Being stuck in thick black dress pants and a high neck blue long sleeve was not Amelia’s ideal attire for a sunny afternoon, but having a job and going to college led to lengthy tiresome days with sporadic hour long breaks that she was determined to take advantage off, no matter how warm or humid the air was.

Amelia wandered through the sea of maples in a park that sat in between work and home. The sweat was pooling at the small of her back and her attempts to find somewhere to sit became desperate.

Fortunately, an old rickety park bench popped into view. Its white paint was chipped and short spiky splinters stuck out in every angle. Long nails, which were clearly visible through chunks of wood that had been relentlessly picked away, were rusted and worn to a warm orange color.

The untrustworthy nature of the bench did not deter Amelia and she gave it the benefit of the doubt, exhausted and ready to relax.

She clumsily sat down, earning a squeak of protest from the wood beneath her. Her purse dropped from her shoulder and spilled out into the grass. Her head fell back with a groan and she awkwardly rolled off the bench to her knees.

Amelia grasped the bag and shoved its contents back in with remnants of freshly picked grass. She zipped it up and with a firm hold, lifted it onto the bench, where it clunked and settled.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia pulled herself back up to sit, dropped her head, and shut her eyes. A noisy exhale escaped and finally, she let her mind roam.

School was the first thing that rushed to her thoughts. She carefully dove into every subject and assignment she had today. Being a business major had been the logical choice, but it really wasn’t that interesting and as much as Amelia needed to review her school day, she glossed over it for another time.

Next, work plagued her mind and, in her opinion, wasn’t much better than school. Typically, she stuck to a static schedule, but Amelia had a slight aversion of making people unhappy and developed quite a struggle saying no; consequently, shifts she would never actually want to work layered up on her already rare free time.

A strange noise sounded to the left of Amelia. Her posture straighten abruptly and her droopy eyes snapped open to reveal an innocent looking bird.

Amelia scrunched her face up, narrowing her vision, and brushed a hand through her hair. Then, by the rustle of the bird’s wings, the tiny creature appeared in front of her.

It was a sparrow.

Her head darted back and forth, checking for any passerby that would catch this incredible moment. The bird was only a few inches from her and didn’t fly away at her sudden movements. In fact, it stayed motionless with its beady little eyes pointed directly at her.

The curious bird cocked it head to the side.

Amelia’s eyes widened. “What is happening?” she whispered.

The bird took a playful hop forward and let out a happy string of chirps.

She raised her eyebrows. “You are surely the craziest bird I have ever met.” She smiled. “How are you not worried? I could hurt you!” The end of the sentence broke off in a sharp tick, Amelia suddenly becoming conscious of the fact she was yelling at a bird.

Paying no attention to her frantic realizations, the sparrow jumped another step closer.

Amelia was baffled. This strange phenomenon took her whole attention, detaching her from reality. She was certain she could sit there for hours just staring at the little bird, but because she was so in tune with her own thoughts, she nearly fell from the bench in fright when a snarling, teeth bared, massive canine pulled its leash taut.

The owner, despite being a tad wobbly on his feet, managed to hold back his pet, but the dog held up quite a fight, thrashing forward with spit spraying onto Amelia’s pants.

Normally, she would be quite disgusted with the dog’s out of control slobber, but at that point, all she could do was stare in shock.

“Sorry ‘bout that miss,” mumbled the older gentleman, who was still struggling to keep his barking buddy at his feet. “He doesn’t much like birds.”

Amelia nodded weakly at the man, not giving him much thought, and quickly focused back on the smaller animal.

The bird did not seem frightened by the dog, but in fact showed piercing eyes of a familiar inquiring expression.

Suddenly, just as Amelia was about to shoo the small creature away to safety, it flew away itself, but not without one last tilt of the head.

“Such a lucky bird,” she muttered, her eyes following the soaring sparrow. She watched as it rejoined others and flew far, far away into something unknown.

Amelia was wrapped up in her thoughts.

The raging dog disappeared. The soft breeze chilled her bones. A noisy silence filled the air.

Her temple poured on overdrive and she dropped her head into her worn out hands. “If only I could fly. If only I could…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

Amelia had always wanted to fly. When she was younger, and even a bit now, she desperately wished for her own Peter Pan to come and take her away. She didn’t even have to go to Neverland, just to the sky. If she could just soar through the air, she could get away, if she could just be like a bird.

“They just make it happen,” Amelia said.

It was a simple statement, but she looked up from her hands with a different glint in her eyes. A small smile rose to her face and she glanced up seeing even more delicate fliers.

Birds. Incredible creatures.

A ringing in the distance broke her out of her daze. It was her cellphone. Amelia reached for her purse and plopped it on her lap. It was a massive thing loaded with papers, notes, and useless junk.

