Havok Publishing

Tag - loss / grief

Island Palm

Green was her favorite color. Linzi used to call it the color of life. She was such an unusual child; she’d even begged to have the house shutters painted in Island Palm.
Now when I see green, it just reminds me of her death.
I sit next to the rain-splattered window, catching

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Magpie Boy

Go see a show, Lindsey. Get out of the house for one evening.

My neighbors like to give advice—some of it better than others.

How can I see a musical without Amaliah? That’s like betraying her memory. My fingers clench around Tico’s leash, and he looks up

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The Color Gold

The table was cold against my back.
“Mrs. Young, before we begin the Neurological Reinvigoration Process, we have to ask you some final questions.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Young, but we need you to give us verbal confirmation for all questions. Do you understand?”
I started to nod, then caught myself. “Y-yes.

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S2 Wacky Wednesday featured image (season 2)

The Pickle Jar

Rule one: never let anyone see you put the pickle jar back on the guardrail. Jaxa tugged on her black ninja shirt, which overlaid matching black pants and blended with her dark hair.
Rule two: look epic on every mission.
The still silence dragged at her heels as Jaxa fumbled out of her

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S2 Techno Tuesday featured image (season 2)


“It’s amazing,” I breathe, kneeling on the pavement. “Looks so real.”
“Adorable, isn’t he?” Mrs. Dawson smiles down at her hologram dog. “When Jack died, I didn’t know what to do with myself. But now…” Holo-Jack stands on his back legs and barks at me. I can almost feel the warmth

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S2 Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

The Candlemaker

Hot wax seared Asiya’s nostrils as she knelt before the candlemaker. She touched her face to the dirt, then lifted her gaze. “Alnisa hakim.” Wise woman. “I come to you today to ask that my candle be restored.”

Asiya held out her cupped hands, revealing a candle stump. Its thin tallow was

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S2 Mystery Monday featured image (season 2)

One New Message

My eyes are transfixed by the rhythmic pulse of the red blinking light. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
It calls out to me, signaling me to press the button. Daring me. Taunting me. But I can’t. Not yet.
The weight on my chest stills my breath and my hand.

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