Don’t Make it Bad

Tags

Across the Universe, AMHudlow, Beatles, car crash, death, depression, DUI, England, fear, fiction, George Harrison, Hey Jude, Imagine, John Lennon, life, London, Partying, Paul McCartney, Ringo Star, School, stories, story, Studying, The Queen, writing

Even after all of the other guests had left due to the rain one stayed behind. Kneeling in front of the freshly dug grave, a song escaped his lips as he began to cry.

When Doves Cry

Tags

abuse, AMHudlow, death, fear, fiction, guns, life, loss, love, murder, stories, story, tragedy, tragic, writing

The soft laughing of a girl filled the evening air as a boy whispered something in her ear. She playfully punched his shoulder brfore looking down at her wrist-watch and realized the time was later than she thought. She motioned to the boy that it was time for her to go home. He put his arms around her to signal hat he didn’t want her to leave him. When she tried to escape from his grasp Tom voiced his thoughts on the matter.

“You can’t stay there! You’ll die if you do,”

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Tags

AMHudlow, cutting, death, depression, fear, fiction, love, night, prayer, sadness, stories, story, suicide, texting, worry

“Come on! Move faster!” Rhett yelled at the car in front of him. Of all times for him to be

stuck in traffic, this was the worst. He needed to get to Anna. He combed his fingers through his curly dark brown hair and slammed his palm onto the steering wheel causing the horn to blare at the old woman’s Caddy. “Move!” But alas, the car in front of him crawled on the asphalt. He glanced at the clock on the dash, 12:13 am. He looked up to the moon through the windshield and prayed. Prayed that he wasn’t too late.

 

Poor Son of Dixie

Tags

150, 150th Anniversary, America, AMHudlow, Civil War, confederate, creative, fear, fiction, Gettysberg, Grant, guns, History, Lincoln, North, Robert E Lee, Slavery, soilder, South, stories, story, Union, United States, War, writing

 

 

 

When the scared-looking soldier stepped out of the woods with his hands raised I was pretty sure that he wanted to surrender but my sergeant shot him anyway. “What was that for? He was surrendering?” I yelled at Sergeant Kelly as he lowered his rifle. “This is a war damnit! We have to kill some people.” He said as he went through the newly deceased soldiers clothes looking for ammunition. “But he was only a boy.” I said barley above a whisper. “Well blame his Mama for letting him join the army, William, now let’s move out”

Muse

Tags

AMHudlow, awkward, CIA, cigarettes, creative, date, fiction, life, Muse, paranoia, stories, story, writing

Staring at the blank page before her, Robin hoped her inner muse would spring up out of the cosmos of her mind and give her the perfect idea for a new story. After about ten minutes Robin decided that her muse needed a cigarette. Reaching into her purse she took out her pack of Lucky Strikes only to find it empty. She breathed out a string of swear words and slammed her head onto the page that lay on the desk. Maybe the pain now shooting through her brain would release her muse. No such luck.

Now deciding that her muse really needed a cigarette she got up out of her chair and put on her converse for she would be walking to 7-Eleven. Walking always gave her ideas, they may be good or bad but they were ideas and they were the seeds to stories which would pay the rent.

“This town sucks,” she thought as she made her way down the main street of Fallen,Pennsylvania . A small town where all the elders knew each other and it seemed as if everyone was constantly smiling. Fallen was actually pretty creepy to some tourists, it was to “Stepford wives” for them.

“It’s way too cute”. She was about to reach into her pocket for a cancer stick when she remembered she was out, thus her quest to the gas station.

When she reached the only 7-Eleven in town she thanked who ever had marketed the franchise. Stepping inside, Carl, the only employee, smiled at her and gave her a timid little wave.

Robin closed her eyes and braced herself, as she stepped to the counter for Cark always asked her out.

“Hey Robin, how’s it going?” the akward looking 19-year-old asked his face turning a light shade of pink which looked horrible against his red hair.

“Things are great Carl, I’m working on a new story. Can I have a carton of Lucky Strikes please?” She asked.

“So what’s it about?” He asked as he retrieved the carton from under the counter. Since she was in an irritable mood beacuse of the lack of nicotine in her system she decided to play on his stupidity.

“I can’t tell you. It’s a story that the goverment wanted me to write for them. They have spies all over town watching me. If I were to tell you they would kill me and you on the spot.” Robin said so seriously she could have fooled herself. Carl blanched and his blue eyes doubled in size.

