Ngita watched carefully. The air in the jungle had turned sour, halting her hunt. Something stirred the trees into discomfort, the animals in their branches retreating to higher ground. Ngita waited, beads of sweat blooming like salted pearls across her forehead.

There. Movement down the runningpath. Ngita’s eyes widened. Silently, she slipped away from the intruders, running back to the village with all of her speed.

“Lung’aro!” she called, running to the headwoman’s hut. Lung’aro looked up from her herbs, calmly dismissing the apprentice healers from their lesson. Ngita waited for them to clear away. “There are strangers coming down the eastern runningpath.”

“How many?”

“At least thirty. They come riding beasts and are bathed in sunlight.”

Lung’aro looked suspicious. “Gather the village.”

Ngita ran to each of the fifty huts that occupied their patch of jungle. When she returned to Lung’aro, the village center was filled with women. Lung’aro prowled at the center, her eyes furious with determination.

“You have heard of the false gods that tried to subjugate our sisters west of here, yes?”

A murmur of consensus ran through the women.

“They tried to conquer them, tried to ground the women of the Falcon Tribe. Now, these imposters try the same with us Tigresses. Will we show them our stomachs?”


“Will we bow our heads for them to cut off?”


“Will we fight with tooth and claw, will we rend our enemies to pieces with our ferocity?”

Joyously, the women shouted: “Yes!”

“Then ready yourselves.”

The village women prepared for battle effortlessly, familiar with the ways of war. They greeted their weapons as comrades, and painted their bodies for camouflage. Everyone prepared; the elderly were still strong and used to such labor; the young were charged to a caretaker who clutched daggers in both hands with a newborn strapped to her back. The children followed her quietly, eager to see their first battle.

The trees hid them well, allowing them space within their flesh. The wind blew in the faces of the intruders, flinging leaves and bugs into their eyes. The ground turned to muck beneath the strangers’ beasts, causing the momentary panic perfect for the Tigresses to strike. They leapt out from their cover, diving for the beasts, cutting them out from underneath the false gods.

The strangers panicked, chaos surging around them. Some ran, only to be chased down by more Tigresses. Others fumbled for handheld thunder, but the Tigresses stopped them with their spears, aiming for faces and necks, where their bodies were unprotected by shining stone. More still pled for their lives. The Tigresses spat in their faces and slit their throats. They left none alive and returned to their village for celebrations, letting the jungle dispose of the men who dared to think they could sell an Amazon into slavery.



Goldteeth’s lover faced the firing squad. Even with her face covered by a hood—in case any of the men were to be swayed by her beauty—her magnificence could not be contained. She was more radiant than the sun, and the executioners burned in her presence.

“Ready,” called the captain, itching to finish this business. He could feel his heart beginning to waver. “Aim…”

“Wait!” cried Goldteeth’s lover, (and the executioners were secretly relieved) her sweet, clear voice ringing out across the execution yard, flying up the steps of the amphitheater to the man who had ordered her death.

The Governor leaned out from his shaded pavilion so as to see the amphitheater floor better. “There is no waiting, milady. He is not coming to save you. You should thank me, really—elsewise you would have spent your life bound to a coward.”

Goldteeth’s lover turned her hooded face toward the Governor’s voice. “He is not a coward,” she declared as the ropes fell free from her hands. She threw the hood from her face as she aimed the gun previously hidden behind her back at the Governor. “And I do not need him to save me.” She fired. The executioners were too stunned by her beauty to move. The Governor lay dying, his breath gurgling through the hole in his throat. He grabbed desperately for anyone, anything that would help him. His servants stepped back, emotionless as they watched his eyes roll back into his head.

On the floor of the amphitheater, one guard stepped towards the captive. She took him into her arms, kissing him forcefully. “Darling, nice of you to come to my execution.

The man smiled, revealing teeth as white and perfect as pears. “How could I miss it?”

The caption of the executioners gasped. “Y-your teeth!”

The man’s grin widened. “Expecting someone else?”

The woman laughed, turning to address her would-be murderers. They gasped at the rows of flawless golden teeth in her mouth. “Gentlemen, I know you to be excellent marksmen. Now that your governor is dead, would you like to join me?” She gestured to the Governor’s shaded pavilion. “Would you like freedom? To steal from those who build their empires on the backs of common folk, to kill the corrupt and answer to no one?” Goldteeth’s magnificence and the events of the amphitheater left no doubt in any heart. She rode from her supposed death with a contingent of new bandits, her gold teeth shining in the sun as she smiled in her triumph.



She had blue hair
No eyebrows
Piercings everywhere
And I mean everywhere
She had lines down her arms
But she didn’t hide them
She announced them proudly, her own little banners
She waved them in the faces of the sneering crowds
Who dared to think they could judge her
She was immune to their poison, she’d already bled it out
And learned to love those who hated her
Because they had made her
An immobile rock
An immovable mountain
A crystal, grown beautiful in the darkness of her own mind.


