the scribe

I wouldn’t call it a bribe
rather an incentivized persuasion

the chapters he’s writing
are getting old
I gave him an idea
to keep the story fresh

(I handed him
my version
of happily ever after)

that some pretty things
were tucked between pages
of my manuscript
is beside the point


© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved


I bore your shadow

I sit with your yawning shadow
(he’s growing weary of me)
he’s heard our story
a hundred times—
it always ends
with me being


© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

plot twist

within every story
lives another
where truth breathes

oft deliberate—
(white) lies are easier
to swallow

in time
may the brave
put their foot down

write anew


© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

dancing solo

I look for you in between the pages, like dried petals I keep in one of my favorite storybooks, except that the tale is not mine. I see you smiling, not at me, but at sentences stitched so sweetly they sugarcoat their way to you.

Beautiful words sway and twirl before pretty mirror, as they cast a passing glance at me: a reminder that I don’t belong here.

The music starts to play, but you’re still nowhere to be found—I dance alone, in the dark, just like I always did.


© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

perfecting a piece


For #vss365, ‘lyric’.

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

yours truly

Ralph took a seat on a wooden stool, pen and paper in hand. He had wanted to do this since last week, but being stationed so close behind enemy lines meant having to be constantly on his toes. They had many casualties last night; the worst since he was deployed here. Throughout the fight that lasted days, an image kept popping in his head, more often than ever.

“Dear Rachel,” he started scribbling. “I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. It’s been chaotic here for the past week. We lost Jim and Max; it was awful. One night we had to keep the camp pitch dark so that they can’t see us from afar, but thankfully the stars were out. There was one that was really bright; it reminded me of your eyes.”

He stopped to wipe his forehead with a sleeve of his uniform, before continuing: “I’ve thought about this since I got here. I did not say anything when we spoke on the phone the last time, because I thought I wanted to wait until I go home to you safely. But I’ve never been scared in my life as I was in the past week, and I was reminded that our life is short…”

The natural trumpet sounded, signalling the end of the break. Sighing, Ralph stared at the last line he wrote, debating if he should stay behind for a few more minutes to finish his sentence. It was then that the siren went off. Before he could make out what was going on, he saw half a dozen airplanes approaching, and the last thing that crossed his mind before he saw black was how he wished he had completed his letter to ask Rachel to marry him.


For April A to Z Challenge 2018. My theme: Music.

Y is for Yard – of trumpets, one of the three long straight component tubes of a natural trumpet. The modern term is Branch. The natural trumpet was used as a military instrument to facilitate communication (e.g. break camp, retreat, etc.).

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

my storyteller

We spend hours talking
late into the night
about history and stories
and life and dreams

he asks if I am tired
listening to these tales

I smile hoping
he’ll see it in my eyes:

each moment with him
is a blessing
I will savor every second
even long after he runs out
of stories to tell.


© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved


“Welcome to your new home.” A voice woke her—or was it the wind? Zeera was not sure. Slowly coming to her senses, she found herself sitting on a bed of magenta wildflowers in a meadow surrounded by dancing pine trees.

Standing up and getting oriented, she felt the cool ground beneath her feet, at the same time being aware of roots firmly yet ever so softly growing deep within. Above her, high up in the branches, songbirds trilled. Continue reading “home”