrow meandered down her face.

 

 

For the first time I expanded my large, black wings and allowed her to see them. “Don’t be frightened,” I said.

 

 

“You never frightened me. I knew all along you were an angel,” she said, wincing and whimpering.

 

 

“I am the angel of death.”

 

 

She gazed lovingly at me. “Give me peace,” she whispered.

 

 

I reached for her and held her in my arms. I leaned my head forward, and she caressed my face. I kissed her on the lips. The sweetest kiss I’ve ever known. And she breathed her last breath.

 

The End

Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

Do you believe that everyone has a designated time to die?  Do you believe in destiny? 

A Time to Mourn and a Time To Dance – Part 2

 

 

Hello and welcome to Part 2 of A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance.  Be sure to read Part 1 if you haven’t already done so. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

A Time to Mourn and a Time To Dance

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

The next day I visited the small forest outside Abigail’s home again. The forest was alive with her presence. She moved rhythmically to the sounds of the birds chirping, ducks quacking, water flowing, frogs croaking, and the whistling of leaves caressed by the wind. I hid behind a large tree and watched her sway, twirl and pirouette. She moved gracefully–until she stumbled, plopped to the ground in a seated position, and then began to laugh wholeheartedly.

 

 

 

 

“Are you alright?” I asked.

 

 

 

 

She whisked her head toward me and grinned. She jumped to her feet and pranced to me. “I knew you would come!” she gushed.

 

 

 

 

Her enthusiasm filled me with joy. “I couldn’t stay away.”

 

 

 

 

She giggled at my words. “Come, I want to show you something,” she said, grabbing my hand. She pulled me along a different path from the one we had walked the day before.

 

 

 

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

 

 

 

“You’ll see…”

 

 

 

 

We arrived at an open area. “All right, stop right here,” she said. I gathered my brow. She paced forward and stopped in front of something, then waved me over. “Come, but be careful,” she warned. I took apprehensive steps toward her and after a few steps, I saw it.  The hole.

 

 

 

 

“What is this?” I asked.

 

 

 

 

“This is a natural sinkhole,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Isn’t it magnificent? It’s almost perfectly round. It’s beautiful, surrounded by vegetation and–”

 

 

 

 

“Enough!” I yelled. She jumped and recoiled. I didn’t see beauty in this hole, hidden away in the middle of the forest. I only saw peril and fatality. “Many have lost their lives here in the depths of despair,” I told her, pointing at the hole. She stared at me, her heavy-lidded green eyes wide and questioning. “Who do you think I am?” I asked in a thunderous voice. She trembled. Her mouth hung open. “You don’t even know me, but yet you venture to bring me here? To this evil place?”

 

 

 

 

“Evil?” she asked.

 

 

 

 

“Yes, evil!” She gasped and flinched. She shook her head and covered her opened mouth with both hands. “I didn’t know,” she whispered through her fingers.

 

 

 

 

I sensed the pain and horror of the victims whose bones lay broken, discarded and forgotten at the bottom of the hole. A veil of blackness enshrouded me. I couldn’t see past her death. I stomped toward her. I grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. The thick odor of corpses long dead exposed my psyche to influences that led me to do what I was created to do–kill.

 

 

 

 

I released her neck. She coughed and wheezed. She collapsed to one knee. I picked her up by the shoulders and dangled her over the hole. Her eyes opened wide. She glanced down into the pit and screamed!

 

 

 

 

“Please don’t hurt me!” she shrieked. “I don’t want to die!” She gazed at me with imploring eyes.

 

 

 

 

Her words touched my heart once more. She wanted to live. I swung her over my shoulder and hurried from that awful place. I placed her down gently on lush green grass near the edge of the forest. I looked at her. Her hair was a sunburst on a blooming honey locust; her skin, opal cream; her verdant eyes, glistening jewels. I wiped the moisture from them, and her luscious cherry wine lips quivered. Had my vision been so impaired that I had thought this creature less than perfect?

 

 

 

 

“You are a good man,” she said hoarsely, no doubt from damage inflicted by my tight grip. She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite make the expression.

