Drabble-Voodoo Doll and Evening Stroll


Two more hundred word stories. Enjoy!

The Voodoo Doll

I stick sharp pins into the soft flesh and will the figure’s body to suffer. Again and again, piercing the skin. Into the heart to cause sadness. Careful jabs and slices on the leg to force the figure to feel. To feel pain. To feel anything at all.

Damn you, feel something!

A carefully placed needle into a hand, into a finger. But the doll does not react.

Rows and rows of pins embedded now, sad soldiers marching into an unwinnable battle.

Now the doll bleeds! People will notice. They will rescue the doll.

They will stop me from cutting.


DownloadedFileEvening Stroll

She feels his presence before she spins around and catches him leering. Buckled brown teeth and an uneven gait. A mind riddled with evil. “Spare a dollar,” he says. How long before he kidnaps a child? Before he tortures her? Before the courts fail to prove his guilt and release him to act again? She approaches with feigned kindness, and drives her expensive pen into his left eye, then his throat. The face of her remembered attacker transforms to that of an innocent homeless man. She hides the pen in her purse, shrugs, and resumes her walk to yoga class.

For more fiction by Tracy, please visit her AMAZON PAGE.



Drabble-The Reunion

I recently learned about a writing type called Drabble. From what I hear, it’s a whole story in 100 words. For fun, I’ve been writing these. I think they will make nice placeholders for this blog, for when I don’t have any other big news to share. From now on, each Saturday will be Drabble Saturday. My first attempt is here, and made its debut on Hellnotes’ Horror in a Hundred page.  It’s a hair under 100 words. Enjoy! images


Thirty thousand dollars and four months out of work had been worth it. Her body was perfect. Breasts were round and big, tummy flat and tight. The surgeons added plastic to her cheeks, and shaved down her pointy chin. Teeth straight and white as piano keys. Those high school bitches would slit their wrists when they saw how she had transformed. She strutted toward the crowd, making eye contact with the adult children who’d made her life hell. SLAM. The city bus flattened her to a mound of surgical materials and shameful skin.