Tag: Amo Jones

The Devil’s Match – Amo Jones

They say that your thoughts are your own. Your mind is like your very own diary, locked and sealed between the gushing of blood that is being coursed through the fibers of your cranium. Somewhere between the Prosencephalon and Rhombencephalon of your brain, there’s a locker that’s sealed with secrets. Where voices are kept. The […]

Tacet a Mortuis – Amo Jones

“No!” I scream, dropping to the ground. Shaking my head, I clutch my hair and pull at it, wanting to scratch the memories out of my head. “Madison!” Who is that? It sounds like Bishop. “Brantley—” Looking toward the bed, I swallowed, slowly stepping into the room. It was a big room. Gigantic. It was […]

Sancte Diaboli, Part One – Amo Jones

Everyone has a story, and when you die, your memories cling to the minds of the people you leave behind, scripted in permanent ink. They can go back and visit their favorite chapters when they need comfort, or simply skip over the scenes they want to forget, but what they can’t do, is be removed. […]

Manik – Amo Jones

Cell bars melt together in dark waves of distress, the roof a salient contrast. The cold concrete floor I lay on is stained in puddles of damp old urine that rubs against my flesh. I clench my eyes closed and count to three. One. Two. Three. My eyes open but I’m still here, sort of. […]

Malum, Part 2 – Amo Jones

Nate backs me up against the cold cell, examining me. “You like this, huh, Princessa…” I shake my head, refusing to show any fear. Nate is like a shark with fear. He senses it in the water, and he thinks it’s feeding time. “No. I don’t. What are you doing and why am I here?” […]

Malum, Part 1 – Amo Jones

How many times in one lifetime do they say you find a soulmate? Is it once? Twice? Three times? Ice cream slipped down my throat as I thought of this. The quote scribbled on a rusty piece of paper read: You find three types of love in your lifetime. The first will show you all […]

Crowned by Hate – Amo Jones

Isa, pick your chin up and smile. I taught you better than that.” “I’m twenty years old, Lydia, not fifteen. I know what I’m doing.” Swooping up my wine glass, I empty the contents down my throat. “Well, I beg to differ. Why can’t you just be like your sister?” Lydia quips, eying me up […]

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