 

 

 

 

“Go home now. Do not return to that hole. It is an evil place,” I said and helped her to her feet.

 

 

 

 

She stepped away, then hesitated and turned toward me. The look of gratitude on her face surprised me. She skipped to me and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said and walked away. Abigail’s kiss on my cheek lingered and set me ablaze. I stood there like a statue, fearful that any sudden movement would end the moment too soon.

 

 

 

 

We continued to meet every day at the small forest near her house. We took long walks. Abigail danced, talked, sang and was excited by every small creature she ran across–from a butterfly to a snake. I enjoyed our walks. I relished her company. No creature has ever been so exquisite. I never wanted to leave her side. I had forgotten, if only for a brief moment, who–or what–I was.  I was the opposite of her.

 

 

 

 

One day I returned to our usual meeting place and found her sitting still on a rock. It was not like her to be so subdued.

 

 

 

 

“Hello,” I said.

 

 

 

 

She lifted her eyes and looked at me inquisitively. “I thought I would not see you today.”

 

 

 

 

“Really? Why?”I asked.  She shrugged. Her body was slumped and her face slackened. She seemed strange, unfamiliar.

 

 

Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

 

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

Hello everyone! Today I’ve posted Part 1 of my new short story series called A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance. I hope you enjoy it. Please remember to leave me some feedback in the comments. I enjoy reading your opinions and ideas.

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

    Who falls in love with a ghost?

 

 

I recall when I first saw Abigail. She wasn’t attractive in my eyes. Her skin was pallid like an ivory mist. Her limp, pale hair reflected just a glint of sun. Her lips, barely blushed beige, were thin and ill-defined, but when she looked my way with her heavy-lidded sagebrush green eyes, she captured me. I couldn’t look away. I should have looked away.

 

 

I had a task to do–so I watched. She had a sweet way about her that lured me into her world. Was it possible to take part in her world? I observed her. She did caring things for those around her and had a generous heart. Oddly, she never seemed to expect anything in return. She was kind to animals and nature. She enjoyed singing, although she wasn’t very good at staying in tune. I spent hours, days, and then weeks observing her–trying to find something that would make my errand easier. I could not. What about this creature held me captive?

 

 

Abigail was good, but also an odd and clumsy creature. I lost count of how many times I had to swiftly cover my mouth, fearing that my laughter would betray my presence. Once, she picked up a tarantula spider. It appeared to prance happily in place on her palm. She gazed at it wide-eyed and giggled with glee. Then she dropped it. The spider shattered when it hit the ground. She wailed for hours.

 

 

Another time she witnessed a small boy feeding bread to a swan. She ran to them and picked up a piece of bread lying by the boy’s feet. She attempted to feed the swan at the same time the boy did, but instead she clumsily struck the swan’s beak, making it irate. She gasped as the angry bird took the boy’s arm in its beak and pounded the small arm with one of its massive wings. Abigail screamed for help and managed to pull the boy away, but not before the swan had broken his arm! The boy ran away to his parents, red-faced and howling, his arm dangling by his side. She dropped to the ground and created a puddle with her guilt and sorrow. She did not eat for days. That’s when I finally approached her.

 

 

“Why do you starve yourself?” I asked. She jumped and stared at me. “Do you wish to die?”

 

 

“No, I wish to live,” she responded, her eyes wide and pale lips trembling. “I hurt a small boy and deserve to suffer.”

 

 

“You did no such thing. The bird hurt the boy, but his arm is healing well. He plays happily as we speak, regardless of the cast he wears. You have no need to go on grieving.”

 

 

“How do you know this?” She looked at me askance.

 

 

Thinking quickly I responded, “I was told about what had happened to the boy, and I just saw him minutes before I ran into you.”       She stared at me, brows crumbled and eyes squinted, and then she smiled faintly. “I’m glad to know this, thank you. My name is Abigail.”

 

 

“Then you must nourish yourself, Abigail.”

 

 

I looked around. A red fruit hanging happily from a nearby tree caught my eye. I picked it and handed it to her. She extended her hand slowly and took it. She bit into it quickly, repeatedly holding the ripened, sweet fruit with both hands. She devoured it in no time. As she swallowed the last morsel, I wiped a bit of dribble off her chin. She giggled and her cheeks turned the color of an orchid rose.

