Grilled Cheese

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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-16 08:00:47 EDT

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An excerpt that says, "It was easy to turn her fear into poetry while she was safe. It was something else to maintain it as she stared at the red darkness beyond the hydraulic doors. They didn’t tell her if Orson had been released or not. They let her linger at the entry point's vestibule, as if waiting to see if she'd beg to be let go. It would be a lie to say that she didn't want to. Instead Holly stepped forward and let the doors hiss shut behind her."
I regret to inform you that once again I have had a banger story idea at 3am. I literally do not have time for this.
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Kindle screenshot of The Big Timer by Chris Holcombe.
A kindle book lies on a fluffy white rug. On screen text says “Tomorrow”
The good fairy was wandless. She had broken it when she’d tried to wave it in a closet as she charitably sought to help a nice young man out, and its replacement wouldn’t be delivered until Tuesday. What was worse, some random elf had giggled and pointed to a sizeable black stain on the backside of her beautiful red satin dress, making her painfully aware that patched-up jeans, an old t-shirt and a plastic knitting needle just wouldn’t have the same magic. So what could she do with herself in the meantime except bake a few loaves of banana bread and read horoscopes to her clients on the phone?
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WOMEN'S AGENCY AND THE GOTHIC IN SPAIN AND THE AMERICAS edited by Megan DeVirgilis and Sandra GarcÍa Gutiérrez; A BOOK OF MONSTERS: PROMETHEAN HORROR IN MODERN LITERATURE AND CULTURE BY DAVID ASHFORD; DARK SCENES FROM DAMAGED EARTH: THE GOTHIC ANTHROPOCENE EDITED BY JUSTIN D. EDWARDS. RUNE GRAULUND AND JOHAN HOGLUND.
#WIPSnips prompt: guard
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Because horror is my mother tongue. I grew up listening to the horror stories my grandfather told my mother when she was a child and composing spooky plays for my cousins to perform during the summer holidays.
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a bunch of historical romance book covers in a grid format
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A white card on a piece of rust-coloured fabric. The card reads: Love Me Today: A Free Short Story 10 September 1936 Autumn leaves fell onto the wet path. Early, Violet thought. She was thinking about the mizzle, the greyness of the day, when she saw him. ‘Michael.’ She knew him instantly by his fluffy hair, golden-red like the leaves. He hid his face. Scars. Deep wounds knitted together. ‘Michael, stop!’ She caught up with him and touched the shoulder of his grey coat. They stood in the shelter of a maple. Leaves falling. ‘You stopped writing letters. Did you stop loving me with the armistice?' ‘I died, just like this tree is dying.' She wanted to tell him the tree wasn't dying, that it would live anew in spring. Instead, she kissed his new face. Michael. Her Michael.
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