Latest Fiction Post

  • Journal Entry From a Lady’s Maid January 23, 2018

    Lady Cora's Castle

    *Warning: This story contains graphic images and Lady Cora has no relation Downton Abbey’s Cora Crawley*

    I have worked for Lady Cora for ten years, but today I saw something dark. The lady is into mischief and witchcraft. It was not surprising to me to find parts of animals and vials of blood in her chambers. However, when I went to change the sheets today, I almost slipped on the crimson liquid. The floor looked as if it had been mopped with the stuff. Confused, I called out for Lady Cora to be sure of her well-being. There was no answer.

    Proceeding forward, I stripped the empty bed. The sheets were dry and white despite the surrounding mess. Keeping the dirty sheets tucked under my arm, I put on the new ones. Then I grabbed the knife from the bedside drawer (she kept it there for ritual purposes) and went into the bathroom to reassure myself. The blood trails continued into the stone bathroom, where the mirror was cracked and the wooden tub appeared full. The beads around the knife blade rubbed against my hand, increasing my anxiety.

    I had to get closer to see inside of the tub. Red water sloshed around in the tub. Something bobbed up and down. Two unfamiliar women lay face down in the water, their bodies split in half.

    A voice came from behind me, “I don’t see a bed in here. Why do you have my ...


Latest Poetry Post

  • Binary: No Gray Area January 25, 2018

    In this world, there are only two categories

    and everything falls into one of them.

    An action is good or bad.

    There is no it depends.

    There are no explanations.

    It just is.


    In this world, we gender inanimate objects.

    Girly drinks.

    Manly beer.

    Girl toys, like dolls.

    Boy toys, like blocks.

    Cooking. Cars. Clothes.

    Blue. Pink.

    No crossing lines.


    In this world, we fear the undefinable.

    We have to categorize.

    We have to make it make sense.

    We have to teach stability, teach fear of change.

    We have to base our opinions on the little pieces we see,

    these half truths because we don’t like being wrong.


    It’s hard to be wrong.

    It’s hard to be open minded, to put in the effort to change our thoughts.

    Isn’t it safer to return to our hometowns and be told we’re right?

    There’s nothing to fear.

    There’s nothing to change.

    In this world, we are always right.

    In this world, we only listen when we agree.


    Did you like this poem? Leave a comment or continue reading. This next poem is about oppression and being free to be yourself.



WedbushWrite is the official website of Sydney Wedbush the fantasy and speculative fiction author. Here you will find her fiction and poetry posts as well as updates on her writing projects and articles from her study abroad in London. Learn more about her on the About page.