 

 

I laughed. “My name is Azrael,” I told her. I’m not sure why. I reveal my name to few.

 

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Azrael. Would you like to take a walk?” she asked with a large grin on her face. I nodded. “Oh, good! This forest is quite beautiful. I enjoy hiking here. The smells, the sounds–fascinate me!” I smiled at her, and we began our stroll.

 

 

“This beautiful place can also be quite dangerous. Doesn’t that scare you?”

 

 

“No,” she said, her face as innocent and pure as a daisy.

 

 

We continued walking. She stopped to smell wildflowers, drink water from a small waterfall that emptied into a noisy river, to point at birds she recognized and insects. I thought today would be the day, but torrents of crystalline water gushed, white fluffy clouds whipped across intense cerulean skies, daffodils vibrant as stars quivered and danced. It was much too lively a day for death to intrude.

 

 

“I must leave now.”

 

 

“So soon, Azrael?” She sighed heavily and her body slumped.

 

 

“The sun will set soon. Perhaps you should go home before it becomes dark and you can’t find your way back.”

 

 

She nodded with a frown. “Goodbye. It was very nice exploring the forest with you. Thank you for a lovely time,” she said and departed.

 

 

I rushed in the opposite direction. When I was sure to be far enough away, I crumbled to the ground.

 

 

“Why? Why must I end the life of such a creature?” I cried to the heavens. “There is no malice in her. She is a lamb!” I felt a deep burning ache in my chest. Large drops fell from my eyes. I touched my cheek and looked with amazement at my wet fingers. A voice in my head reassured me that my task had good purpose. I rose from the ground and left the forest. 

 

 

Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

 

 

Azrael

What do you think of Part 1? Let me know in the comments below.

Guest Author Vashti Quiroz-Vega

Vashti Quiroz-Vega:

I’m a guest blogger at Chris The Story Reading Ape’s Authors Blog! Check it out and leave me some feedback. Thank you!

Originally posted on Chris The Story Reading Ape's New (to me) Authors Blog:

My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, and I’m a writer of Fantasy, Suspense, Thriller and Horror. My first novel,

The Basement

, was released in August 2013. It was one of the happiest and proudest moments of my life. It was not easy getting my book published. Once upon a time, I was very naive when it came to the publishing process. I thought all I had to do as a writer was to write the book. Soon, I had a rude awakening when I found out that my manuscript had to be edited. Then I found out I had to get an agent in order to interest a publisher, and I had to write a query letter in order to get an agent! Well, after many months of querying, I finally got my manuscript in the hands of a publisher… who wanted it edited some more. Phew! A year later,…

View original 658 more words

Are We Eating Beakless, Featherless Mutant Chickens?

There’s a rumor circulating the web about Kentucky Fried Chicken, or rather, KFC. There have been numerous articles about KFC stating that they do not serve ‘real’ chicken and that’s why they were forced by the government to change their name to one that doesn’t mention chicken. Now, first of all, I have as many doubts as the next guy about the government, but this is a little much. Do you really think the government is going to allow an establishment, no matter how much of an American tradition it may be, to feed us mutant chickens? Nah! Even I’m not that cynical. Nevertheless, the rumors are still out there. Here are some examples of what’s being passed around:

 

 

– KFC has been a part of our American traditions for many years. Many people, day in and day out, eat at KFC religiously. Do they really know what they are eating? During a recent study of KFC done at the University of New Hampshire, they found some very upsetting facts.

 

– First of all, has anybody noticed that just recently, the company has changed their name? Kentucky Fried Chicken has become KFC. Does anybody know why? We thought the real reason was because of the “FRIED” food issue. It’s not. The reason why they call it KFC is because they can not use the word chicken anymore. Why? KFC does not use real chickens. They actually use genetically manipulated organisms. These so called “chickens” are kept alive by tubes inserted into their bodies to pump blood and nutrients throughout their structure. They have no beaks, no feathers, and no feet. Their bone structure is dramatically shrunk to get more meat out of them. This is great for KFC because they do not have to pay so much for their production costs. There is no more plucking of the feathers or the removal of the beaks and feet. The government has told them to change all of their menus so they do not say chicken anywhere. If you look closely you will notice this. Listen to their commercials, I guarantee you will not see or hear the word chicken. I find this matter to be very disturbing. I hope people will start to realize this and let other people know. Please forward this message to as many people as you can. Together we make KFC start using real chicken again.

