Stephen Betancourt
Bio
poems have different melodies, which shapes their theme; they are meant to be read soft or in a strong voice but also as the reader please. SB will give poetry with endless themes just to soothe and warm the heart.
Stories (18)
Filter by community
The Bet
That night, Mariela’s dad stumbled into the house, tears streaking his face. He’d made a bet with his worst enemy—“the bastard”—about the outcome of the football club’s big game. According to the absurd bet, if his enemy lost, the loser’s wife would have to spend the entire day in her office serving coffee in an insanely awkward situation… wearing a short, low-cut dress.
By Stephen Betancourt19 days ago in Humans
Lactose Tears
They met at the undecided hour of dawn, when the town had not yet awakened and the milk—warm and freshly drawn—rose in soft vapors like promises. He stepped out of his car with books tucked under his arm; she lifted pitchers as if she were holding small moons. They did not look at each other at first. Love—when it knows it will be hunted—learns to feign distraction.
By Stephen Betancourt20 days ago in Marriage
Los Grises
After being fired from a job he had held for more than 40 years, this venerable old man went home. Days went by, and he still kept thinking about how unfair the supervisor had been in firing him. It was a very monotonous and repetitive job. His task was simply to fasten screws in a leather-working shop to make holes for synthetic-leather furniture. However, Manolo was an intelligent man, and although he didn’t aspire to a promotion, he was loyal to his job, hoping to be rewarded someday.
By Stephen Betancourtabout a month ago in Fiction
White Wedding
White Wedding The brothel where Maribel worked had no name, only a flickering red lantern that could be seen from the cobblestone street. The walls were covered in cracked mirrors that distorted bodies and multiplied gestures of desire into an endless labyrinth. There, each night, anxious men crowded in with crumpled bills in their hands and eyes that gleamed like knives.
By Stephen Betancourt4 months ago in Horror
Erosia
In the dominion of Erosia, existence itself was bound to the carnal act. The cities glistened with towers wrought of crystaline lustre, and the parks shimmered with lanterns whose glow waxed and waned like the breath of lovers. The very air quivered with sighs and gasps, as ordinary as the chirp of sparrows at dawn.
By Stephen Betancourt4 months ago in Futurism
Hydra
In a country where technology races far ahead of ethics, a cabal of thirteen men hatches a scheme that will forever alter their fates. Their leader, Clifin, is a charismatic swindler with the smile of a hyena and the soul of a salesman. His plan? To disguise his companions as luxury androids—coating them in silver spray paint, teaching them choreographed movements and scripted speeches—passing them off as personal assistant robots for the wealthy and gullible.
By Stephen Betancourt6 months ago in Fiction
Ramiro
He was born to a family of meagre means, and but a moon-cycle thence was left at the doorstep of a butcher’s shop, where laboured a sorcerer of obscure repute. There, in that sanguine place of flesh and entrails, the babe Ramiro was reared—not as a son, but as a humble apprentice, schooled in minor magicks and menial labours. Yet there was one chamber into which he was forbidden ever to tread: the shadowed sanctum known only as the Dark Room, where the most sacred and perilous enchantments were wrought.
By Stephen Betancourt6 months ago in Fiction
El Capi
In the midst of the dark and tumultuous years in the Republic of Stephenlandia, Michael's life was anything but ordinary. His father, Mr. Scout, held the esteemed position of a judge, while the migratory terrorist groups unleashed waves of fear across the cities. Young Michael found himself deeply enamored with his French teacher, and the two had planned to marry using an old Gypsy ritual, waiting for the full moon to consummate their relationship.
By Stephen Betancourt2 years ago in BookClub
Recycle Planet
In the distant cosmos, on a lonely planet devoid of life, the ethereal beauty of the celestial realm painted a canvas of solitude. It was a desolate place, with arid landscapes stretching as far as the eye could see, devoid of the vital essence of life: oxygen. The atmosphere was thin, its precious breath virtually nonexistent.
By Stephen Betancourt2 years ago in Earth
Love in Haiti
In the sun-soaked streets of Haiti, where vibrant colors and lively music filled the air, an old man named Edward had embarked on a life-changing journey. Edward was a wealthy entrepreneur, accustomed to the luxuries of his lavish lifestyle. However, on this particular trip, he sought something different—a genuine connection, a love that transcended material wealth.
By Stephen Betancourt3 years ago in Fiction