“Really? All over town?”

Robin nodded and tried to her best to suppress the giggle that was bubbling up inside her.

“Oh yeah all over, but don’t tell anyone.” He qiuckly nodded his face full of fear and she paid for her cigarettes. She left the store thankful that “the spies around town” had sidetracked Carl and he forgot to ask her out. She lit up and proceeded to return abck to her apartment.

As she unlocked the door an idea dawned on her. Her muse had finally wokne up, the jerk. She would write about an author who was comissioned to write for the CIA for some reason and had told someone. Sure it was a bad idea but it would lead to another story and that one was sure to be decent.

Sitting back down at her desk she looked down at the paper and smiled.

“If this is any good I might take Carl up on that date,” She thought.

 

Not Alone

Tags

AMHudlow, break in, breaking and entering, bump in the night, fear, fiction, night, stories, story, writing

I do not own this picture

Julie was sleeping in bed, her arms wrapped around a teddy bear that her boyfriend had given her. Most nineteen-year-olds didn’t sleep with toys but the bear made her feel safe at night. Especially on nights like this. Both of her parents were out of town on business and Julie was home alone. She hated being alone. Hated it with a passion. Every noise she heard or thought she heard was immediately processed in her brain as an intruder.  The idea of someone breaking into her home scared her more than words could ever express. But tucked into her warm bed, Julie was safe from the evils of the world.

Her eyes snapped open. What was that? Wide-awake, she listened to the world around her. After a few moments that felt like hours Julie relaxed again. It was just her overactive imagination playing cruel games on her. As her eyes closed for the second time she heard the noise again. This wasn’t imaginary. She heard something moving around in her house. Slowly panic started to build up in her chest making it hard to breathe. She held her teddy close and tried to focus on the situation at hand and stave off the impending panic attack. If someone was actually in her house she needed to keep her head on straight and that would have been a lot easier if she had remembered to take her anxiety medication that morning.

With her eyes locked onto the door, Julie leaned over and reached for her cell phone that was charging on the bedside table. Clutching the phone to her chest she gazed at it to check the time. The blinding screen read 1:15. Her parents said they would be coming home that next morning but if they were going to arrive early they would have called or at least texted her.

“Watch How I Soar”

Tags

abuse, AMHudlow, fiction, New York, steam punk, stories, writing, zeppelins

Gwendolyn quickly walked about the house telling the servants to work faster.

Her husband was due home any minute and the house needed to be perfect. She walked across the freshly scrubbed floors into the nursery and checked on the baby who was being sung to by his nanny. Pleased that John was quiet, she left to inquire about that night’s dinner, hopefully the cook didn’t forget to put the pepper on the roast.

At a quarter past five, Edgar Harper arrived home from his job as the Dean of Science at New York University. His wife and the housekeeper, Janice, who promptly took his coat and hat, greeted him at the door.

“How was your day, darling?” Gwen cheerfully asked whilst quickly fixing her hair but Edgar just walked past and headed to his office. Janice shot a sympathetic look towards the missus, she deserved better than him. But it wasn’t her place to say anything.

“That’s great, dear. My day was fine too, thanks for asking.” Gwen murmured to herself. She honestly didn’t know why she continually asked him how his day was. She hadn’t received a response since the stock market fell two years ago. She knew she should have been happy that they were still able to keep the house and the staff after the crash, but she couldn’t help but feel that she would rather be poor and happy then rich and miserable. She quickly scolded herself. How dare she be ungrateful for her good fortune? She had a son to take care of and a roof over her head. What more could she ask for?

The Window

Tags

alone, AMHudlow, college, dorm, fear, fiction, ghost, ghost story, haunting, scary, stories, story, writing

I never liked the window in my dorm room. There was nothing physically wrong with the window itself; it just made me feel uncomfortable. I felt like I was being watched when I went near it.

During the first few months at school, I just thought that the feeling was homesickness or my mind playing tricks on me.

Then one night I was awoken by what sounded like someone softly knocking on my window. I got up from my bed and checked the window, but no one was there. Of course no one was there, I thought to myself. I lived on the fourth floor and there were no trees near my window. It was impossible for someone to be out there. However I was too freaked out by the “knocking” to fall back asleep. I was so certain that I had heard something and the little voice in my head kept telling me to check the window again.