Read more at http://www.snopes.com/food/tainted/kfc.asp#rip33Lj2TJFT8tul.99

 

 

This is an example of some of the disturbing images associated with the claims that KFC is genetically engineering mutant chickens to save a buck.

I don’t believe that there are sub-chickens in some laboratory with multiple wings and thighs. However, I have no doubt that real chickens are given ‘special’ feed and pumped-up with hormones to make them larger and meatier. Whatever you believe, there’s no reason to fret. You enjoy Kentucky style fried chicken? Make it yourself! It isn’t difficult or time consuming and it may even be cost effective. Anyway, you won’t have to worry about an urban legend keeping you up at night.

 

Here are some scrumptious recipes:

 

KFC Extra Crispy Chicken (Copycat) recipe from Food.com

 

 

Baked KFC Chicken recipe from Just A Pinch Recipes (Baked is healthy, right?)

 

 

KFC Copycat Fried Chicken: Better Than the Colonel’s (that’s quite a claim) recipe from Shine Food

 

 

KFC Original Recipe Fried Chicken Todd Wilbur claims to have the ‘Top Secret’ recipe and he replaced certain ingredients to make it healthier (there’s fish sauce involved…hmm). Check out his low-fat/low-calorie recipe at

Todd Wilbur’s Top Secret Recipes

Who’s This Todd Wilbur Guy, Anyway? – click on image and find out.

 

 

Homemade KFC Fried Chicken – This Aussie (Greg) has gotten 672,435 clicks on his video recipe! I think that’s worth a look.

 

So what do you believe is really going on with the industry’s chicken? I really want to know!

10 Statements – Vashti Quiroz-Vega

Vashti Quiroz-Vega:

CHECK IT OUT! I’m featured on Karen Oberlaender’s 10 STATEMENTS!

Originally posted on My train of thoughts on...:

My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, and I’m a writer of Fantasy, Suspense, Thriller and Horror. My first novel, The Basement, was released in August 2013. It was one of the happiest and proudest moments of my life. It was not easy getting my book published. Once upon a time, I was very naive when it came to the publishing process. I thought all I had to do as a writer was to write the book. Soon, I had a rude awakening when I found out that my manuscript had to be edited. Then I discovered I had to get an agent in order to interest a publisher, and I had to write a query letter in order to get an agent! Well, after many months of querying, I finally got my manuscript in the hands of a publisher… who wanted it edited some more. Phew! A year later, my book…

View original 573 more words

Writing Process Blog Hop

Hello everyone! I was invited to participate in a tagging Blog Hop by the lovely and engaging Amanda Stanley. Her blog, Amanda Stanley: Fulfilling The Dream Of Becoming A Writer, is a compilation of stories, interesting articles and guest posts, author spotlights and interviews. Like me, she loves photography and sometimes shares her photographs with her readers. I recommend you check out Amanda’s blog, for you will be pleasantly surprised.

 

 

There are a few simple rules:

1/ I must answer the four questions below.

2/ I must link back to the person who invited me to this Blog Hop.

3/ I must name four writers who will continue this Blog Hop and notify them.

 

 

 

Questions:

 

1) What are you working on?

I’m working on several projects at the moment. I’m editing the first installment of my Fantasy Angels Series, Lilith. I’m writing the second installment, Dracul. I’m working on sketches for a children’s picture book.

 

 

2) How does your work differ from others in the genre?

I believe writers develop their own unique style over time. I enjoy weaving in a bit of romance and/or humor to lighten my horror or dark fantasy stories. I love adding suspense and thriller elements to everything I write.

 

 

3) Why do you write what you write?

