Mother – A Vampire Vignette

Mother – Stories of the Raven Queen

By J. Lynne Moore

Waking from cryo-stasis BrayLynn Masters was disoriented and felt sick. As reality came into focus, his mind cleared and he began to remember his mission. BrayLynn slowly climbed out of the cryo-tube and headed for the recovery kit. As the recovery cocktail entered his veins his body began to burn, his heart raced, his mind was on fine. His last conscious thought was…

“This is not right, I’m dying…”

BrayLynn could hear nothing, see nothing, he couldn’t move, but…he realized he was hungry…not hungry…ravenous…it was overwhelming.

“What is happening?!?”

Finally, BrayLynn heard a sickly sweet voice.

“Get up child, you are born anew.”

Suddenly able to open his eyes, he was shocked to see before him, sat an old woman, or was she…. her silver hair was turning raven black and her wrinkled skin was giving way to porcelain. This made no sense, he was alone on the ship.

She came close… almost hovering over him…

Before he knew what he was doing BrayLynn grabbed the woman and sunk his teeth, viciously into her neck.

“Yes my child drink deep, I am now your…Mother.”

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

I Write

I Write

By J. Lynne Moore

Sleep would be nice,
But I have something to say;
My pen won’t stop,
Can’t Keep the words at bay.

Neither the Sun nor Moon,
Or stars so bright,
Can stop my thoughts,
From dancing as I write.

Braiding words back and forth,
Brings infinite pleasure;
One word after another,
Each stanza a new treasure.

Poem after poem,
Each tells its own story.
Some speak of sadness,
Others sing of glory.

So here I still sit,
and continue to write;
Another poem in the books,
So now I can say good-night.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

Charcoal Soul

Charcoal Soul

By J.Lynne Moore

In the shadows,
Where she lives,
No one knows,
The joy it gives.

The echoes bounce,
And speak her name;
This is her favorite,
Lonely game.

No more longing,
For an earthly touch;
She has no use,
For the lover’s crutch.

The passage of time,
Has no hold,
On her charcoal soul,
In the face of death, so bold.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved