Micah Park Biffle

Unopened Letters  He struck up a match and lit the candle that sat upon his desk. Upon the candles embrace of the flame he blew out the match and watched the smoke fade. His face shifted in the dancing light, one might say it skewed the truth. He then looked around his small cottage and began to check the doors and windows; ensuring they are sealed shut. His walk is slightly subdued by his lame leg. Injured from an harrowing event; but he dares speak of it. He prefers the ever echoing silence of the memory. Never giving more than a glimpse to others to ignore his disabled leg. After checking his very limited perimeter he walks over to his fire place. He leans over a small pile of logs as he adjusts his leg to adhere to his desired posture. He then grabs a log in one hand and chucks it into the middle of the fire place. He then reaches for another and another, he then alters their position. Allowing them to be more feasible to the igniting of flames. Once the logs are s...

No Longer The Hollow Doll She is no longer the hollow doll that sat upon her shelf. Those tired eyes that caved with empty darkness no longer curse her. She sits no more lonely in the corners of her room. Fidgeting at the strands of her hair. She now lathers her mane in the warmth of water and wondrous grace of castile. Her eyes glow with the brilliance of candy apple green. Her lips coated now in the blush of red. She wears her shoulders with confidence. Her chest swells with wind as each breath is inhaled with courage, as well as exhaled in spirit. Her skin is no longer the complexion of a paled witch. Nor does it flake of the dead as if to be the home of the deceased. It no longer crawls with irritation of pestering itch. It holds now an amber haze, it glistens in under the sun as it is kissed by rain. It lives upon her as if she is held by a god of bronze. Her walk no longer swamped in the eager thoughts of meekness. Her strides reach with perfect poise. Each step peel...