Welcome to my ePortfolio!
I'm a third-year creative writing student at Vancouver Island University.
I'm the author of The Blood Bound Series, and a handful of published short stories.
My love of the wilderness extends to my writing, with the power of nature being a predominant theme found in all my books and stories.
My passion lies in the macabre. Dark fantasy and horror are the main focus of my craft.
I'm a third-year creative writing student at Vancouver Island University.
I'm the author of The Blood Bound Series, and a handful of published short stories.
My love of the wilderness extends to my writing, with the power of nature being a predominant theme found in all my books and stories.
My passion lies in the macabre. Dark fantasy and horror are the main focus of my craft.
Guilt
A short story 2022
Desperation devours him as the hunger creeps in.
The rolling agony of an empty pit within his belly reminds him that despite not being quite human, he still has human needs. Human needs he has monstrous ways of achieving.
The lakeside village he found himself in is blanketed with white. It is the first snow of the season, though the prelude of below-freezing temperatures warned everyone of its arrival. A quiet hush that always arrives with the first snow wraps itself around the perimeter. He wanders the fringes, tarnishing the fresh powder with his tracks.
He should not be here; he is a stain upon the purity of this place.
It has been twenty days since he last fed. His emaciated form can barely carry him, and yet instinct controls his movement. Despite his desire for death, his legs pull him along. With each step he sinks deeper into the accumulating snow. The nip of the cold does not penetrate his flesh; he is numb to those kinds of sensations. All he can feel is the twisting pain, the bellyache, the despair.
He does not want to eat. He cannot make himself.
As he senses light upon his pallid skin, he looks up to see he has unwittingly drawn himself closer to a home. Too close. A window greets him with bright glow from inside. The rich scent of cedar burning inside a hearth is enough to remind him of what he used to have. Once, in another life, he had a home too. It was filled with the laughter of children, and the love of his wife. It had been so full of life until he brought death to his own door. They would still be alive today if he hadn’t returned home after he was attacked. But like a runaway animal, he too returned where he knew food would be. He knows he will never smile again and wonders why he is not brave enough to die.
Raucous joy bursts from an open door. A woman steps out and releases a mutt from her home. The animal leaps into the snow and the powder explodes around it. As it trots with some difficulty in the cold white substance, it sniffs the air. Catching the scent of him, the dog looks at the creature standing beside its home. A warning bark ripples through the air, startling a flock of birds to soar from their perch.
“What is it, girl?” the woman asks.
The dog barks again.
“That’s enough. In.” She commands, pulling her cardigan around her body a little tighter to keep out the creeping chill. She looks around but does not see what lurks just beyond the corner.
The dog obeys; the door shuts.
He is cut off from that life. Momentarily he prides himself on his restraint. She seemed like a kind woman, perhaps a mother. Not that this has stopped him in the past.
With a mind of their own, his feet push him along. His body controls him for it knows what he needs. It does not care what his mind is begging for. He wants death. Not for those around him, not for the people who are unlucky enough to cross his path, but for himself.
A truck rumbles behind him. Headlights bathe the road with light, giving him a false sunrise. He has not seen one in many years but has considered allowing one to consume him. The truck comes to a stop. Rusted metal hinges signal a door opening.
“Hey fella, you’re in the middle of the road. You alright? Need a lift?” A kind voice. A voice belonging to a man who does not deserve his fate.
“Please,” he croaks.
“Well hop on in. The heat don’t work too well, but it’s better than out there.”
The creature’s body turns him around, driving him forward. Warmth slams into him as he gets inside the truck. Beside him now is a middle-aged man with a smile under his well-groomed beard.
“Name’s Karl. Where to, friend?”
He turns to look at Karl, who recoils when he sees the face of the monster beside him. He looks normal, and yet something is not quite right. It is as though he is dead, wearing the skin of someone living. A look of taut unease crosses Karl’s face. The blood always tastes better when it’s pumped full of adrenaline.
He raises a hand, fingers curled save for one. He points to the end of the road.
Karl puts the truck in drive and obeys. Karl no longer speaks; he is no longer a friendly person doing a good deed. He is a scared man, frightened of what sits next to him. Childhood terrors surface, the mind reels.
The fear fills the cab, he can smell it.
He does not want to eat. But he cannot stop himself.
Guilt consumes him as his belly fills.
The rolling agony of an empty pit within his belly reminds him that despite not being quite human, he still has human needs. Human needs he has monstrous ways of achieving.
The lakeside village he found himself in is blanketed with white. It is the first snow of the season, though the prelude of below-freezing temperatures warned everyone of its arrival. A quiet hush that always arrives with the first snow wraps itself around the perimeter. He wanders the fringes, tarnishing the fresh powder with his tracks.
He should not be here; he is a stain upon the purity of this place.
It has been twenty days since he last fed. His emaciated form can barely carry him, and yet instinct controls his movement. Despite his desire for death, his legs pull him along. With each step he sinks deeper into the accumulating snow. The nip of the cold does not penetrate his flesh; he is numb to those kinds of sensations. All he can feel is the twisting pain, the bellyache, the despair.
He does not want to eat. He cannot make himself.