Amelia finally touched the smooth surface and frantically pulled the out phone worried that it would stop ringing. She really did need to clean out her purse.


“Lee! Hey! Are you still coming over tonight? I really need your help again!” said Mary, a friend from school who needed a little too much help with her coursework.

Amelia opened her mouth, but hesitated. “Actually,” she began shyly, “is it possible to help you another night?”

“It’s due Monday, but I’m leaving for the weekend, so no.” Mary didn’t hide her disappointment.

“Okay,” Amelia paused and looked to the sky, where birds still flew through the free air, “I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to make it tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

Her eyes were still set on the sky. She took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Amelia was not the first to hang up. In fact, she held onto her phone for a few moments of cloudy silence, eyes looking up.

When her vision dropped down, her screen was black, and the shadow of a grin appeared on her face. Amelia stood up from the bench and slid her bag on her shoulder. She started down the grassy path towards home with casual and slow strides, leaving her car behind.

She would come for it tomorrow.

This story is quite a throwback. I wrote the original version in 2011, my senior year of high school, in my independent study creative writing class. 

This one is spruced up a bit because wow, that was almost seven years ago…

This story will remain one of my favorites forever because it’s taken directly from me. It’s actually the inspiration to my first tattoo (that I also got when I was 18). I have the words ‘aspire’ on my right side mid-back with lots of birds flying around it. 

Fun fact; my name also means small bird in arabic. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this short story of pushing for your dreams and the freedom to achieve them. It’s always a good reminder to have and one I continue to need.



Welcome to my blog! Have a look around and enjoy all my photography, short stories, and rambling thoughts!

Here’s to kicking 2018’s booty!

Unrequited Love

The Unrequited love poem: How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back?


It’s the weekend and time to run the monotonous errands of buying groceries and miscellaneous items for around the house.

I roll of out bed and wobble straight into the bathroom, barely managing to walk around corners and desperately trying to rub the sleep from my eyes.

It only takes an hour or two to get fully ready. I’ve dressed, cleaned up, and eaten breakfast. It’s time to get on the road and I haven’t spoken a word.

The trip around the grocery store goes quick. I have a list that is extremely similar every week and I know right where to go. A few closed mouth smiles to strangers are given as I walk, but mostly I keep my head down. I mumble a thank you to the cashier, but only if I decide to not do self checkout, which is quite rare.

I leave, rushing to my car, with only a few bags to carry.

The next store goes the same and before I know it, I’m home again. It’s quiet because it’s empty, so I immediately turn on some music or a movie to fill the space.

Everything gets put in its place and I collapse on the couch, mumbling a curse word because I sit on a remote that changes the channel. My voice is a bit hoarse. That is probably the third word I have said all day.

I get all comfy with blankets wrapped around me and sink into the couch when I realize I left the entryway light on and my snack on the bar table. Groaning, I roll out of my cocoon and drag my feet.

After I get settled a second time, I channel check because my movie is over. Strangely there is a holiday movie on even though the holidays have passed. It’s about a couple, so I move on, but mostly I move on because it is about the holidays.

I finally land on some reruns of my favorite series and drift off to sleep.

I think the hardest part about loving someone who doesn’t love you back, or the more common being alone and growing up alone, is watching people who have someone to do simple daily tasks with them. They always have someone by their side to make decisions, to have fun, to grab the remote when it sits all the way across the room. 

I think its hard to be alone and have no one to talk to about silly little things, but knowing it’s happening to others.

Story prompt #2! Already broke my goal of one a day, but that’s okay!

This one kind of veered from the original prompt, which is normal. No one knows where their writing will go!

Here’s the link to 365 story prompts if you want to join the challenge of writing as many as you can!


Outside the Window

Outside the Window: What’s the weather outside your window doing right now? If that’s not inspiring, what’s the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?


The glass masked the subtle wind outside, making it appear much warming than it was, though for being the middle of January in Minnesota, the weather was quite warm.

The sun was out today and the combination of its warmth and cars speeding down roads turned snow into slush and mud, clearing most of the roads down to the tar. Finally, my small car wasn’t sliding and slipping down the street to work.

There was an air of spring, albeit a very tiny air, but to walk outside and not need mittens was something that didn’t happen all that often during the wintery months. It was nice and brought a smile to my face and added a pep in my step.

Until the sun went down. I put my gloves back on then, but it didn’t erase what the day had already brought.

Those with long winters are used to some seasonal depression. Everyone got it. There was more stress, crabby words, and simple whining, but when the warmth came, there was a difference that could be felt in anyone and everyone.

It’s one of my favorite times of year, mostly because it was warm again, but also because people were happy again.

Sometimes it’s hard to be happy, so find the little things that are worth it and focus on them—like how my food is going to be ready in ten minutes. I’m stoked.


Welcome to the first day of story prompts! I’m so excited to be writing a piece everyday (or close to that, let’s be honest) and to share it with you.

