Marysol Ramos
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Stories (29)
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I am a Goddess
I know myself very well; and because I know myself so very well, I know that I am a Goddess. So, when a man looks at the imperfections of my body or learns how wild my mind gets — and he doesn’t see me as a Goddess, I already know that he’s not a man of depth. I knows he’s not a man of art, a man of passion or of life — he’s a man that lacks substance, being led by the density of the world instead of leading himself. I know that his soul rots, his heart is dull, and his mind is a bore 🥱. Therefore, his flaws are not attractive to me either.
By Marysol Ramosabout a year ago in Poets
Whirlwind . Top Story - October 2024.
Born for a life of darkened whirlwind. Where blindness isn’t in the eyes but of the heart and mind. Lack of control to know any better, full of potential to fall behind. Lost alone in the whirlwind of darkness, unaware of the world beyond it, there’s a light that is seen — one that must be reached. It livens the 5 senses and past. To see it, smell it, taste it. To hear it, feel it, and know it— that the whirlwind of darkness swirling inside creating a life of chaos and worry — has a secret — there is more. Run toward the light. At times one must walk, or even lay to rest for a moment — enduring the darkness, the bitterness, the cold and loneliness; but to see the light— to know there’s more, there’s hope and strength that creates its own spark. It energizes, emerges, it’s the passion that one stays alive for. Not the destination nor the final goal — but the passion of bouncing in and out of the bitter darkness knowing you are wise, strong, and oh so powerful. That, that’s what ignites the pride, a spark… a spark that couldn’t be seen — without the darkness.
By Marysol Ramosabout a year ago in Poets
The Angelic Beast. Top Story - October 2024. Content Warning.
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. The words blared through Shawna’s mind as she watched an all-white, angelic being become covered in dark red blood as it feasted on her husband. Hiding behind the pantry door, she couldn’t look away as she saw her husband slowly dying in torment.
By Marysol Ramosabout a year ago in Horror
The Door On Genevive Boulevard. Content Warning.
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. It was a door that has always been, and it seems it will always be. Nothing, not a fire nor a bulldozer could tear it down. Throughout the years, many have tried to demolish the door as they knew a hungry entity lived on the other side. Any time it would escape, it could not be killed but only returned to its residence by its carrier being put behind the door.
By Marysol Ramosabout a year ago in Horror
The Gray Church - Part 3. Content Warning.
The Gray Church Part 3 ‘Help me out, please.’ The voice from under the car said. It was such a fragile and scared voice. I looked down at the hand and saw wrinkled fingers and a wrist so small I could wrap my own fingers around it.
By Marysol Ramos2 years ago in Fiction
