Sharon J. El Mouhib
Bio
Hello, my name is Sharon and I am a writer. I love to write short stories, poems, and I am working on my first novel and aiming for end of year deadline. Please subscribe to get notifications of new works as they become available. Thanks!
Stories (7)
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Within the Silence
In the dimly lit room, shadows stood against the wall like sentinels, bearing witness to the scene that played out before them between man and wife. The room was filled with a melancholy ambiance, its heavy curtains slightly drawn to keep out the world. They had not spoken to each other in months, except as ships passing in the night, their connection fractured by a pain neither knew how to express. They had used various excuses like the proverbial working late or an out-of-town business trip to avoid each other as much as possible. It had worked for a while, but not tonight. Tonight, they found each other in the same house, the same room, and too tired to avoid each other or able to devise a viable excuse. The silence was deafening. The tick-tock of the vintage wall clock reverberated through the silence, a metronome of their unspoken grief.
By Sharon J. El Mouhib2 years ago in Fiction
The Cabin at Capron Landing
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Those who drove past it could not believe their eyes; who could be living in that decrepit old place? The two-level cabin had stood vacant for more than ten years and had become weathered and worn, looking woefully like something out of a horror movie. Speculation around the village of Badgerville, deep in the western Canadian woods, was running rampant, and curiosity was getting the best of most to the point that they had started inventing tales. So as Kali walked into the Whiskey Watering Hole Bar and Grill around seven-thirty on that Friday evening, people were too busy to notice the pretty brunette as she walked by and took a seat in the corner booth.
By Sharon J. El Mouhib4 years ago in Horror
Morning Shave. Top Story - July 2022.
The soft click of someone turning on a light switch stirred me from my twilight slumber, and I stretched my hands over my head, arched my back into a perfect stretch, held it for a second, then relaxed and laid still. I gently rubbed my eyes; then, looking towards the window, I could faintly see the beginnings of the dawning sunlight peeping between the window blind slats giving all indications that morning was on its way. I sat up, rubbed my six-year-old eyes, pulled on my pink terry robe, slid my tiny feet into my bunny slippers, and carefully eased out of bed so as not to make a sound. I looked towards my bedroom door, and I could see that it wasn't fully closed but stood just about three inches ajar, and through that space, I could make out the bright light streaming from the bathroom into the narrow hallway. I quietly crept into the hall and headed towards the open door. You didn't say a word as I quietly took my usual seat on the hall floor, crossing my legs and placing my hands in my lap. The year was 1965.
By Sharon J. El Mouhib4 years ago in Families
Redemption
The little girl resting on her back on the porch swing moved it back and forth with each gentle movement of her right foot. Her movements came with very little effort and with her eyes shut she was lost in her own world. A world of soft sounds, here and there, birds singing, the buzz of a bumble bee on Mama’s roses, Mama humming spirituals in the kitchen, and the occasional car headed down the red clay road that led to the highway and to places unknown were the only sounds that stirred the quiet of steamy summer afternoon. The light that penetrated the trees in the front yard danced across her mahogany face that was smooth and baby soft punctuated by a dimple in each cheek and a curious smile on full pink lips. Not much else to do cause it was so dang hot, everyone on Clayton Road had their windows and front doors open wide to catch whatever breeze they could. Occasionally, you would hear a screen door slam shut as someone came or went about their business. The thin sleeveless shirt that she wore stuck to her body in various places and her pedal pushers pants showed signs of wear, but Kat didn’t care she just wanted to stay cool, and laying here on the swing was getting the job done. Katheryn Deloris Purcell was eleven in August of 1960 and would turn twelve on August twenty-first an event that she so looked forward to that she could hardly wait. Mama and Papa had promised her a big birthday party to celebrate and all her friends were invited.
By Sharon J. El Mouhib5 years ago in Families