As he senses light upon his pallid skin, he looks up to see he has unwittingly drawn himself closer to a home. Too close. A window greets him with bright glow from inside. The rich scent of cedar burning inside a hearth is enough to remind him of what he used to have. Once, in another life, he had a home too. It was filled with the laughter of children, and the love of his wife. It had been so full of life until he brought death to his own door. They would still be alive today if he hadn’t returned home after he was attacked. But like a runaway animal, he too returned where he knew food would be. He knows he will never smile again and wonders why he is not brave enough to die.
Raucous joy bursts from an open door. A woman steps out and releases a mutt from her home. The animal leaps into the snow and the powder explodes around it. As it trots with some difficulty in the cold white substance, it sniffs the air. Catching the scent of him, the dog looks at the creature standing beside its home. A warning bark ripples through the air, startling a flock of birds to soar from their perch.
“What is it, girl?” the woman asks.
The dog barks again.
“That’s enough. In.” She commands, pulling her cardigan around her body a little tighter to keep out the creeping chill. She looks around but does not see what lurks just beyond the corner.
The dog obeys; the door shuts.
He is cut off from that life. Momentarily he prides himself on his restraint. She seemed like a kind woman, perhaps a mother. Not that this has stopped him in the past.
With a mind of their own, his feet push him along. His body controls him for it knows what he needs. It does not care what his mind is begging for. He wants death. Not for those around him, not for the people who are unlucky enough to cross his path, but for himself.
A truck rumbles behind him. Headlights bathe the road with light, giving him a false sunrise. He has not seen one in many years but has considered allowing one to consume him. The truck comes to a stop. Rusted metal hinges signal a door opening.
“Hey fella, you’re in the middle of the road. You alright? Need a lift?” A kind voice. A voice belonging to a man who does not deserve his fate.
“Please,” he croaks.
“Well hop on in. The heat don’t work too well, but it’s better than out there.”
The creature’s body turns him around, driving him forward. Warmth slams into him as he gets inside the truck. Beside him now is a middle-aged man with a smile under his well-groomed beard.
“Name’s Karl. Where to, friend?”
He turns to look at Karl, who recoils when he sees the face of the monster beside him. He looks normal, and yet something is not quite right. It is as though he is dead, wearing the skin of someone living. A look of taut unease crosses Karl’s face. The blood always tastes better when it’s pumped full of adrenaline.
He raises a hand, fingers curled save for one. He points to the end of the road.
Karl puts the truck in drive and obeys. Karl no longer speaks; he is no longer a friendly person doing a good deed. He is a scared man, frightened of what sits next to him. Childhood terrors surface, the mind reels.
The fear fills the cab, he can smell it.
He does not want to eat. But he cannot stop himself.
Guilt consumes him as his belly fills.
Reflection
My journey has been unconventional.
Writing has always been part of my life. I enjoyed it in elementary school and throughout my high school years I devoured books, particularly fiction novels.
Having self-published two novels, I went down a path where I took on everything, and didn't really know what I was doing. During that process, I learned what I wanted to do; I would return to post secondary school and pursue Creative Writing.
Taking that leap allowed me to reconfigure my entire framework of how I looked at writing. Rather than exclusively long-form, I was able to understand the intricacies and beauty of short stories as well (found in my "Short Stories" tab). Since then, I have developed a love for the short story and had six of them published.
Understanding the elements I needed to work on and develop, while also learning new skills such as script writing, I gained the courage and belief in myself that what I wrote was worth reading. The series I began self-publishing has now been picked up by independent press Quill & Crow Publishing House.
All of this growth stemmed from putting in the time and effort into returning to university and pursuing my passion.
Writing has always been part of my life. I enjoyed it in elementary school and throughout my high school years I devoured books, particularly fiction novels.
Having self-published two novels, I went down a path where I took on everything, and didn't really know what I was doing. During that process, I learned what I wanted to do; I would return to post secondary school and pursue Creative Writing.
Taking that leap allowed me to reconfigure my entire framework of how I looked at writing. Rather than exclusively long-form, I was able to understand the intricacies and beauty of short stories as well (found in my "Short Stories" tab). Since then, I have developed a love for the short story and had six of them published.
Understanding the elements I needed to work on and develop, while also learning new skills such as script writing, I gained the courage and belief in myself that what I wrote was worth reading. The series I began self-publishing has now been picked up by independent press Quill & Crow Publishing House.
All of this growth stemmed from putting in the time and effort into returning to university and pursuing my passion.
Relevant Courses
Introduction to Publishing
In this course I was able to explore the tougher side of publishing. While my passion is with creative writing and storytelling, this was an important course. I learned the marketing side of the industry, diving into a full-scale plan on how to market one of my novels. It opened my eyes to just how hard I had to work in order to accomplish a successful book launch, from start to finish.
Grade: A+
Experimental and Speculative Fiction
This has been my favourite course to date. Combining elements of whimsy with the macabre, the required reading and assignments combined made for an invigorating experience that allowed me to expand my skillset. What I appreciated most from this course was the ability to push boundaries with content and style.
Grade: A+
In this course I was able to explore the tougher side of publishing. While my passion is with creative writing and storytelling, this was an important course. I learned the marketing side of the industry, diving into a full-scale plan on how to market one of my novels. It opened my eyes to just how hard I had to work in order to accomplish a successful book launch, from start to finish.
Grade: A+
Experimental and Speculative Fiction
This has been my favourite course to date. Combining elements of whimsy with the macabre, the required reading and assignments combined made for an invigorating experience that allowed me to expand my skillset. What I appreciated most from this course was the ability to push boundaries with content and style.
Grade: A+
