Epiphany Moucka

“Weathering” by Epiphany Moucka

Submitted to Contest #280

Have you ever stopped and listened to the rain? I asked, looking over at you. Your blonde hair was tousled, your body covered by a striped blanket and a superman t-shirt. Long and lean and reminding me of a cirrus cloud that lay across the sky.  Of course I have, you replied in that sleepy voice of yours. The blue in your eyes was darkened by exhaustion. Who hasn’t?  I shrugged slightly. You’d be surprised, is all I said in reply. But what I meant was, You’d be surprised how much people miss because they aren’t paying attention. I ...

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“Requiem ” by Epiphany Moucka

Submitted to Contest #206

What if…  It wasn’t a Wednesday and it was a Monday instead. You’d be going to work as usual, driving in your car and looking at the early morning fog. The sun would be painting the sky a million shades of blue and purple, red and orange, pink and yellow. You would be thinking about how glorious it all was, a testament to God’s creation, and you wouldn’t receive a text from your dad. You would continue to drive to work in the quiet, cursing when a car passes you on the highway, day-dreaming about the dark coffee you would pour yourself...

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“A Letter to a Hurting Heart ” by Epiphany Moucka

Pain.  That’s what you left me with.  It was this overwhelming numb sensation. It started in my heart and spread to my gut. It started in my heart and spread into my brain. It didn’t stop, didn’t end, grew less little by little. You always said you were better with a bow, but that doesn’t explain the daggers in my stomach whenever I think of you. Doesn’t explain the scars you left in my heart, the way you slashed my trust to pieces and left it to blow in the wind. Going around in the empty space where you used to be.  Sp...

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“Echoes” by Epiphany Moucka

Authors Note - there are sensitive themes in this story that are paramount to the plot, descriptions of self harm, depression, stalking, alcholism, and sexual assault. If this triggers you or you aren't comfortable reading then please don't. Thanks, and enjoy;) Don't you remember? How my screams rang though the empty house, raw and horrible. Empty house, empty house, always empty. Where had all the family gone? Where had all the memories? What happened to the sunlight and laughter that filtered through the air, covering everyone in a warm...

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“Daisies” by Epiphany Moucka

You really dislike the daisies. It's spring now, a season that is usually happy for other people. The birds are back, chirping and building their nests. Trees and the ground are covered in fresh new growth. The flowers are starting to pop up and bloom, the snowdrops, dandelions, cherry blossoms, and those star-of-David's. It's the daisies that irritate you most. They're too cheerful, too gaudy in their white and yellow, pushing up through the cracks in concrete, ruining the sidewalk. You can't help but stomp on them every time you come acros...

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“Guilt” by Epiphany Moucka

Submitted to Contest #105

I stared down at their graves, my face felt blank. Emotions boiled underneath my skin as I gazed at the names carved into the stones. The ground was still freshly shovelled and wet. Steadily becoming soaked by the gray drizzle that was pouring down on me from the dark clouds above. I sniffed, wiping away a tear that was about to fall as I stared at the first grave. James Oliver Johnson, it began. Died at age 43, Husband of Anne Marie Johnson, father of Marina and Esme. He will be missed. A tear made its way down my cheek. The grave said almo...

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“Dear You” by Epiphany Moucka

Submitted to Contest #101

Dear You, I'm still mad at you. You should know that better than anyone. I inherited your temper and Dad's love for books and writing. You might wonder why I started my letter with 'Dear You' but you're smart, I got that from you, you'll be able to figure it out. I don't know if I'll be able to forgive you, and it's not like you'll write back or maybe even read this once you see the return address, but my shrink says that it'll be good for me, and Dad agreed. He doesn't talk about you, he's gotten really good at changing the subject. ...

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“A Last Meal” by Epiphany Moucka

Submitted to Contest #100

Necroth walked up the hill with his usual arrogant swagger. He was tall, handsome, with dark hair and eyes that were like black pits. His cloak fluttered in the wind, shifting between blacks and greys and screaming faces. The rest of his clothes were black, tunic, boots, breeches, he had the look of a man who would do evil with a will. He soon arrived at the top of the hill where a table, seemingly carved out of black stone, sat and was set with a meal fit for a king.There were roast foul and even a boar with a bright red apple in his mouth....

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