My Collection of Short Stories and Poems

So, I don't just write novels. I write short stories and Poetry as well.
I gathered them up for you all and that is what this new Movella is for. To have all my short stories and poetry all on one place.
Tell me which are your favorite and I will make sure to write more like those.
Thank you! :)


22. The Red Dream Catcher Inside. (Poem)

The Red Dream Catcher Inside.


There is this girl in my grade.

She seems pretty happy,

always speaking her mind

and saying things to make people laugh.

She always has her homework finished,

and I just wish I had the clothes that she wears every day:

Short shorts give the impression her legs are perfectly shaped.

Shirts that alternate between sleeveless and transparent,

because she doesn’t care about what shows underneath.

She is just that confident with herself.

And she isn’t the typical popular kid either.

Not like in the movies.

I only ever see her with a few select others.

I guess that’s the reason we never spoke before this.

I never wanted to upset the status quo.

She has a locker at the end of the hallway,

the last senior locker at the very, far end.

When I walk by her after my lunch period, that is where she stands,

the uneven locker door pushed open and her standing in its path.

I like to look at all the stuff inside this locker

when I happen to walk by it every day at this time:

The books are stacked neatly on the top shelf, size ordered and alphabetical.

A dream catcher hangs from a tiny loop of string at the top upon a metal hook,

The bright red of this dream catcher reminds me of the color of blood freshly spilled.


The jacket she wears today is black,

a striped, green shirt underneath.

This is the first I have seen her with her arms covered.

I miss those arms, really.

I couldn’t tell you why…  

She is at the same spot she always is after my lunch period ends,

standing at her locker.

She is just standing there though 

as she is looking at the people around her.

She is watching them all as if plotting something in her head.

I can see it on her face.

She is thinking about something,

something that is bothering her.

I can’t tell what that is.

It is any of my business really.


There are signs showing up on all the senior lockers now.

It is nearing the end of the year,

and it is tradition to put a sign up like this,

showing what college they are all planning to go to in the coming fall.

One is empty though.

When she opens her locker, I notice this.

There is no sign on hers.

Her locker is blank.

I wonder why that is…


The layers she is continuing to cover herself seem to be getting bigger,

as if she is trying to hide herself from the world.

I watch her scratch herself,

As she stands at her locker,

mostly her wrists and thighs.

She sometimes scratches her stomach,

but that isn’t as often as the others.  

Watching her do this compels me to do the same act of scratching to my arm as well.

Stupid cat and his sharp, razor- like claws.

Her locker is still blank

and she smiles every time she opens it,

yet she doesn’t seem happy when she smiles.

This isn’t a smile of happiness and joy.

She smiles as if she is ready for something.

But for what?


Her oversized jacket slipped a bit off her shoulder today.

I caught a glimpse of that hidden beauty underneath.

The bones in her shoulder reminded me of the dogs on animal planet,

neglected of food and water.

The bags under her eyes,

they fill her face now with a darkness I have never seen.

She doesn’t talk anymore.

She doesn’t even open her locker when I pass her at lunch.

She just stands there,

Staring deeper and deeper into the emptiness that she sees as her future.


She wasn’t at school today.

Her locker was empty of its contents when a janitor came by after my lunch period.

Her locker was the same as she was now.





I haven’t forgotten her though.


There was this girl in my grade.

She seemed pretty happy.

I guess that wasn’t the case.




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