Like wilted cucurbita flowers after a humid summer rain, Lola and Noelle held each other loosely listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing, and the streets of Barcelona below. Noelle concentrated on lighting a spliff, covering the flame with her cupped hand.
— (T. Vides-Araya, The Book I Never Wrote)
I staggered into the bathroom the next morning, my bladder threatening to burst. I had drunk way too much the night before, my eyes were still tightly closed, attempting to ward off the Crappe Diem threatening to seize my day. My foot hit an unfamiliar object. Did I dare open my eyes?
— (T. Vides- Araya, The Book I Never Wrote)

Scorpion At Dusk

The way you know me is through blood and iron. You watch as you slide a dagger right through my side. My blood drips from the hilt and spills onto you in hot crimson, yet the burn makes you more passionate with the desire to feed. To feed upon my wounds and drain the life and light from my spirit like a steely kiss from death.

Read More

Afterlife—Death

Even when I’m awake it can feel like the sun on my skin is unreal, like I’m stuck somewhere in the between—a place that I can’t get out of. But it’s just me against me, and when I look into the reflection of a storefront window, I recognize myself, but only barely.

Read More