Tag Archive: serial blog


All he could see of the offending scrap was its top most edge, the rest was obscured by a bunch in the rug he had caused while moving the furniture. He walked over to the page and stood staring down at it with wide eyes.

“I don’t believe you. What devil’s trick is this? Who could’ve? I don’t believe you!”

Amazingly the page took Doug’s insults and questions in stride. Snatching it up from the floor and shaking it menacingly in the air he might have initially thought to force a response, but good sense won out and Doug realized that the page was just a page, with an author.

“Who wrote this,” he asked the door, then the windows, and finally the broken typewriter which sat dead center on the large wooden desk, but no one came forward to take the credit. Defeated, Doug slumped into the moth eaten leather desk chair and ran his free hand through his hair. He shook his head, eyes closed, and wondered why he was so disappointed so surprised. The likelihood that some ne’re do well would slip from the shadows and admit to playing the loathsome prank was both slim and nil. Still, he had wanted something. A response of any kind, while shocking, was warranted given what the page had said. Instantly, he remembered the crumpled thing clutched in his balled fist.

The look in Doug’s eyes spoke of destruction and rage, and fire, as he stared at the badly wrinkled piece of paper. “This is not true,” he said to no one in particular. “Its a pack of lies and scare tactics, and I wont stand for it!” Emboldened he sat a little straighter. No he thought to himself its something all together different, its a story. Just one of his little adventures which had gone a bit off course and was now running away with him Doug reasoned with himself. The problem with this theory, however, was that the page did not read like any story Doug had ever read. The character had not been introduced or explained, the story line, if one could call it that, bounced around, a lot, though it only seemed to cover a single day’s worth of time, and the ending was so sudden it could hardly be absorbed. Additionally, while the writer had included plenty of obstacles there was little to no resolution or thematic plot to be found.

Doug cocked his head to the side as if a different vantage point would bring a serge of clarity, he was wrong. The page remained as mysterious as it had always been and he, he remained perplexed. If this was indeed not a story, it would mean that Doug was going to have to consider the possibility that the words on the page were real in more than just the tangible sense and that was an eventuality he was not prepared for.

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By Jeannette Woitzik

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Sin Eater (7 of 7)

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I’m soaked through to the skin before the heavy doors of the convent close. I blink the world back into focus. It seems too dim, as if I looked overlong into the sun, but it isn’t. Its just the way I left it. The wet weight of my knife begs to differ. Three blemishes upon society gone, and one innocent…if not saved then at least helped. But I am not an equalizer, I’m a sin eater, and as the sound of sirens fill my ears the hunger returns.

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Well that’s the end…for now.  Thanks for reading!

If you stayed with me till the end thank you, it means a lot. I hope you liked it. I wrote this all at once, but decided that it felt more like a graphic novel than a traditional fiction. So I released it one paragraph at a time. Each post like a flipped page.

Please, leave a comment I would love to hear what you think.

Sin Eater (6 of 7)

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The rain starts up signifying the nearing end of my night. The wail of an infant pulls at me. I follow the sound to a dirty vacant lot where some tweeking crack whore has abandoned her misbegotten offspring. Even covered in filth its the purest thing I’ve seen tonight, the closest to true white this grey world can offer.

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Tomorrow is the last post in this serial blog.  I hope I kept your interest.  Thanks, as always, for stopping by.

Sin Eater (5 of 7)

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Would be John number three hits the pavement hard. The looker with the eyes scoffs as she bends down to relieve the man of his valuables. In her stilettos she cuts quite the backlit silhouette pocketing her treasures. She never hears me as I wrap her in my embrace. There’s no need to whisper in her ear she’s already asking herself if it was worth it. I bet…our answers differ.

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Did you think it would be the woman or the man after yesterday’s post?  Hope I have kept you interested.  Thanks for reading!

Sin Eater (4 of 7)

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The jazzy music slides over her skin like smokey silk. Her practiced smile barely hides the animal hunger in her deeply kohled eyes, but all the poor sucker on the stool beside her sees is the come hither in her bold touch and shy words.

I see blind leading blind.

He’s no angel. It’s not to gently escort her home that he takes her arm, and she knows it.

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Sin Eater (3 of 7)

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I walk away as if nothing happened because nothing did. The corpse behind me is further diminished with each step, but the discord it represents is not. This one calculated strike has not, cannot, rebalance the scales. So I continue on. My measured footfall upon the concrete is steady, and the building thunder threatening a torrential downpour reassuring. Let the heavens weep for humanity.

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Hello, this is part three of of a serial blog which started on Monday the 17th.  Thanks for reading.

Sin Eater (2 of 7)

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I lean in closer looking at the world reflected in his ruddy mess. Never had the dark stains upon him been more clear than in that moment. He gave nothing to the greater good and all it cost him was everything. His one and only gift was color to this grey place, and not even that did he give willingly.

The moment passes, and the puddle becomes nothing more than the tacky ink of a poorly drafted life.

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If you are still with me from yesterday yay, if not then go back one post to better understand this post 🙂  Happy readings!

Sin Eater (1 of 7)

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I see a world of greys masquerading as one of blacks and whites. This pompous man beneath my knife is cloaked in the white of innocence because there is no chargeable wrong in his past. I cannot connect him to any criminal findings, but innocent…I think not. I watched as the small sins of this arrogant man piled up into monstrous mountains that rival even the most heinous of offenders. My knife falls and the world around me lightens. Crimson.

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This is part one of a story which I have broken into seven pieces.  I will be posting each of these parts on consecutive days.  This is the first time I have truly serial blogged so…I hope you come with me on this journey.  Also, that I make it worth your wait.  Thanks for reading!