Tag Archives: death

Writers Quote Wednesday – REBIRTH

15 Jun

It’s the middle of the week and that means it’s time for Writers Quote Wednesday. Today’s prompt word/theme was chosen by Colleen Chesebro of Silver Threading. The word is Rebirth. When I first read the prompt I thought, ‘What the heck am I going to do with this word?’ Then I thought of vampires. After all, they do die and are reborn into their new nightly form, but I had already used vampire for Haiku Friday

I think we have all heard stories of people who were pronounced dead for a few minutes and then were brought back. I’m intrigued by these stories of people who died and claim to have had a glimpse of the afterlife, so I’ve decided to share some of the more bizarre tales of people coming back from the dead.

Kevin Santos, Brazilian Boy Pronounced Dead, Briefly Resurrected To Ask For Water . . . 

Little Kelvin Santos, 2, died a couple of weeks ago — or so his parents were told — while being treated for pneumonia. The child’s devastated family held a wake through the night. Then, an hour before the funeral was to begin, Kelvin sat up in his open coffin, and said, “Daddy, can I have some water?”


Dead Man Wakes Up In His Grave in Yemen

A 65-year-old heart attack victim in Yemen had been washed and wrapped in special cloth, according to Muslim tradition. Mourners had placed him in his grave, and were preparing to cover him with dirt, when the man suddenly came to. He was not amused.


Chinese Woman, 95, Comes Back to Life . . . 

Two weeks after falling and suffering a head injury, Li Xiufeng, 95, was found lying motionless in her home by a neighbor. The friend couldn’t wake her up. She was placed in a coffin and, according to local custom, was supposed to rest there for several days before the funeral. A day before the burial, her neighbor went to check on the coffin, and Li was gone.


Dead Man Wakes Up During His Own Autopsy

A Venezuelan man, Carlos Camejo, was declared dead after a highway accident in 2007. Before his wife could arrive to identify the body, medical examiners began an autopsy. Camejo who had been declared dead woke up in the morgue in excruciating pain after medical examiners began an autopsy.


When I Died and Came Back, I Left Something on the Other Side

Guido is my 75-year-old family friend. He’s been a lot of things in his life—a vigilante, a medicine man, a world-renowned visual artist. He would come over to my parents’ house when I was a kid with a loaded pistol in the waistband of his shorts. He used to live in Guatemala but recently moved off his land to chill out in Arizona. I went to visit him, and he told me about the time he died.


To Heaven and Back

While in the coma, Julie had been given a glimpse of heaven.

My journey begins

I sail black waves through soft mists

Paid the ferry man

His bony arms row the boat

To my final resting place

“You know Americans are obsessed with life and death and rebirth, that’s the American Cycle. You know, awakening, tragic, horrible death and then Phoenix rising from the ashes. That’s the American story, again and again.”

~Billy Corgan

Writers Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge is sponsored by Colleen Chesebro of Silver Threading and Ronovan Hester of Ronovan Writes. Anyone can participate by choosing a quote by a favorite writer then, write a short piece of flash fiction or poetry to share with us all. You can include photos, photo quotes, or anything else that helps to highlight your quote. Have fun with it! This week’s theme chosen by Ronovan is REBIRTH.

Risky Issues and Lorraine Reguly

4 Sep




It is my pleasure to present to you today a fellow writer and blogger Lorraine Reguly.



Author Lorraine Reguly


Risky Issues by Lorraine Reguly serves a very necessary and worthwhile function; it opens the door to conversation. We all know that children and teens these days face intense and tragic challenges, and we all know that these same youngsters have a tendency to keep it all inside (sometimes threatened by the people who prey on them). Caught up in the silent web of pain, lies and deceit, kids will often make bad decisions, while if they had been able to discuss the issues and get some rational feedback, they could often see things in a different light and rise above the challenges to create happy, successful lives for themselves. This book could make the difference. A survivor of abuse herself, Reguly has seen all sides of this experience and brings her hard-won wisdom to bear. All her stories reflect the heartbreaking emotion faced by so many children today, and all bring them to a crossroads where they can turn away from abuse and turn toward freedom and wholeness. This slim collection of stories could easily be the lifeline that saves a child from the mire, a slender thread to lead them from the darkness. Read it. Share it. Talk about it. The conversation starts here. ~ Melissa Bowersock, Award-Winning Author

Lorraine Reguly

Author Lorraine Reguly

In her words . . . 

