#ww470 #30days Never Ending Light

Waiting for night’s rest became useless about a year ago.

To be honest, I’m not sure my existence here is proof that I am alive. I could be in some sort of Purgatory. Food and water tends to be whatever I find on this island, and the cave I use for rest is warm–though strangely empty of inhabitants I would expect in a dark place in the wild.

But no one else and nothing else living beyond plants exists here. The sun never fully rises or sets. It hovers, as if time itself is waiting for something.

I remember life before the here that is now.

I remember falling asleep at night, waking up to go to campus for a meeting, and seeing/feeling heat as if the sun itself had landed in the middle of town. I remember the crush of debris and white-hot air as the megaton warhead exploded and my skin began to boil–then there was here.



They Do Return #ww470 #30days

Version 3

Ever feel like you’ve slept a bit too long, like you’ve been missing out on what’s going on around you because you’ve overslept and you missed a meeting? or you missed a party or two because you snoozed past the hour you thought you would take before driving over to your friend’s house?  Ever feel like you were missing a day or two, or even a year?  Did you think you were a year older than you were, or a year younger, only to discover you were telling everyone the wrong age by accident?

Do you find yourself awake and driving around while everyone else is asleep, possibly losing work hours due to exhaustion from lack of sleep?

Do you wonder why you keep seeing the moon larger than normal, almost like a supermoon?

Do you find yourself trying to forget the object you saw that could not have been a plane or a helicopter–that thing that followed you as you raced towards the city?

Do you wonder why you keep seeing scratches in odd places on your flesh, or sore spots without scars or redness–just a slight tenderness?

Did you fear the sight of lightbulbs or bathroom tile as a child? Do you still take pause at the reflection of tile as you sit in your tub at night?

Are you finding yourself dreading the next late night drive on the turnpike surrounded by forests that remind you of a moment when you first noticed lost minutes or hours?

They do return.

Fire Seat #ww470 #30days

A festering cloud of death magic awaited the newly crowned Queen of Phorzhicoa, but this was not a surprise nor even unwelcome to one who descended from a House of watchers known to murder rivals and render prey into hollowed out echoes of humanity.  She wore her power like diamonds and it glowed beneath her dark brown skin like magma.  The Ruler of the Phorzhicoa kept relative peace among the nine houses and hundreds of clans branching out from each house from her throne, or as it was commonly known, the Fire Seat, an ascension that would surely lead to certain death by its occupant because of the necessity of the ruler’s perpetual connection with the Watcher God Hoomudl in constant pulse, which in turn flowed out to watchers like manna.  Thus, the life force that kept her people alive was also the death magic that would eventually consume her.  The draw of the Fire Seat had to surpass the will to live, an appeal that was irresistible. Desire that would draw a queen who believe herself powerful enough to stave off death itself, even if it cost the lives of her own people or worse, anger the God who filled her body with energy.

To the people, Hoomudl was the breath of life that allowed them to feed and thrive. To her, He was an alien who needed to be unmasked and drained.

Revenant #30days #ww470

It was cold to his fingers when he touched the edges of the canister.

He expected to see a candle when he crouched to the ground to pick it up, but no, it was a free standing flame inside a lattice patterned canister in the middle of the park at night. The flame seemed to dance back and forth as he picked up the metal frame as if to speak to him. He looked at his German Shepherd companion keeping him company during his night walk and noticed the hair flailing out from his tail as he slowly backed away as if in silent alarm. The man returned the light to the ground and also began to back away, suddenly feeling dizzy and slightly panicked. The light began to ascend from its cage like a firefly and inch its way toward the man and his dog as they turned back to the narrow path towards home. Both wind and feet rustled through the forest as they fled from uncontrolled flames that now consumed dry branches and leaves left in their wake.

Food porn #ww470 #30days

Phorzhicoa is a dangerous, (and outlawed) underground collective dedicated to Hoomudl, God of the Watchers.


I am addicted to watching people eat.

My name is Sara to those who still know me outside of the collective. My Watcher siblings have yet to name me, for I am still young as a feeder, and my talents have yet to emerge beyond mere gazing. I work among normal people, dress and talk like them, and even work like them. It just so happens I tend bar at a restaurant in a quiet residential area at the edge of the city near a small college. Most of the customers believe me to be a student earning money for books and rent, so my tips help to keep me afloat in the outside world. But it is here where I find myself drifting into a moist cloud desire as my watcher eyes peek out towards the busy lunch crowd chatting over savory bites of curried cauliflower and shrimp dripping red with spice and tomato. I sometimes forget I am at work as my other self drifts from table to table tasting each aura as each human mouth consumes food and drink while talking and laughing. I taste other desires emerging from their bodies, other emotions….sometimes I forget. Until ……

I snap back to wiping down the bar, sensing rather seeing someone watching me as I feed. His eyes remain frozen on me like a lion watching a gazelle. Perhaps another Watcher? Probably not. More likely a witch than a hunter.

Watchers are not the only predators with a need to feed in these days of shadows.

#ww470 #30days Begins Tomorrow for my Writing for the Web class!

And I will be joining my students in this venture!

Join in with the hashtags #ww470 #30days by publishing a blog post each day from February 1 through March 2 with a minimum word count of 200 words — any topic, any type of writing. Look for new flash fiction from me, as well as poetry and nonfiction. Share it on your social media outlets and invite your friends and family to join us!


by Cherie Ann Turpin Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

trigger-warning:  50 years of rape culture/slut-shaming/misogyny/misogynoir that cannot fit into a tweet for the Washington Post
I can tell you what happened to me at Clark College when my first sexual contact with a man was being raped twice by a Morehouse athlete who thought he was scoring a new girlfriend

I can tell you about being plied with alcohol, then raped and threatened by a male roommate–then slut-shamed for it

I can tell you about the time a man giving me a ride to MARTA in Atl forced a kiss on me

I can tell you about being slut-shamed by a female relative who told my family I was a whore

I can tell you about the time five men followed me in Atl from bus to MARTA to bus with clear intent to gang-rape me–I rode that bus to the end of line and my flashpass kept me on that bus and they ended up stranded when I rode back to my stop

I can tell you about being sexually harassed–twice–by adjunct professors when I was an undergrad at UDC

I can tell you about being catcalled by a bunch of “bros” driving past me as I walked to meet new classmates at a pub in Burlington VT

I can tell you about being stalked and slut-shamed by the same person in grad school

I can tell you about being followed home by a man in a van in the middle of winter on a back road when I was at UConn

I can tell you about having my nipple bitten without consent by a man at a club while dancing–he did permanent damage and he smiled before I hit him back

I can tell you about being approached and catcalled by a man while walking in my corporate suit to a campus interview for a professor position at UDC

I can tell you about being stalked by some unknown man during my first year as a professor who thought it was okay to send flowers to my office and my classroom

I can tell you about being followed and secretly photographed by a fellow grad student in Saas-Fee for the purpose of slut/size/race shaming me by sharing his “art” with the other grad students on a dvd

I can tell you about being followed by a lurking man when I walked home from campus–and waited for me to walk towards my apartment, till he saw me with security

I can tell you that despite the scars from these cuts and gouges

my self-worth
my sexuality
my humanity
my womanhood
my spirit
my jouissance
my grace



October 10, 2016

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.