Nichole M. Willden
Bio
Nichole M. Willden is a poet, writer, and author of The Guild series. A survivor of indoctrination and abuse, Nichole has spent decades writing fiction that sizzles with themes of enslavement, hope, and resilience.
Stories (7)
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Love Me
“Love me!” It seems like two very innocent, simple words. It’s the plea of everyone who has every posted a vague status on Facebook, or ever called the suicide hotline, or ever made some foolish, desperate act to get the attention of the people they care about. “Love me” seems like it should be very simple to say. But it’s not.
By Nichole M. Willden4 years ago in Poets
Trigger Warning
I used to be pro-life. Or at least that’s what I called it. I thought I believed it out of love. I thought “Abortion is murder” and believed my god above was proud. I wasn’t loud. I was quiet in my condemnation of the crowd of sinners who used the left-wing media to push their gay agenda. Trying to steal god from our country and constitution. Trying to open closed borders to criminals. Trying to take my rights away. I would say “Bad guys will still get guns.” and “we should not give assistance to the lazy.” It’s all hazy now. I used to sit in my pew and think “I won’t let them brainwash me” as the words of pedophiles and hypocrites put me into a right-wing trance. I believed I was superior.
By Nichole M. Willden4 years ago in Poets
Dragon Fist
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.” Holdyn’s voice was quiet in the darkness. The rest of the fist sat still and listened as his low voice reminisced about times before they were all born. He rarely spoke of Before, but when he did, he was always guaranteed a rapt audience.
By Nichole M. Willden4 years ago in Fiction
It's Mine Now
Dear Mother, Your youngest daughter gets called to the school office one afternoon and sits down with some people from Child Services. In a panic, she denies what she has been whispering to me for weeks. “I’m not suicidal!” she insists, flushing with fear and embarrassment. Though the truth is probably written somewhere in the vivid blue of her frightened eyes, the officials accept the lies. Other officials come to the place you are squatting—like rats holed up together: multiple families in a tiny, filthy apartment—and interview the children in front of their abusers. The threat in the abuser’s eyes is enough to stop the children from speaking truth. “We have not been hit,” they deflect. “We are well-fed,” they exaggerate. “We are happy,” they outright lie.
By Nichole M. Willden4 years ago in Confessions