There is no doubt about it: fiction often mimics reality. Because of this, some of the stories in Risky Issues – although fictional – are based on real events. The first story, The Secrets of the Study, is about a girl who enters her father’s study to get some blank printer paper but instead finds papers that reveal she is adopted. To compound things, her father catches her… The second story, Pamela in the Park, is about a teenage girl who is out past curfew and is supposed to meet a temperamental drug dealer in the park to give him back some drugs she was holding for him. He doesn’t show up, but a policeman does… The third story, The Day Adam Saw Red, is about sexual abuse. Adam, a victim, gives a speech to his class about this topic, and then goes outside to sit under an oak tree to ponder his dire situation, as his speech was a masked cry for help. He is befriended by the school custodian, who is thought to be “creepy” but who takes the time to speak to him to help solve his problem… In the final story, My Best Friend, a young girl finds out that her Grandma’s dog died. She thinks of Snoopy as her own, and is devastated… The reason I have decided to share these stories with the world is to help spread awareness about some of the issues that children, teens, and even young adults may struggle with, including – and especially – the issue of sexual abuse. I am a rape survivor. I was raped when I was a fourteen-year-old virgin by a man over twice my age. I also told no one about this experience for years, as I didn’t know who to turn to, and it wasn’t until I became an adult that I sought counselling. I also had a male friend who, as a child, was molested by his stepfather for years. Unfortunately for my friend, the outcome was quite different from the one in The Day Adam Saw Red. It is my hope that those who are in similar situations can find the strength and the courage to speak out about their fears and experiences instead of holding their secrets inside – whatever these secrets or issues may be. It’s tough enough being a child, but being a child with no one to speak to is even harder. Let’s change that. Now.

author lorraine reguly

Lorraine Reguly

Q & A with Lorraine Reguly 

  1. What inspired you to write the short stories in Risky Issues? 


I actually wrote all four stories found in Risky Issues for a creative writing course. I had written them by hand, typed them up, and then converted them into an eBook. Of course, I did a bit of rewriting and editing before I released them to the world, based on the valuable feedback I received from my beta readers. The only one I did not change was the bonus story, as it was published as a blog post on one of my websites, and still can be found at http://wordingwell.com/my-best-friend/.



  1. Is the eBook, Risky Issues, based on real life stories or is it a fiction?


Risky Issues is comprised of four stories. Of the three fictional stories, two are very much reality-based. The bonus story is one hundred percent true, while the basis for the third story stems from the life of one my best friend who was abused by his stepfather each time his mother went to Bingo. Unfortunately, my friend was alienated from his mother when he told her of the abuse… which he, sadly, didn’t reveal for years. When he did, his mother did not believe him.


The stories in my book have “happy” endings, though. I wanted to present these serious issues in as positive a light as possible.


  1. Have you or someone close to you ever abused drugs or been abused?


This is a loaded question. I’ve known many people who’ve both been abused – physically, sexually, emotionally – and have been a victim of all types of abuse, too.


I’ve also known numerous people who have abused drugs, and I’ve abused drugs, too. Ironically, I used drugs in an attempt to deal with sexual abuse I suffered when I was raped. (I was 14 years old, and a virgin at the time. I also told no one about my rape for years.)


  1. Did someone close to you die recently?


Luckily, I’ve not lost any friends or relatives to death for a few years, with the exception of a few family pets.


  1. Are these stories for teens or for parents/adults?


These stories are for everyone, really… teens, tweens, young adults, and even parents or grandparents. I don’t really like to say, “Hey, this is for only teenagers. If you’re over 18, please don’t read it!” In fact, sometimes adults *should* read stories that are written for a younger audience, to help with communication as well as to enjoy a “lighter” read.


In addition, the issues raised in these stories could – and should – be read by both parents and children alike. I would have to say that I think the youngest reader would ideally be about 11 years of age. I say this because some of the vocabulary used may not be understood by younger readers. However, it seems like kids are getting smarter and smarter these days, so if it’s okay with their parents or guardians, I’d say, “Go for it!”


There are three more reasons parents should read Risky Issues. One, it will help them connect with their children. Two, it may help them face some of their own issues, if they have any. Finally, it will also reinforce some of the morals and values they are trying to instill in their children. I don’t think any parent can ever get enough of that!


