short story

My Poetry Story & a Poem for my Preschooler

When I started writing, I began with poetry. I felt things so deeply as a child, teenager and the words would roll off my fingertips in the most expressive way ever. It remains one of the best ways that I could create something from within, although I haven’t been doing it for about a decade. Recently I’ve been focusing on stories and hopefully I can complete a book to my satisfaction in the near future. The other day, my preschooler had this project where the parents were asked to write how special their child is to them. I felt it robotic and generic to say things like…(insert name) is special because she is a good kid or I love the fun we have together. I felt it meaningless coming from my mouth so as I was about to write it, these words came to me and they sort of rhymed. Two lines of this poem was taken from an old birthday card my parents gave to me and it had remained with me since so I’m just putting it out there that it’s not my own. I will make those words bold. 

To begin the day with your smile,
Is a treasure from above,
You’re our pride and joy and laughter,
You fill our hearts with love.
We love you from the tip of your nose,
To the tip of your toes,
And with each passing moment,
It’s a blessing to see you grow.
You make our lives more special,
With all your laughter and hugs,
You’ll always be our baby girl,
Our little cuddly bugs.

xo Coffee Doll. All rights reserved.


The Choice|A Vampire Short Story

She couldn’t be like her father. No, she wouldn’t be like her father.

She stared at the man who had stolen her heart from afar. She couldn’t bear the thought of Garth dying an old man, alone in his bed. Perhaps he’d have a family who’d look over his dying body with sorrow and regret as they prayed their last goodbyes.

Alva turned her face with disgust, at the thought of her love dying, at herself for becoming like the one person she loathed. Her father.

He created the monstrosity that she had become. The scent of blood drove her wild, the taste of it intoxicating and empowering. For centuries she hadn’t felt what it was like to be human, until Garth. He filled her with possessiveness and longing. It was a maddening feeling to have a mere human ignite woes of passion and fulfillment in a heart that was dead for three hundred years.

Balder Carr was cursed on the mountains of Eravar three hundred years ago. An abusive husband that eventually drove her mother to suicide, leaving her sweet babe in the arms of a ruthless man. Alva had thought it a gift from the gods when she was eighteen years old and he was dragged off by vicious animals in the night, leaving her cold and alone in the structure she knew as heimisgarðar.

But Balder returned a few days later to claim what was his. Her.

He had changed, but not by so much. He returned alive and stood robustly in the doorway. On his face a hunger she had never seen before. He was coming for her. Her body froze on the straw bed she had slept in since she was a child.

He pounced on her like the animals that had dragged him out of his bed in the night. Animals that stood like men with long teeth and cold hard faces.

He smelled of wet earth, of death when he pinned her down with the burliness of his body.

When her own flesh and blood sunk his teeth into her swollen veins, the heavens opened up in the sky and Alva saw all of creation. She barely gave a fight. Her pupils whitened and her body lay limp and she couldn’t move.

As she lay in a confused state of mind, she heard the voice of Balder loud and clear as if it were inside her own head.

“I will not live all of eternity without the only thing I love.”

Love? Balder Carr was a madman if he thought he loved her, if he thought he had a trace of fatherhood in him. Balder always believed he rightfully took whatever he took from her. Her laughter, her peace, her innocence. And now he drained the last drop of blood from her body as he waited for her rebirth.

Love. She never believed she meant anything to Balder Carr but now she wasn’t so sure as she stared at Garth from a distance.

His laughter reverberated in her ear. She was so connected to him that she felt his every movement with her heightened senses. And then she knew in her heart that Garth Collins had to become like her. She couldn’t bear eternity without him.

© Coffee Doll. All rights reserved.


Blind Date Gone Wrong|Short Story

I’m currently working on something in the romance genre and I’m slowly starting to feel disconnected from this story. There was an adrenaline rush when I outlined this book and I couldn’t wait to get started, now that I’m a few chapters in, I feel mehhh. Here’s a little excerpt from what I’ve done so far. And please leave some feedback, whether it’s positive or negative…I’d love to hear it. 

It came as no surprise to Nate that this little hole in the wall pub was crowded with everyone, from college students to married men looking for a quick hookup. But no one knew him here so he sat and nursed his beer in peace, occasionally peeping at his phone to see if Jimmy had messaged.

He cursed himself. Jimmy was eighteen, a man now, but Nate would never see him as that. He’d always be Nate’s innocent baby brother that needed him…his little Jimbo.


A velvety voice spoke near him and he craned his neck to the side. She had a face shaped like a heart and her green eyes searched him as if they knew him. She said something again as she hiked her short ample legs over the bar stool next to him.

He leaned in to her and caught a whiff of whatever fruity perfume she was wearing, coupled with also a comforting scent that Nate suspected was her own bodily fragrance. It was enticing.

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Ian…Ian Gable from the blind date app?”

She bit her lip, a nervous gesture causing Nate’s jaw to clench. Who was this girl and where did she come from? She certainly lacked the demeanor of the other women present at Sal’s Pub tonight.

He jerked his thumb upward and waved it. “The music’s loud, I didn’t get that.”

She leaned in this time, her round eyes sporting a hint of worry. And there was that unique fragrance again. He willed himself not to inhale so apparent. 

“I’m Shelby. We met on the blind date app. You said to look for a green scarf?”

His eyes dropped to the scarf draped around his neck then moved in on her again.

“Right. Shelby.”

Her work dress told Nate that she probably worked at some law firm, something nine to five that had extensive overtime hours. Nate couldn’t fathom a job like that.

He continued to stare and caught her unease. With a flick of his wrist, the bartender moved towards them and Shelby ordered a drink. Nate half grinned. She ordered a club soda with a slice of lemon.

“You know you’re at a bar right?”

Her head whipped to the side but she didn’t make eye contact. Nate found he didn’t like that at all. Normally women were vying for his attention. Such an arrogant prick, he knew.

“I uh — don’t drink that much.”

“What do you mean by that much?”

She turned sideways by an inch to answer him and he mirrored her move.

“I drink a little champagne here and there.”

She shrugged.

Nate deciphered as much. Miss Shelby to his right was probably raised in a strict Catholic home, who probably attended an all girl boarding school, whose parents were probably filthy rich and she probably didn’t have to work hard a day in her life for anything.
Suddenly his mood soured yet he couldn’t fault the girl for her upbringing.

“I’m sorry but I have to ask,” she carried on, searching his face with her lovely emerald green eyes. “How it is that a guy like you uses a blind date app to find a date….I mean somebody would have to be blind not to date you.”

She sheepishly averted her eyes then giggled nervously. She came of as a bit of a goof that Nate had to laugh as well.

What’d she call him? Ian. He was not Ian. He was just bored, and entertained by the blind date app user.

“Why’d you use it? I’m sure you have no problem getting dates yourself?” he goaded, curious to know why Miss Shelby here thought she needed to use a silly app to get a date.

He swallowed the rest of  the bitter liquid from his glass and flicked his wrist at Franco, the bartender who nodded.

“Hey Franco,” he called. “Do you have any champagne in this shit hole?”

Franco looked from him to Shelby then nodded again. 

“My co-worker Kelly actually accepted your friend request.”

“Ah so it’s Kelly that should’ve been here tonight,” he joked noting that she deflected his question.

She frowned for a brief moment then a false smile spread it’s way on her lips.

“Perhaps,” she murmured.

Perched on the bar stool, she stared at her palms waiting for him to say something. Of course he should say something. This was a date–for her.

“So Shelby, what is it that you do when you’re not using this blind app thing?”

“I thought I told you that in our chat. I work down at the Sandgate City Youth Center, I’m a substance abuse counselor.”

Interesting, he thought.

“How has teaching been going for you?” she asked.

Nate choked. If only she knew what he did for a living.

He could just envision the appalled look on this naïve substance abuse counselor’s face. Who in the world accepts a date with a man she’s never seen on a freaking app of all places? Something told Nate that her intelligence stopped where her payed for education stopped.

Yet he couldn’t help himself tonight. Well, at least until she figured he wasn’t Ian and poured her drink in his face.

“Teaching,” he sighed. “You know how it is with kids…tiring.”

“Kids? But you teach university…you barely look thirty yourself.”

“I’m an old soul…what can I say?”

He flashed his winning grin and felt a slight victory when her thighs clenched. His lie was a good save. Naive. That’s what she was.

Elena Stark © All rights reserved.

A Mother’s Valentine(Short Story)

With a slouched stance, I look around the sitting room and let out a hoarse groan. Everything, everywhere. I lift my hand slowly with the intention of aggressively yanking out a few strands of hair but I made a fist instead.

I slumped into the rocking chair and a frustrated cry erupted from my throat. I lift my thigh and find a single pink lego. Those things are weapons. My feet and buttocks can attest to that.

One child is busy making a mess of the dominoes pieces, and I let her, because as a parent, you need to choose your battles. The other is singing, or dancing or, I just don’t know. All I know is, she’s moving around and it makes me dizzy and I also can’t hear myself think.

From the corner of my eyes, I see him swing the broom out of its usual dusty corner. He doesn’t have to but he does it anyway. We’re partners, equal halves. Although I feel like he bears most of the weight, I get treated like a more delicate half.

He sighs and looks at me before dragging the broom across the hardwood floor. “Honey, why don’t you take one child and go to the mall today? I’ll clean up around here.”

And my heart leaps.

I also feel this ball of guilt straining against my breastbone.

He doesn’t have to do all of this, for me.

Something he taught me, makes me jump at the opportunity to get out of the house for a short while. I didn’t always have an easy time accepting my husband’s kindness until I understood that he respected me as deeply as he loved me. He’s not as good with words as I am, but his actions speaks volumes.

© Coffee Doll All Rights Reserved


A Day in the Life of a Diabetic Part 2

It’s seven a.m. and I’m faced with a dilemma. To eat or not to eat. I roll of the bed and start moving around. I look at the clock and it’s suddenly 7:18 a.m. I accomplish nothing important in eighteen minutes.

I’m thinking again, do I have a cup of coffee or do I risk a dizzy spell and get my preschooler to school early. I could never be one of those sprightly morning people, yet I do love getting things done early. My day seems to fit better.

I decide against the coffee before school drop off, and wake my four year old. I duck into the kitchen to warm milk for the baby before I wake her up. It saves me some wailing if it’s ready and waiting when she wakes up. I walk back into the kids’ bedroom and my firstborn is still fast asleep, ignoring my soft voice telling her it’s time to get ready for school.

I’m astonished that I’m not yet falling apart as I’ve had about three hours rest the night before. The younger child is totally unpredictable and it often weighs on my sanity. My body is moving around briskly and efficiently this morning, and I don’t want to think too hard of it in fear I jinx myself.

Twenty minutes until we leave the house and one child is half ready. My stomach isn’t churning which I’m grateful for and I have the energy of someone two hours before bedtime.

I’m usually perspiring at this time and tend to under-dress even though it’s below zero outside. It’s a windy morning and I don’t wear any extra clothing underneath my coat. I load everyone up in the double stroller and proceed to the preschool which stands a couple blocks from our house. I skid quite a bit this morning. Four days ago we had a snow day and as per usual, the lackadaisical residents of my city don’t shovel snow the way it’s suppose to be shoveled.

My hand is both numb and burning from the iciness in the air. The baby starts crying as the icy wind cuts into her delicate face and hands. I’ve tried to keep gloves on her but to no avail, she keeps ripping them off. Most days I don’t realize because I’m focused on the journey to and from school.

There’s four flights of stairs to climb, with a twenty-five pound toddler on one arm. I sigh and curse the day I signed my child up for this school. There is an elevator, which is only used for kitchen services. Humans with their own free will still take it, as do I on days that I physically can’t make the stairs. But there’s a woman at the school, a villain in my day. I dread running into her because I sometimes wish to use the elevator but she flies into my face and it reminds me of a bat opening it’s wings. Then she spews her venom and accuse me of not understanding a basic sign in English.

I want to retaliate in my best vocabulary and irritated tone but I decide against arguing with fools in a children’s environment. She isn’t worth my effort, especially when it’s taking me all of my will power and physicality to stay standing at this point. I hurriedly lead my child to her classroom and want to shout, “Yay!” Half of the hassle is over with. Now to descend those vicious stairs in which I fear my toddler will catapult into the air.

I huff and I puff and make my way down the stairs with my wriggling toddler sitting on my burning forearm. I can feel the heat emanating from my body and being trapped beneath my jacket. My hairline is slightly drenched and I wish to be out in the open where it’s cold. The heat of my body makes me want to pass out.

When I open the door to exit the school, the biting coldness makes it’s way through my skull and my brain stops for a split second. My eyes can’t focus on any one thing for too long. I tell myself, one way home, no detours. Coffee, breakfast and medicines.


© Coffee Doll All Rights Reserved



Day in the Life of a Diabetic Part 1

The alarm goes off and I groan softly, dreading the energy that my body needs to muster in order to lift myself off the bed. I swipe my phone screen to check the time and I realize I have fifteen more minutes before actual wake time.

“Ah,” my inner voice sounds pleased, “The Universe is on my side today.”

I let my head fall to the pillow once more and fifteen minutes feels like fifteen seconds.

“Oh alright,” I groan, swinging my half-sleeping legs across the edge of the bed. Eyes burning and heavy, I move my feet around and slip them into my fuzzy slippers. It’s a cold morning, just like the morning before and the one before that. And I wonder the same thing that I do everyday. Is the heat even on?

I hear a soft whimper coming from the baby’s crib. I want to go and check on her, and bring a hot cup of milk to her. Morning milk is a baby’s coffee, truly. The little creatures scream frantically until it’s brought to them. There is a small window in which I walk past her bed to get her cup of milk where her soft whimpers transitions into a wail.

I’m fatigued, after a night’s rest. My stomach is lurching in all directions and I feel something that resembles a dizzy spell. I take two steps in the direction of the baby then stop myself. I need to relieve my bladder of the painful pressure, for if I don’t, I might have an accident.

After relieving myself, I want to quickly rush into the kitchen for that cup of milk for my crying lamb but I need my eyes. No, not the ones in my head. The ones that help the ones in my head see. A piece of plastic, worth more than a month’s grocery and also worth my vision. I need it to show me a definition of what I hold in my hand, of where I’m going. Every morning when I put it on, I decide this piece of plastic brings more value to me than any piece of jewelry ever can.

Note: I originally planned to do a post on a diabetic’s struggles from day to day, somehow it ended up like this….to be continued…

xo Coffee Doll


An Excerpt from Trapped:A Zombie Short Story/2

Another copy and paste from an unfinished story…thought I’d share since it was just sitting there in my archives…

xo Coffee Doll


I heard the sounds of shuffled footsteps and loud thuds outside the door. My hair plastered to my forehead with perspiration. The back of my t-shirt, wet, clinging to my body and my fear increasing as the sounds grew closer. What was it that I was so afraid of? My parents had managed to protect me and my brother from these monsters for nearly two months, they would succeed today too. In that moment, I was certain that I would walk out of this closet alive. It felt like I had been standing in there for hours.

I closed my eyes when I smelled my mother’s faint perfume scent on her clothes. I was standing so tight among the clothes, my sweat had begun to drench through a few of my mother’s blouses.

I opened my eyes. There was a bang on the door. I realized I was also scared of not being able to defend myself. I had never even hit a monster before, let alone kill it. Some people called them zombies, but I always thought zombies were decaying dead people. These stone colored monsters were far from dead in my opinion. Being a few feet away from them, inhaling their stench, they felt very much alive.



An Excerpt from Trapped: A Zombie Short Story/1

This is a short story that I started working on sometime in 2016…I haven’t completed it as yet but I thought I’d share a slice of it.


I felt a pang of guilt as I wished death upon my father. What kind of a son does that? But then again, this world wasn’t a world anymore. It was a graveyard of roaming monsters controlled by an unseen force. I kept my eyes closed and prayed that Alex had kept himself locked in the attic. Instinct kicked in and I forged a plan in my head. We would wait this out, until our parents were nothing but a pile of bloody bones and then we would run, as far as our legs could take us. If Alex hadn’t kept his mouth shut, I hoped with all my might that he would’ve gone quickly. It’s not the death that scared us. It was the pain of it.


xo Coffee Doll