I grew up reading novels by Stephen King. I love to read horror (but not all types), suspense, thriller and fantasy. So basically, I write what I love to read.

 

 

4) How does your writing process work?

I’m a pantster when it comes to short stories. I get an idea in my head, and I run with it until it arrives at whatever end. When it comes to novels, I’m somewhere in between. I don’t believe you can write a 120,000-140,000 word novel by the seat of your pants. A well-written novel–one that’s exciting and thrilling with a great plot and well-developed characters–takes time, plotting, organization and good editing. I like to ponder my idea for a while. I always have my iPhone handy in case an idea for the story pops into my head while I’m driving, in the bathroom or at work. I’ve been known to rush off in the middle of things to record something that occurred to me, inspired by something I just saw or heard (my friends and family are used to it, and they forgive me). I do some light mapping and write a loose outline to organize my thoughts, but the process still flows organically and many times, the story goes off the map. I enjoy sketching my characters, animals and worlds I’ve created.

 

 

Look for the Blog Hop to continue next week at these sites: ( I know I was only suppose to pick four writers, but these six came to mind immediately and I couldn’t choose between them.)

 

Writing My Novel–No Working Title Yet

Teagan Kearney has a wonderful blog. She shares writing advice and also writes about her writing journey. I’ve often been inspired and enlightened by her uplifting posts. She ends each post with an update of her writing process and a haiku (I so look forward to these–they’re really good).

Jumping From Cliffs:  One Man’s Adventures In Writerland

What can I say about Jon Simmonds, other than he’s brilliant? His blog posts are fun to read and also quite informative and helpful especially to aspiring writers.

 

 

 

 

From A Clogged Mind

Robert Price is a talented writer and poet. He writes fascinating short stories and passionate poems.

 

 

 

Life, Love and Other Catastrophes

Yolanda Marin is one of the sweetest and kindest people I have had the privilege to befriend online. She is an amazing poet. The poems and articles on her blog are very beautiful and about as real as you can get.

 

 

 

KCross Writing

I love Katie Cross! She is dulcet, quirky and talented. I enjoy reading her blog posts because they’re always fun.

 

 

 

Cicampbellblog

Christine Campbell is a delightful person and talented author. It is truly a joy to visit her inspiring blog.

Christine’s new release Flying Free is available in paperback and as an eBook.

The Train Ride From Hell – Finale

Happy Tuesday everyone and a warm welcome to my blog! Today I’m posting the fourth and final part of my short Horror series The Train Ride From Hell. I hope you enjoy the finale!

NOTE: You must read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 in order to follow and enjoy the finale.

WARNING: Do not read this series alone or in the dark.

The Train Ride From Hell – Finale

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

“Why do you watch?” the girl asked with furrowed brow. I gazed at her, and this time I felt love for her. I didn’t want her to suffer any longer.

 

 

“I don’t know, but I will not look out again. You were right to stay in your seat.”

 

 

“I stay in my seat because I already know what is out there and where I will be going,” she said with her face tight barely able to hide her anger and pain.

 

 

“How do you know this?”

 

 

“That isn’t important.”

 

 

“Where are you going?”

 

 

“My stop is Violence. I committed violence against you…”

 

 

“I forgive you!” I spurted.  She smiled faintly at me.

 

 

“…and I committed violence against myself–when I slit my throat after stabbing you in the belly.”  My hands flew to my mouth, and I continued to sob.

 

 

“I’m so sorry for what I did to you–to your entire family. You don’t deserve to be here. You’re just a child who suffered greatly, and you were traumatized by your mother’s death. You deserve a second chance.”

 

 

“There are no second chances here. I will be transformed into a twisted thorny bush and fed upon by beautiful women with wings. They will resemble you so that I will always remember the face of my victim. Every bite these creatures take will be devastatingly painful to me. Every branch torn and every thorn plucked will cause me unbearable pain and suffering, but every branch and thorn will grow back so that my suffering may be infinite.”

 

 

“No!”  I couldn’t bear the thought of this. My heart was torn to pieces.  “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

 

 

“What we want is no longer pertinent.” I looked at her wretched little face. This was my fault entirely–this young girl’s suffering and her ghastly fate. I must somehow undo this!

