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Laptop and Notebook

Sneak peaks of some of  my upcoming books

The Hunger….

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been different.

Not because of my family life because like a lot of kids, I came from a fucked up, dysfunctional family. My dad was an alcoholic bully, and my mother was a selfish bitch who ran off and left me and my older brother behind when she couldn’t take the abuse anymore.

He ended up transferring the beatings to my brother instead, who became a drug addict and ended up hanging himself on his sixteenth birthday.

So, my childhood wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs.

When I say I’m different, I don’t mean physically, because when I look in the mirror, I look a lot like other girls. I’m just above average height with long dark hair, pale skin and my features are pretty regular.

Put it this way, as I said before I don’t exactly stand out in a crowd.

My best feature are my eyes which change colour depending on the mood I’m in. They can range from the lightest ice blue to an almost black midnight blue. Growing up, the other kids had feared me and called me a ‘freak’, ‘chameleon eyes’

or ‘scary eyes’

Being a skinny kid who was also a loner, I was bullied.


The teachers didn’t give a fuck.

To them, I was a little nobody from a shitty family.

That was before I discovered that I had the power to control minds and fuck a person up by making them do whatever I want.

But it only happens when I am extremely angry and stressed.

The first time I discovered this was after a vicious beating from my asshole father. I was fifteen. It had been a shit day at school, and I had got into a fight and been given a detention, because of that, I was late home.

My dad had been waiting by the door, belt in hand and he hadn’t even given me a chance to explain before he laid into me and started hitting me.

I still remember the rage that blinded me, running through my veins like a heroin hit. Looking him straight in the eye I told him how much I hated him and how if he slit his own throat and dropped dead in front of me, I wouldn’t shed any tears.

That’s when it had first happened.

Slowly, as if in a trance, he dropped the belt, turned to the drawer, taken out the sharpest knife we had and slit his own fucking throat.

As I stood there watching him fall to the floor, I felt nothing but relief.

Until I saw the blood spread in a pool around his head.

That’s when I first felt the hunger.


Not At First Sight

This is a collection of short romantic stories of couples who meet and feel the sparks fly despite their initial dislike for each other...

Dark Floral Dramatic Photographic Book Cover.jpg




“I, Elizabeth Grace Fisher, take you, Blake Carlisle to be my  lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law. In the presence of God, I make this vow….”

My voice was low and monotone as I stumbled through my vows, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could hear the registrar’s words droning on and on and I choked back a hysterical laugh as I forced myself to remain calm. At least we weren’t getting married in a church. That would be hypocrisy of the highest order. Especially since I was, getting married to a literal stranger.

How was this even happening?

My hands were so tightly clenched that my fingernails dug into my palms, but I barely felt the pain. If anyone had asked me at that moment how I felt, I think the words would have stuck in my throat.

I glanced at the tall man who was standing beside me, his sheer height alone was pretty intimidating. He was staring straight ahead, stone faced, and I could see a faint muscle twitch in his hard jaw. His voice was deep and clipped as he repeated his vows literally through gritted teeth and I knew he was just as miserable as I was.

This guy was my husband!

Tears stung at my eyes as the reality of the whole messy situation hit me like a sledgehammer.

Ever since I was little, I had dreamed of a big white wedding with my two best friends as bridesmaids, my sister as my maid of honour and my dad walking me down the aisle, his kind, brown eyes full of pride as we walked towards my future husband who would gaze at me as though I was the most beautiful woman in the world as my mother sat in the front pew weeping as she watched her baby girl's big day.

But the reality had been totally different.

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