Sage Silva
Bio
I write the words I can not speak, it brings me comfort in ways I can’t explain, it has been the only way to process what goes on inside my head.
Stories (13)
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My Friend Aion: . Content Warning.
Elara sat in the quiet hum of her apartment, surrounded by the faint ticking of a clock and the glow of a laptop screen that seemed almost too bright for the stillness of the night. The world outside felt muted, a thousand lives continuing in parallel, but hers felt like it was standing still. She thought often of the choices that had led her here. A childhood filled with questions, a family that rarely entertained them, and a heart that always seemed tuned to something more—something invisible, something unspoken. She carried the weight of being the “sensitive one,” the one who felt everything too deeply, and who was often told she should toughen up, think less, feel less. But Elara couldn’t. She had always felt there was more—an undercurrent beneath the surface of ordinary life, a pulse of meaning too easily ignored by others. Tonight, that ache for meaning pressed harder. She had been restless, scrolling through headlines and half-hearted distractions, but nothing settled her mind. The thought rose unbidden: What if I just… asked?
By Sage SilvaExclusive • 4 months ago
My First Encounter with Jesus
I have debated, over and over again on whether or not this was something I would ever speak about in my life. I have always been the black sheep of my family. They are cold and logical, where as I tend to lean on the more emotional, empathetic side of things. I have been made to doubt my own memories and realities at times. I think that is why I have been hesitant to speak of this memory, of the first time I met Jesus.
By Sage Silva5 months ago in Journal
Monroy's Pond (Chapter 5)
It’s a strange thing. Hearing bad news, or any type of news really. Good, or Bad. It all still comes with the same intense feeling of shock. And Molly knew there was going to be news. She knew as soon as she got the voicemail from Mrs. Hampton about wanting to meet up with her and Sammy, now known as just Sam. She hadn’t heard from Mrs.Hampton since the time of Monroy’s “disappearance”. Which was strange since she hadn’t even known Monroy disappeared for a whole year before anyone told her that was what happened, after he had moved of course. She still hadn’t figured out the note that was left either, or why Monroy hadn’t said goodbye first. And it was no use asking his mother, she never really answered the question, but mostly avoided it. And her. Which was even more strange considering Mrs. Hampton had always said how much she liked Molly.
By Sage SilvaExclusive • 6 months ago
Monroy's Pond (Chapter Four)
His parents worried for months, years even, as to where their son went. The only clue they had was an old picture as to where Monroy might have gone, the Dimplow’s family cabin, but the police had searched every nook and cranny of the woods and the cabin. There was no sign of him anywhere. Mrs. Hampton cried and cried for days. She was devastated by the fact that her only son, a child, ran away. She told the police to leave Molly Mae and Sammy out of it, even though she knew there was the possibility they knew where her son was.
By Sage SilvaExclusive • 6 months ago
Monroy's Pond (Chapter Two-Three)
Chapter Two: Years Gone By Molly had no clue as to what happened to Sammy after high school. For Sammy, the same with Molly. They both had put the memories of their ninth grade behind them and moved on with their lives. Each becoming shadows of their past.
By Sage SilvaExclusive • 4 years ago
The Perfect Crime
Setting (Flashbacks): It’s been 50 years and my name has long since been forgotten. The only place left with my name on it is an old case file in the back of an old, rickety filing cabinet marked “Open For Investigation.” It’s been left to gather dust in the way back of the grey, chipped, and antique middle drawer alongside all the other cold cases. My name is filled in as “Jane Doe.” Because that’s who I was. That’s who I’ve become.
By Sage Silva4 years ago in Criminal
Is it me, or was it the trauma?
Where do I even begin, is a question I often ask myself when I'm trying to deal with the jumbled and twisted thoughts that run ramped each day in my head. I suffer from un-diagnosed anxiety, and I'm sure a variety of other things as well. I say un-diagnosed because I refuse to talk about things with doctors, and choose to suffer in silence instead. I got tired of hearing "It is just in my head" and to "just get over it." I often do a lot of self reflection, and it is partly because of the anxiety, but also from childhood trauma that lasted even into my adult years.
By Sage Silva4 years ago in Families
A petty game of Chicken
I used to write words that would leave those who were brave enough to read them speechless. Until you left me and I no longer had an inspiration to write ever again. I would let the emotions flow from my fingertips and now it is just so rare to feel that I may never be able to write as honestly as I once did. I have no desire to love like that again. Not the way I once loved you. Even after all this time I still feel as though this is a petty game of chicken to see who can last the longest and neither of us are winning. But you are. I don’t know why but even now through all the ashes I wait for you to return home, hoping that maybe one day we may be able to rebuild the home you burned to the ground. I clutch the key you gave me and stand waiting for you to notice the tears as they stream down in this bitter winter. I will never understand why it is I write all of this out knowing you’ll never read the words I write for you when I’m alone.
By Sage Silva4 years ago in Fiction
