Stacey Mock
Bio
Nature-loving elementary school teacher trying to make ends meet and find a little magic in every day. When I was little, I wrote myself a letter to remind my older self I wanted to be an author. Now, I am trying to fulfill that dream.
Stories (4)
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A Love Letter
Dear Cricket, The year 2006 had been a rough one. It started with the death of my grandmother, finding out I had a tumor (non-cancerous) in my brain that messed with my body, totaling my car, and breaking my back off of a very large horse. This was all capped off in November by having to put down the dog and best friend I had grown up with for 17 years: Brandy girl. My life had become a sad country song. A broken back, a broken spirit, a broken heart- these were all words that described me the day I met you.
By Stacey Mock3 years ago in Petlife
Inertia Train
Jozef Febs awoke with a start. He was utterly alone. Sound had not awoken him, because there is no sound when one is traversing the vast vacuum and expanse of space. He had awoken due to the sense of foreboding he had internalized before he initially passed out. He felt as if he were in a dream: Who was he? What was he doing here? Why was he so cold? In front of him, dust clouds swirled like the tendrils of some unknown voracious beast reaching out to ensnare him. Remotely radiating planets beckoned just out of reach. Stars in the distance glittered like the bits of memory that were trying to spark their way through to his mind. Hypoxia had taken its toll. The portion of the capsule he was in was entirely see through- it felt naked, exposed, and unprotected. It was like a bubble blown that had reached the point of popping. One thing was for certain, the motion of what he was traveling in was continuing inexorably forward at constant speed. Forward... to what? He was floating within just a small part of the capsule, and mustered enough strength to grab the bar that went to the nearby reinforced glass door to hold on. As he pulled himself closer to the glass, the words on the outside of the glass came into focus: The Shooting Star Train.
By Stacey Mock3 years ago in Fiction
The Fire Within
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The candle did not cast a warm inviting glow. Something about it was wrong. It was pale, sickly, yet vibrated with a white hot rage though there was no wind. It peered out of the cabin window like a ghostly roving eye. It had been lit by one who had endured and burned silently over 100 years ago.
By Stacey Mock4 years ago in Horror
