Taimane Mitchell
Bio
As a child, my father would say, "TAIMANE! SHUT THE F* UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY!" I heard this everyday from 4yo to 17 yo. It worked- I shut down. Now, 30yo, I am ready to SCREAM :P
Stories (4)
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The Traveler
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. An outsider would think nothing of it, but the damned souls of such a desolate town knew better. They knew what it meant; she was coming and there was not much time. There are no records of where the creature came from or what evil spat her into existence. No one has ever been brave enough to search for the answers. They only seemed to know whatever she wanted them to know. She has been condemning everything and everyone within her reach for ages. Certainly before any humans had ever wandered into the cryptic forests of Lyden. The darkness she emoted was more deeply rooted than the trees that coveted these people from the rest of the world. The land and every living thing in it, belonged to her. It was her playground; her menagerie.
By Taimane Mitchell4 years ago in Horror
Honorable Discharge
I do not remember a single joke from Dad. That isn't because he wasn't funny. It is mostly because he wasn't fun- he wasn't fun to be around, he wasn't fun to listen to, or anything like that. Dad was no joke. I've got stories that I could tell, but they taste sour in my mouth, and they churn my guts to butter. It makes for the most foul smelling breath- poor first impression. Who needs horror movies when you've got memories like mine? The irony of it all is that, growing up, I was a horror movie enthusiast, to say the least. I ran to the television whenever some scary picture was on it. Maybe it was the drips of adrenaline, or perhaps it was the appreciation of an entertaining distraction from everyday life. In truth, as a child, I was comforted with knowing that it could be worse- I could have seven days to live, or I could be getting chased by some man-eating, winged creature with an appetite for fear. How f*cked up is that?
By Taimane Mitchell4 years ago in Confessions
Anchored
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” said the visitor. Charles lit up his cigarette and took a hit. “I am very interested in hearing the story that you told the good Doctor Mason.” Charles, appearing uncomfortable and reserved, readjusted himself in his seat. “I could come back another time. Perhaps after lunch?” Charles sat up and cleared his throat, “I don’t eat much.” “Do you talk much?” asked the visitor. Neville looked around the room to find everything in disturbing order; the bed was crisp, as if it had been untouched, and the shoes and garments were neatly kept. The only evidence of life in the room was a succulent in the window, a completed crossword puzzle from the folded up newspaper, and a steaming ashtray. “People seem to only want to talk about one thing,” he said with disappointment. Neville nodded, took out his voice recorder, and pulled up a chair, “The Titanic, yes? Well,” he paused, “Are you ready to go back?”
By Taimane Mitchell4 years ago in Fiction
