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Ashley Allen
Trespasser
I can't see the moon anymore. Soro is changing, his usually lithe frame expanding until he becomes part of the smoky night horizon. "Are you going to hurt anyone?" I ask, crying a little. "Not on purpose." He bends his head and tries to get in through the front door. I lean against it, but he'll find a way get in. He always does.
Hearty Strings
Aloys is a puppet. He told me to shut up last night after I screamed, having seen him walking without strings. He's sitting on the table now, staring at me with mournful eyes. "You're not sad." I say. "I'm not going to give you a hug." A tear slides down his cheek, but he is grinding his teeth. Before I can defend myself, he is tearing out my heart and making new puppet strings from my arteries.
Ashlie Allen writes fiction and poetry. She also enjoys photography. Her work has appeared in Literary Orphans,Vending Machine Press, Birds We Piled Loosely and others. She sometimes talks to ghosts when she's bored, or to other scary creatures, including herself.
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