 

 

I left my seat and ran up and down the aisles.

 

 

“Conductor! Where is the conductor? I must speak to him!” I yelled. Immediately,  I heard his voice behind me.

 

 

“What is it you must say to me?”

 

 

“Do you have the power to remove someone from this train and release them from their fate in hell?”

 

 

“I do not.”  My heart sank.  “However,” he continued, “the people on this train have the ability to save themselves.”  The creepy conductor breathed new life into me with his words, and I lifted my head high.

 

 

“Surely you do not believe you can save yourself?” he sniggered. “You are a greedy, self-absorbed woman!”

 

 

“I am not attempting to save myself. I deserve whatever comes to me, but there’s someone here that is innocent.”

 

 

“No one on this train is innocent,” said the conductor in a malicious tone.

 

 

The young girl approached the conductor and me and held onto my arm, but hid herself halfway behind me. Her hands were cold and trembling.

 

 

“This girl is innocent! Everything she did, I drove her to do it. She was traumatized and not in her right mind. She deserves another chance.” The conductor’s face altered, becoming still more hideous and wicked, and his irises became red balls of fire. I was frightened, but stood my ground.

 

 

“She is not wholly innocent!” he growled. I flinched and the young girl hid further behind me. I could hear her whimpering.

 

 

“I will gladly take whatever punishment was meant for her!”

 

 

“You have your own punishment to bear!”

 

 

“Then I will accept her punishment as well as mine! She has already suffered enough because of me. She doesn’t deserve to continue to be tormented for the things I’ve done! It is my turn to hurt. I will suffer on her behalf!” I meant every word with all my heart.

 

 

The conductor began to grow out of his uniform. His skin became rough and a fungus green. He grew thrice the size, his face so ugly it was painful to look upon. His chest heaved with each audible breath. His long burly fingers balled into tight fists. He growled, and long sharp horns exploded out of his head. He stared at me with his red eyes and snarled, showing me his large, razor-sharp teeth. I trembled and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. I screamed and sobbed as the heat radiated from the monster’s blazing hide, singing my skin. I turned to shield the girl from the inferno, and what I saw stunned me.

 

 

She was aglow.  Airy.  She looked radiant and happy.

 

 

“I have been forgiven. Thank you, this was your doing. I am going to a good place now.” With these words her ethereal body floated up and traveled through the train’s ceiling, disappearing from view. “Thank you!” I heard her say again from the distance. I took a deep breath, feeling relief. She was safe now and she would never suffer again. I gaped at the monster before me through squinted eyes.

 

 

“I’m ready to receive my punishment and hers. Take me to whatever nightmare awaits me.” My voice quavered, but I had made my point. The beast slouched forward and with a thunderous roar, lifted his claws to attack me. I could feel its incredible rage!

 

 

* 

I opened my eyes. The pain was excruciating. Groans escaped my lips. I couldn’t move.

 

 

“Welcome back,” said a man wearing a white coat. I stared at him in awe.

 

 

“Can you speak?” he asked in a kind voice.

 

 

“Yes,” I croaked.

 

 

“You’re in St. Francis Hospital. You were involved in a serious automobile accident. Apparently you received a serious puncture wound in your abdomen during the crash. You’ve been in a coma for the last few weeks. We didn’t think you would make it, but in the last couple of days, your vitals began to stabilize. I believe you’re going to be alright now.”

 

 

I must have seemed crazy to the doctor as I began to simultaneously laugh and cry despite the pain. Yes, I will be all right now, and so will she.

Photograph by Amanda-Diaz (DeviantART)

 

Leave a comment with your thoughts. ;D

 

 

The Train Ride From Hell – PART 3

Hi everyone! I’m so happy many of you are enjoying my short Horror Series The Train Ride From Hell.  Today I’m posting Part 3 of the series. If you have not yet read Part 1 or Part 2 I suggest you read those first.  As always, I must warn you that this is a Horror story, so you may want to read it in daylight and/or with a buddy. Thank you!

The Train Ride From Hell – PART 3

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

I shook my head from side to side. My lips trembled and waterfalls fell from my eyes.