6. What are you working on now?

I am working on my second book, Letters to Julian. It’s a collection of letters I wrote to my son throughout his life.


7. What genre would you say your book, Risky Issues fall under?

Risky Issues is a work of fiction, and is a collection of short stories geared toward teens and tweens, so I’d have to say Juvenile Fiction and Short Story would be the two genres it falls under.


8. Are you in this for the love of money, or the love of writing?

I doubt any writer is in it for the money. Writers write because they love to write, and I am no exception.


9. Which phrase in your book are you most proud of?

Truthfully, the last line of the poem that is included in the book is my pride and joy. Read the poem. You’ll likely agree. http://wordingwell.com/in-ones-eyes/ is a direct link to it.


10. Did you write your book in chronological order? Which part of your book did you write last?

The stories in Risky Issues were all written about six years after I wrote the poem. I wrote the front and back matter (Note from the Author, Acknowledgements, etc.) this past year when I put the book together. The bonus story was written last year, and it’s actually a true story, too, even though my book falls under the category of Juvenile Fiction.


Thank you, Lorraine, for being my guest today!


Lorraine’s Links:

I blog on both Wording Well and on Lorraine Reguly: Laying It Out There (where readers can subscribe to my Author Newsletter).

Facebook author page

Follow me on Twitter

Pinterest boards

Connect with me on LinkedIn

Get connected via my author page on Google+

Become a fan on Goodreads

Find me on Shelfari

Find me on Librarything

Buy Risky Issues on Google Books or from Amazon  – USA – Australia – United Kingdom –

Don’t forget to write a review! 🙂

author lorraine reguly

 At what age do you feel you should talk to a child about serious issues such as drug abuse or death? Would you rather be the one to talk to your kids about these issues, maybe using a tool like ‘Risky Issues’, or do you prefer a teacher have that talk with them?



A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

24 Mar
virtual_book_tour-son of the serpent-melanie delon-art-novel-fantasy-vashti quiroz vega

Illustration by Melanie Delon


Hello everyone! Today I’m sharing Part 1 of a short story series called A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance. I hope you enjoy it.

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega


Who falls in love with a ghost?


I recall the first time I laid eyes on Abigail. She wasn’t attractive in my eyes. Her skin was pallid like an ivory mist. Her limp, pale hair reflected merely a glint of sun. Her lips were thin and ill-defined, but when she looked my way with her heavy-lidded green eyes, she captured me. I couldn’t look away. I should have looked away.


I had a task to do–so I watched. She had a sweet way about her that lured me into her world. Was it possible to take part in her world? I observed her. She did caring things for those around her and had a generous heart. Oddly, she never seemed to expect anything in return. She was kind to animals and nature. She enjoyed singing, although she wasn’t very good at staying in tune. I spent hours, days, and then weeks observing her–trying to find something that would make my errand easier. I could not. What was it about this creature that held me captive?


Abigail was good, but also an odd and clumsy creature. I lost count of how many times I had to swiftly cover my mouth, fearing that my laughter would betray my presence. Once, she picked up a tarantula spider. It appeared to prance happily in place on her palm. She gazed at it wide-eyed and giggled with glee. Then she dropped it. The spider shattered when it hit the ground. She wailed for hours.


Another time she witnessed a small boy feeding bread to a swan. She ran to them and picked up a piece of bread lying by the boy’s feet. She attempted to feed the swan at the same time the boy did, but instead she clumsily struck the swan’s beak, making it irate. She gasped as the angry bird took the boy’s arm in its beak and pounded the small arm with one of its massive wings. Abigail screamed for help and managed to pull the boy away, but not before the swan had broken his arm. The boy ran away to his parents, red-faced and howling, his arm dangling by his side. She dropped to the ground and created a puddle with her guilt and sorrow. She did not eat for days. That’s when I finally approached her.


“Why do you starve yourself?” I asked. She jumped and stared at me. “Do you wish to die?”


“No, I wish to live,” she responded, her eyes wide and pale lips trembling. “I hurt a small boy and deserve to suffer.”


“You did no such thing. The bird hurt the boy, but his arm is healing well. He plays happily as we speak, regardless of the cast he wears. You have no need to go on tormenting yourself.”


“How do you know this?” She looked at me askance.