A very nice user on Wattpad sent me a link of 365 prompts to go through and I’m ready for the challenge.

Join me if you are, too! Don’t forget to let me know, so I can read yours!



It’s been a while since I’ve written on this blog, but I’m excited to get back because I let myself be myself here (aka swear words and rambling).


I am writing a book that I love and yes, I realized I will say that every time, but this one is gold, for real.

I’m on the second-ish draft, which is the one where I completely retype it to add in more scenes because I actually didn’t have enough words. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not.

I’m trying to reach 70,000 and I ended at just over 50,000, so this will be interesting.

This serves to be the first update, though, of my journey to publication. My life dream is to be an author who can sustain herself (and a family) on just writing. My pipe dream is to turn that into screenwriting and filmmaking. I definitely should have went to school for that during one of the two times I went to college, but oh well, we all make mistakes.

My book is called A Hero’s Secret and here is a just for fun cover I made for it! Yay!



Seriously, though, how cool would it be to hold a physcial copy of your own damn book in your hands?

I think I would cry.

New Year, New Ways to Fail, New Motivation

I’m returning to this blog with a different motivation than I have had before and I would be lying if I said it didn’t have to do with money and my age.

I am still young, yes, I know, but I just turned 25 and I’m still on my dad’s benefits and have a part time job.

Holy, reality check.

Now I have less than a year to either find a full time job that I will probably dislike, or somehow monetize my hobby of writing, which is what I want to do, duh.

So here we go, one blog a day on the journey to live my life for me and be able to afford it.

I’m going to write about things I love, things that went wrong, things that make me mad, and things that make me proud. I’m going to write everyday, as much as I can.

And honestly, it’s going to be hard. I’ve never been able to push this goal to fruition.

Take the steps along with me in this “new year, new me” and hopefully I won’t let it drag me down and run me over any longer.

A Mirror of Another World

I’ve started writing a story that is literally my favorite idea so far and trust me, I’ve had a lot of ideas. I am truly that person who daydreams for than thinking of reality because for me, at least right now, daydreaming is better.

Here is the (and shortest) chapter. There is still a lot of work to be done, but I am way to impatient to wait for that. Also, the cover is a bigger work in progress. 😉

Let me know what you think! I love opinions!




Our reflections are truly wonders of the world and they will continue to teach us of fantasies we’ve never dreamed, adventures we’ve never been, and tragedies we’ve never seen.


A jolt caused the young woman’s hair to swing around her face. She stumbled a few steps forward, her knees slightly buckling, before she caught her balance and glued her feet in one spot. A barely audible groan emitted from her mouth as she pushed her long hair back behind her shoulders.

“Pick up your feet,” Holland whispered to herself.

She moved forward again, this time more conscious of cracks in the sidewalk that shifted different slabs of concrete up or down. Her legs were scraped and scarred enough from innocent childhood roughhousing. Holland Scott would have fallen under the fearless child category, although her mother liked to call it recklessness, but that never stopped her father from taking his daughter out to play.

It was late in the afternoon and the sun was no longer high in the sky, allowing a cool breeze to curl through the town. Holland relished in this kind of weather, taking as many walks as possible. In fact, she had just left a few moments ago to enjoy the fresh air. Deep down, she knew she also just liked to get out of house, which she could never quite call a home. It was a standard government issued house—one level with an underground basement. Hers had two bedrooms, her room and a guest room, but only one bathroom. The number of rooms depended on family size, but they all held the same basic features that are needed to live.

Holland took one step in front of the other with no direction in mind. Her eyes scanned over the dulled colors of vehicles that drove by, their matte surfaces blending into the trees and grass around them. She squinted and tried to visualize how bright the hues would be if they held that reflective quality she had learned about in secondary a few weeks prior.

Of course Holland grew up hearing fanciful stories about such surfaces, but the government decided to withhold the facts until the very last lesson in school before careers started. The lesson did not disappoint, opening up a whole new beauty to the world, and the young woman wished she could see herself in a reflection other than water full of ripples.

The facts, albeit fascinating and mysterious, were quite minimal, in fact Holland could boil it down to two simple sentences.

Everyone in the world became so vain and so worried about themselves that they missed opportunities to enrich each other. This caused all hell to break loose and violence, war, and discrimination to become the norm, so all reflective surfaces were banned.

That was probably the most Holland had ever payed attention during secondary. Those three years were really a waste of time. They were supposed to ready students for their choice of career, but most figured that out during the first eighteen years of life in primary, mostly from parents and relatives, but some were intelligent enough to take the corresponding electives.