 

 

“No–please! I didn’t know,” I pleaded. “You’re right, I never thought about the people in the men’s lives who I slept with. If I had known this would happen, I never would have done the things I did.”

 

 

“It’s too late now,” she whispered.

 

 

“No, no! I’m sorry. I will change my ways. From this moment on, I will always think of the consequences of my actions. I don’t want to go to hell!” I grabbed the girl by the shoulders again. “Please help me! I’m sorry about your mother. I didn’t know–I would have never had the affair with your father if I had known the consequences it would bring. I will never have another affair. I will respect the sanctity of marriage from now on. I swear!”

 

 

“It’s too late!” she cried and turned away. My eyes darted from one face to another of the passengers. Some were demons, but others were humans like me, waiting to be taken to the appropriate circle of hell. It was becoming hotter in the train. I was sweating. I was panting heavily, wringing my hands. There’s got to be a way out for me. This can’t be happening to me. I went back to the girl who had returned to her seat. My heart was pounding hard against my chest.

 

 

“Who brought me here?” I asked. She glanced at me. Her face was ashen and her lips trembled. “Who brought me here?” I insisted. “Maybe if I spoke to the person–or thing–that brought me here I can convince him that I’ve changed and don’t belong here.”

 

 

“I brought you here–when I killed you,” she hissed.

 

 

I stared at her dumbfounded. I’m dead? This can’t be true.

 

 

“I was overcome by grief when I found my mother. She had taken poison. The expression on her face told me it was neither a quick, nor a painless death. I will never forget the look on her face.”  She closed her eyes and released rain from under her eyelids. Then she glared at me.  “I had to make you pay. Now, I am on my way to the last circle of hell to burn for all eternity–with you.”  The look on her face was bleak. My body slumped. I felt hollow, except for the burning pain in my chest. She murdered me, yet I felt only pity for her. I was remorseful for all I had put her through.

 

 

The train stopped. The passengers did not willingly file out of the train anymore. Tall, sinewy, dark green monstrous creatures forced them to exit, kicking and screaming. Trembling, I inched my way to the opening and looked outside the train. I searched for a sign to tell me where the train had stopped. The sign read: Gluttony.

 

 

This was a muddy place, and it rained ceaselessly. The rain must have been freezing cold because the passengers that were forced out began to shiver almost immediately once they were outside the train. They were stripped of their clothes and tossed by the green monstrosities into a muddy pit.

 

 

The rancid, putrefied smell of this place penetrated through the invisible field that kept me inside the train. The ogres took pleasure in physically torturing the people. The people were also forced to wallow in the foul mud and eat mouthfuls of it while the green brutes urinated and defecated within it. It was a repugnant scene. My stomach ached, and I was nauseous. I retched time and time again, but released nothing.

I hurried back to my seat convinced I would not look outside at any of the other stops. I was bawling uncontrollably. I couldn’t imagine spending eternity in a place like this, but the thought of her suffering for all time perturbed me most. I had to do something, but what? What can I do?

Comments are greatly appreciated.

The Train Ride From Hell – PART 2

Hello my friends and welcome to my blog. Last week I posted Part 1 of my short series The Train Ride From Hell. As promised I have posted Part 2 today. Remember there’s a warning attached to this series: do not read at night…or by yourself. Enjoy!

The Train Ride From Hell – PART 2

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

Limbo? Where is this place? I’d never heard of Limbo. My mind was reeling. I continued to stare. The place didn’t look too bad. There were green fields and flower bushes. There was a large mansion surrounded by gates.

 

 

Perhaps I could speak to someone in that manor. Maybe they had the answers I sought and could help me get back home.

 

 

I made an attempt to flee the train, but I couldn’t get past the round opening. An invisible energy prevented me from exiting the train. Suddenly, I felt an ice-cold hand on my shoulder.  It was the conductor.

 

 

“I told you this wasn’t your stop,” he hollered. “Take your seat!” His eyes turned into red coals. I flinched and hurried to sit by the young girl again. I stared at her, shivering in fright. She glanced at me with sad, moist verdant eyes, then she turned to look ahead.