Lost Poetry Part 5

My time is running out,
far into the rabbit hole I to
to find a cured for the Itch.
The feeling I get from you is
fidgety and obtuse
like the little marks
of a really bad sunburn.
Please send the locusts away
for there will be no feast tonight.
Everyone is either dead or dying
and there is not enough space in the ground
or in the sky.
The stars splutter and fizzle and make up words of their own creation
to ease the parting of their deaths.

Lost Poetry Part 5

Nominated for the Liebster Blog Award!

I’ve only been blogging since February, but I just received my second blog award nomination! It feels like such an achievement! Thank you, T.M.E Walsh, for nominating me, and thank you all for keeping up with me for these past few months!

The Liebster Award is one that recognizes new blogs worth reading (and those with less than 300 followers). Upon acceptance of the award, a blogger must:

List 11 random facts about him/herself.
Answer the questions that were asked of him/her (by the blogger that nominated him/her).
Nominate 3 other blogs for the Liebster Blog Award and link to their blogs.
Notify the bloggers of their award.
Ask the award winners 11 questions to answer once they accept the award.
Random facts. Or, as I like to call them, just plain old facts.

1. When I was in fifth grade, I won a state-wide art competition for IAMS dog food.

2. I think my house might be haunted. I get that “being watched” feeling a lot.

3.  I have a penchant for collecting vintage things, but I have nowhere to put it all so I’m sort of becoming a hoarder oops.

4. I’ve been in choir since the third grade. (Eleven years holy crows).

5. I like mud.

6. I despise staying in big cities for extended periods of time. The countryside is the place for me!

7. I cannot fall asleep on my back.

9. I like to sit in the forest and meditate about humanity/state of being/nature/the universe/etc.

10. Ain’t no babies comin’ outta this uterus.

11. Sometimes I forget how to do things.


1. Did you always want to be a writer?

Nope. At the very beginning I wanted to be a veterinarian. But then I realized I would have to deal with suffering. So I switched to being an artist. But I couldn’t make what was in my head happen on the canvas, which then led me to writing!

2. Do you plan to self-publish or go the ‘traditional’ route of agent/publisher?

I’m going to attempt traditional first, and if that doesn’t work, self-publishing!

3. Do you sleep on your front, back or side?


4. Have you ever had any brushes with fame/met a famous person?

I met Jennifer Granholm once! And my parents are friends with Mark Schauer and his family…political figures count, right?

5. Who is your fave author?

Well this is a hard question. At this current moment, I would have to say  Nicholas Monsarrat. I picked up The Cruel Sea last week from Salvation Army (fate!) and I was instantly in love. The title sounds ominous, but the opening lines were so humorous that I just had to have it. His writing style is quirky, funny, and detailed. Instant favorite!

6. What advice would you give anyone just starting out in the weird and wonderful world of being a writer?

Use everything. Every emotion you feel is valid experience and insight into your fellow human beings. Use it to create the most heart-wrenching, soul-searing piece of art that has ever graced the planet.

7. What is your fave film?

Hmmm either The Fall or The Princess Bride. The first because of just…everything. Everything about this movie is perfect. And The Princess Bride, because the writing, acting, and story is inconceivably marvelous.

8. Do you like to work in a quiet or noisy environment?

Quiet, definitely. I get distracted easily.

9. Do you have any writing rituals?

I usually write in bed once it gets dark. The window is usually open to let the sounds of nature in, and my first draft is always hand-written in black ink on a flip-up notebook. It just flows better for me. It’s my secret formula!

10. What is the title of your next book or poem?

Wordsmith is the working title of my latest book. I’m not so great with titles. (You have probably noticed this).

11. Give me a short ‘elevator-style’ pitch of your latest work.

After thirteen years abroad, Lady Eulalia of Somerset is returning home to Elysia for the selection. She is one of the nobles eligible for the crown prince’s hand in marriage. She is not happy about this. She’s guarding a secret that could kill her; she’s a Wordsmith, a being of enormous power, whose kind has been eradicated by the royal family of Elysia. If her secret is revealed, she and her entire family could be put to death. Eulalia must navigate the vicious world of the royal court and somehow find a way to stop the coming war between the Wordsmiths and the Elysians.

My nominees:

1. Shrinks

2. Ray

3. Stella

Questions for you beautiful people (and anyone who wants to answer, too!):

1. Why did you start writing?

2. What’s your favorite place in the entire universe?

3. What is your greatest dream?

4. What is your favorite book?

5. If you met God(dess), what would you tell Him/Her?

6. What is your favorite everyday ritual?

7. What do you take for granted?

8. Talk to someone you love about something important. This isn’t a question, but I think you should still do it. Here, I’ll throw in a question mark?

9. What is your favorite childhood memory?

10. What is the worst book/movie you have ever read/seen?

11. Do you love yourself? If not, look in the mirror and realize how beautiful/wonderful/spectacular you are.

Nominated for the Liebster Blog Award!

Lost Poetry Part 4

I like your nonsense
written in a nondescript hand on blank paper
where flowers bloom on dinner plates and dogs eat couch cushions.
I wish there was more of you, Stranger,
so that the world may not be so weak with illogic.
There are enough fires in this world to destroy the axis
and turn everything to dust and glittering stars.
And botched-out letters don’t seem so sad
when coupled with bad pickup lines.

Lost Poetry Part 4