Thinking quickly I responded, “I was told about what had happened to the boy, and I just saw him minutes before I ran into you.”


She stared at me, brows crumbled and eyes squinted, and then she smiled faintly. “I’m glad to know this, thank you. My name is Abigail.”


“Then you must nourish yourself, Abigail.”


I looked around. A red fruit hanging from a nearby tree caught my eye. I picked it and handed it to her. She extended her hand slowly and took it. She bit into it, repeatedly holding the ripened, sweet fruit with both hands. She devoured it in no time. As she swallowed the last morsel, I wiped a bit of dribble off her chin. She smiled and her cheeks turned the color of an orchid rose.


I laughed. “My name is Azrael,” I told her. I’m not sure why. I reveal my name to few.


“It’s nice to meet you, Azrael. Would you like to walk with me?” she asked with a large grin on her face. I nodded. “Oh, good! This forest is quite beautiful. I enjoy hiking here. The smells, the sounds–fascinate me!” I smiled and we began our stroll.


“This beautiful place can also be quite dangerous. Doesn’t that scare you?”


“No,” she said, her face as innocent and pure as a daisy.


We continued walking. She stopped to smell wildflowers, drink water from a small waterfall that emptied into a noisy river, to point at birds she recognized and insects. I thought today would be the day, but torrents of crystalline water gushed, white fluffy clouds whipped across intense cerulean skies, daffodils vibrant as stars quivered and danced. It was much too lively a day for death to intrude.


“I must leave now.”


“So soon, Azrael?” She sighed heavily and her body slumped.


“The sun will set soon. Perhaps you should go home before it becomes dark and you can’t find your way back.”


She nodded with a frown. “Goodbye. It was very nice exploring the forest with you. Thank you for a lovely time,” she said as she departed.


I rushed in the opposite direction. When I was sure to be far enough away, I crumbled to the ground.


“Why? Why must I end the life of such a creature?” I cried to the heavens. “There is no malice in her. She is a lamb!” I felt a deep burning ache in my chest. Large drops fell from my eyes. I touched my cheek and looked with amazement at my wet fingers. A voice in my head reassured me that my task had good purpose. I rose from the ground and left the forest. 


Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

Vashti Quiroz Vega-author-Azrael-angel of death-story-Vashti Q-blog tour-virtual_book_tour-son of the serpent

Illustration by AStoKo


Be sure to read part 2 and the finale of A Time To Mourn And A Time To Dance





7 Jun


Photograph Feel Pain by Mehmet Turgut



Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Horror, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance and humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, bloggers, artists, photographers and even singers who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings, photography and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
In today’s post I will feature the talented writer and poet Glendon Perkins.



Glendon wrote this piece when he was struggling with a major decision in his life. His writing touched me deeply, as I am sure it will touch you.






by Glendon Perkins

The nurse walked in, said to me, “It’s time.”

My shoulders slumped. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slow. If I could have prevented the moment by holding my breath, I would have.

I followed the nurse through the door and down the hall. While I followed her through the constricting corridors, I focused on the carpet. There was consistency in the bluish-gray carpet; no change. Soon everything would change.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. Were there words that could convey how I felt? I’m not sure. I decided a simple response was best. “No.”

“We could try some other things.” Her face was drawn, as though she’d had a long night as well. “I know we could approach the doctor and find something or someone. We could contact Mayo or Johns Hopkins.” Her voice cracked a few times

I read clearing your throat helps to keep the tears from coming. I cleared my throat, my tears stayed back. “I…I…I th—think it’s b—best if w—w—we don’t.” Covering my mouth, looked away.

She hugs me. We stood embracing for several minutes. I broke away first.  Time to finish this.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. My emotions were wound as tight as a guitar string, and the slightest plucking would send me into a chorus of tears.

She stopped in the doorway. Pointing at a laptop on a stand she said, “Just press the DISCONNECT button. I’ll leave you with him.” She gave my forearm a pat and a squeeze before walking away.

Despite the warmth of the room, I felt like I had walked into an icebox. Shivers raced across my body, my blood cold, my heart solid ice.

I felt cruel. Was I the Reaper, the Angel of Death? Wasn’t I about to do what he did?

I walked further into the room, making a wide birth around the laptop. I looked up at the life support monitors. Several lines showed vital functions with jagged peaks and valleys. Some consistently moved up and down, others were furious with activity, their readings jumbled and mismatched.