Holland didn’t follow that path, so she really should have focused in secondary, but having tested out of the prelim exam as administration, she quickly lost interest in the whole program. Now, graduated and signed off, the twenty one year old had one week to secure a position in administration, unless she defected to maintenance, the career below hers and the only other option. Lack of qualifications had set her low on the totem pole. Truthfully, Holland didn’t know what she wanted to do and nothing caught her attention. She’d always been more of a wanderer.

The sidewalk Holland had been walking on crumbled to an end, turning into bits of gravel mixed with dirt. At the edge of town, which coincided with the end of her street, the pattern of green grass and proper housing ended. Instead, broken buildings and overgrown nature lined the road, which itself was cracked with weeds growing out in all directions.

The background noise grew quiet the farther Holland walked into the rubble. The road went nowhere, as it’s a dead end an obnoxious number of miles down, so vehicles had no reason to drive through. Sometimes the occasional group of kids would find fun running through the buildings, but mostly the area stayed deserted. It was common knowledge that parents disliked their children playing or exploring in the broken part of town, so it became a normal place to avoid.

Holland quite enjoyed that aspect of it. Quiet and mystery were found in every corner and crevice, plus her parents weren’t there to tell her otherwise. Before she started secondary, her parents decided to move to a city a few hours north where her father’s family resided.

The appeal of a big city almost pulled Holland out of her small town life, but she had had a gut feeling that influenced her to stay. Recently, she wasn’t so sure if she’d made the right choice. Nothing had happened in the past three years to make her think otherwise. She missed her parents too, which didn’t help, but at the same time Holland liked living away from them. She loved her parents, but it didn’t take a genius to see the distance between them. They were never the tightest knit family on the block.

Holland took a sharp right to follow a curvy path of stepping stones. Hopping from one to another, the she found herself at the steps of the tallest building around town. It was three floors high and incredibly wide. It was so old it was built before the standards were put into place by the government. Maintenance tried to keep it up to code, but that didn’t last long or so Holland heard. The house had been abandoned since way before she was born.

Slowly, she went up the steps, each one creaking under her weight. The front door stood slightly ajar, so Holland pushed it open. The sun immediately shined in and revealed a very dusty set of staircases, one set went up and the other went down.

A shiver erupted through her back. Even during the day, she couldn’t keep those haunting rumors from her mind. It was said that long, long ago this was the house of a man, a serial killer, who would bend his victims to fit into boxes, like a puzzle, before burying them in his backyard. Supposedly he was never caught and died a natural death, but the spirits of those he killed trapped him in the house for eternity—his own box.

The stories, no matter how creepy, were just stories that held an absurdity used to frighten kids and that in no way kept Holland’s curiosity from burning through her mind. She shook her head, mentally laughing at her fear, and warily took the stairs going down to the basement. She wasn’t about to fall through a rotting floor. The lower Holland went, the dirtier everything got. She was careful to keep her hands to herself and away from any mold or strange bacteria sticking to the walls of the narrow staircase. With one last step, she let out a sigh of relief upon reaching the room at the bottom.

Light was dim and scattered around the room in a subtle spotted pattern through old cracked windows that were hardly boarded up, showing just how much this place was not up to government standards.

Holland walked slowly into the center of the room, clutching her hands together tightly at her chest. Her breathing grew shallow for the first time since entered the old house, but she kept her mouth closed. The air quality matched exactly what a left for dead room that hasn’t been opened in years would be—thick of mold and dirt.

Taking little time to assess the dangerous air, Holland let her legs draw her towards a shadowy shape looming in the corner. The closer she got, the more she saw. She honestly had no idea why she decided to come here today, but she was glad she did. Her eyes were glued to a foreign surface that she could only guess was described as glossy. It reflected the dim light around her, casting weird shapes of light on the floor around it. Holland’s feet came to a stop merely an inch from the tall object. Her fingers met the rough wood. Splinters broke off and fluttered to the floor. The frame went all the way around the reflective surface and displayed an intricate carving that wove in and out of itself. Holland’s hand didn’t make it to the top, as the frame became out of reach. Her arm fell back into her side and she once again found herself entranced with what the wood encased. It was smudged, smoky, but there was no denying the clear picture.

Holland had stumbled upon a piece of history.

Holland had found a mirror.


Copyrighted © 2017

Writing Moods

I just finished writing my first EVER completed book (hallelujah)! 

I was so pumped about it, even printed the entire thing out to start editing. I’ve started planning the second (and final) book in the series and all seemed well. 

Except now I’m writing a completely different book…

I’m learning that I write way better and smoother when I’m excited about the material (no shit, I know). I just can’t get myself to continue with the two book series, at least not now, and I feel bad that I’m leaving the story unfinished. Seriously though, when I try to write the second book, I sit and start it the screen and write next to nothing. 

I will continue writing this new idea, because I fricken love it, but I want to get back on the the series afterwards. 

What do you do to get excited about an old idea? 

I’m worried I won’t ever finish it and to be honest, that makes my heart hurt a little.