 

 

“Who are you?” I asked, but she just gazed forward. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Who are you? What is this place? Why am I here? Why are you here?”  She screamed and pushed me with such force that I flew off my seat and onto the worm infested floor. Rats came running toward me the moment I landed. They began to bite any exposed skin. I howled and grimaced. I grabbed onto a seat and holding it, I clambered to get on my feet. I sat next to the young girl again. I put my feet up on the chair. She stared wide-eyed at me with her full, rosy lips parted. Her chest heaved in rhythm with her breathing.

 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you or hurt you. Please tell me what is happening–why are we on this train?”

 

 

“This is no ordinary train,” she said in a soft voice, “it doesn’t take you to places you want to go.  It takes you to places where you deserve to go.”

 

 

I stared at her for a long time, trying to figure out what she was saying. A drop of slobber on my hand indicated I had my mouth open the whole time. I wiped my hand on my blouse and wiped the dribble around my mouth with the back of my hand.

 

 

“I understand now that I’m not traveling in an ordinary train, and I realize that some of the people on the train are not people at all, but why am I here and how did I get here?”

 

 

“Why do you assume I know these things?”

 

 

“I just have a feeling that you do, and you look familiar to me somehow. Please, tell me everything.”

 

 

“I’m not sure you want to know everything.”

 

 

“I do! I do want to know. Please! How much more do I need to beg before you will answer my questions?” She tossed her long, sooty black hair back.

 

 

“Alright. I will tell you everything.”

 

 

The train came to a screeching halt again. My heart galloped in my chest. Once more the opening appeared. I was overwhelmed with the desire to look out again. I rose from my seat and watched the people getting off at this stop. Some were demons and some were regular folk like me. They looked frightened and sobbed as they trudged to their destiny. Some had to be forced out by the fiends.

 

 

I rushed and joined them. They stepped out of the train with ease, but I hit a wall and couldn’t traverse the opening. I looked out, and what I saw terrified me. There was a frightful storm. The people were blown to and fro by terrible winds. The winds came from different directions and violently tore off their clothes. It smashed them against walls, the ground and each other without rest. Lightning and thunder moved through the area with loud booms and flashes so bright, they caused temporary blindness! The passengers’ faces warped and twisted in horror and pain. The doorway began to close. Before the circle closed completely, I caught a glimpse of a sign, which read Lust.

 

 

A cold wave of realization began to overtake my body. Artic liquid circulated through my veins. I needed to know what the girl with the vivid green eyes knew and I needed to know now! I rushed to her. I grabbed her by the arms and yanked her to her feet.

 

 

“Tell me! Tell me!” I yelled in her face. “Where is this train taking me?”

 

 

“Hell!” she screamed.  “You are going to hell.”  I released her.  Everything spun around me.  My legs were weak and couldn’t hold my weight any longer.  I plopped down in my seat.  My heart was in my throat.

 

 

“How did I get here? Who brought me here?” I croaked.

 

 

“The question you should be asking is why you are here.”  There was resentment in her voice, in her eyes.

 

 

“Why am I here?” I asked uneager to know the answer.

 

 

“You are an evil woman. You hurt other women.”

 

 

“No! I never hurt anyone!”

 

 

“So you never stopped to think how your sleeping with married men to use them and take their money affected their wives and children?”

 

 

I was speechless as I gawped at her. Her doleful eyes turned dark as she continued to recite terrible facts that only a moment ago, I wanted to hear.

 

 

“Like a witch, you enticed my father and put him under your spell. You ensnarled him with your wiles. He became obsessed with you. He stopped trying to hide his affair. He didn’t care who knew about you. Well, my mother knew of you and so did I!”

 

 

Her withering expression made my heart grow heavy.

 

 

“My father became more and more distant from my mother and his children. We no longer mattered. You were all he cared about. My mother could not bear the pain any longer. So she took her own life.”  I gasped.  She lifted her eyes from the ground and glared at me.

 

 

“You drove my mother to suicide! You killed her, and now you are going to hell for it!”

Don’t miss PART 3 on Thursday!