A web of wires and tubes crossed each other and meandered around stainless steel poles and computer monitors. A respirator with a white corrugated tube led to the intubation line. White adhesive patches connected his damaged brain to the EEG machine with wires of several colors. The room smells of copper wire and plastic from life-supporting devices.

I approached his bed with trepidation and sat on the edge. He lay in a beige hospital gown, blankets tucked neatly around his waist. Clear tape secured the IV catheters to his wrists. The intubation tube connected to the tracheotomy.

I wrapped my fingers his hand, “Dad, I…” The words lodged in my throat.

Wiping my eyes and running nose with my forearm, I found the strength to continue. “The doctors don’t think anything can be—”

I broke down in rivulets of tears, every pent up emotion over the last three months pouring down my face, my head bobbing with each sob.

I was about to turn off machines that kept my father alive. Would I ever find peace again? Would I wake up every night screaming in the darkness? Would every look I received on the street, at work, or from my family and friends be anything but contempt? Worse, what if my dad lay there getting better and the doctors couldn’t see it? Would my dad forgive me? Would he look at me from the Afterlife and ask me, “How could you?”

As my contemplation threatened to destroy me, a voice from the past spoke up.  “Son, I don’t want machines to keep me alive. I am going to trust your decision. Give me peace when I need it.”

I choked back my despair. I whispered in his ear, “Dad, I came here to give you peace. I love you.”

Looking at his face, I wondered if he heard me.

I stood, walked over to the laptop, and stared at the screen for a moment. I raised my had to the keyboard, fingers shaking, palms sweating. I slowly lowered my fingers to the mousepad…I pushed DISCONNECT.

I walked back to the chair and sat down. I rested my head on his chest, placed his hand on my face, and felt his pulse and respirations slow, “I love you, Dad. May you be at peace.”

Would I ever have peace?

~by Glendon Perkins


Please check out Glendon’s links below, and if you like smart Horror with lots of suspense, thrills and chills, you’ll love Glendon’s blog novel Buried Alive. It is a must-read for all you Horror fans out there!





Photograph by Marie Gloredel 




by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the facade of a brave man as his baby boy entered the world.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What are my duties? There are no guidelines. Where do I start?

The babe in his arms felt so natural, yet so alien. A fire blazed in his chest.

“You are a father now.” The words were jolting, yet pleasing to his heart.


His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a calm man as his son toddled, taking his first steps.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls? What if he hurts himself? Then I would have failed as a father.

The toddler tottered to him and embraced his dad with dulcet giggles.

As he held his son, it did not feel alien. His heart gave way for love to conquer.


His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a cool man as his son introduced him to his first girl.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls in love? What if she breaks his heart?

He embraced his son and slipped extra cash in his pocket.

As he held his son, it felt like love, and he rested assured his son was smart.


His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a brave man as his son grew and had sons of his own.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

Did I raise him right? Did I teach him to be a good husband and father?

He embraced his son, and they were swathed by the love they both felt.

As he held his son, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.


His son’s brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched his father wear the façade of a spent man as he lay on a hospital bed.

His son’s mind and body were consumed by overwhelming fears.

Am I doing the right thing? Who am I to decide when his time has come?

His face dampened with sorrow. He embraced his father.

As he held his father’s weary body and gazed into his dimming eyes, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.


His brown eyes deepen into polished onyx, and upon them comes a mist of tears.

He watches with the façade of a pitiful man as his son reaches for that plug.

He is ready to leave this world and grateful his son has let go of his fears.

As his son holds his ruined body, and he feels the lifeblood drain from his eyes, he knows he has raised him right.

His mind and body are consumed with overwhelming love.

His son has given him the gift of peace, and his happy spirit travels toward the light.

~by Vashti Quiroz-Vega


Tornado Of Apocalyptic Proportions Devastate Oklahoma

21 May

Tornado Of Apocalyptic Proportions Devastated Oklahoma

Oklahoma was ravaged by a monstrous tornado on Monday!
The tornado was 2 miles wide, and tore a massive path of death and destruction. Many were killed and more are still missing.

Lets say a prayer for those who are still missing, the victims, and their families. I want to thank the police, firemen, teachers and regular citizens on the scene for all they’ve done, and continue to do for the people devastated by this disaster.