Category: Books and Short Stories

Skulls and Celtic Scenery

A Song of Life and Death

A poem by Brittany Schmidt


Life is.

Life is growing.

Life is learning.

Life is giving.

Life is taking.

Life is loving.

Life is laughing.

Life is celebrating.

Life is successful.

Life is setbacks.

Life is giving without take.

Life is heartbreaking.

Life is crying.

Life is mourning.

Life is learning to trust to God’s will and love.

Life in service to the Lord and his people is truth.

Truth is life well lived.


Death is.

Death is the shedding our earthly bodies.

Death is reflecting on our lives.

Death shows us how we’ve grown.

Death shows us how we’ve learned.

Death takes us from our mortal lives.

Death is defeated by a Savior who loves us.

Death is reuniting with God and Christ.

Through Christ, Death gives us new life.

Death is celebrating the graduation of our earthly life.

Life after death is success.

Life after death is no more heartache or tears.

Life after death is laughter and love.

Life after death is free of pain where we’re united with those we loved and lost never to be parted again.

In loving memory of those who went home to the Lord this week. Including my friend Rob’s Stepfather and my Uncle Fred’s Mother.

Love you. Mean it.



A Slayer Slain: A Short Story

‘Otherworldly Vampire Slayer’ by artifice22

This short story popped into my head as a dream I had after binge watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on YouTube. I always wondered what would of happened when the Slayer dies, how she feels in those moment. Although not explicitly explored and divulged into the protagonist and antagonist do share a familiar bond which adds a complicated layer to the story. This story isn’t arguably the best one I’ve written but I wanted to share this story here on my blog with all of you because I’m still super proud of it. So here, without further ado, I give you a sample of my new short story ‘A Slayer Slain’

A Slayer Slain

A Somewhat Short Story

by B.M. Schmidt

(Please note that NO part of this story may be shared or reproduced without explicit permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

Rory stood in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to her right. A hill rose above them to her left. Rory could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside. There was a moment of peace, before she was ambushed and all she could think of was her brother. Her smart, funny, slightly arrogant brother Jared Whitmore. He had been missing for one month, two weeks and eleven days. The clues that lead her to this place would lead her to the clan that had him. Luckily she didn’t need to wait long as she fought.

In hindsight, Rory would have defeated the vampires if it weren’t for Jared.

‘Kick left! Punch right! Kick right! Roundhouse!’ Her instincts screamed.

Rory had no choice she stood alone,surrounded by twenty or maybe even thirty vampires. She grabbed her stake and hummed to keep herself sane as she ripped through two, watching them fade to dust but they just kept coming. She was nearly out of breath, it hurt to inhale as she ducked the one which tried to grab her.

“Where’s my brother?” She bellowed at each one before delivering the fatal blow and they all smiled at her as though they shared some heinous secret about Jared that made her want to wretch violently. There was no time. There was never enough time, their Mother used to lament that on days she’d need to run errands with two young, often bickering kids in toe.

As she fought, Rory thought back to when she and her brother would play cowboys and Indians and how she’d often let him kill her so he could be the make believe hero, ‘I’ve killed you traitor, now Rest In Peace!’ He’d shriek as Rory faked an over the top dramatic death and they collapsed into a heap of laughter together.

Quickly she pushed these thoughts aside as she used the wooden heel of her shoe to dust off another foe. With little grace, Rory back-flipped off of one of her attacker’s torso and landed behind a headstone, coming back around with her stake.

She swiftly cut the heads off five vampires. The putrid scent of blood and decay filling the air as she moved with a sense of urgency and purpose.

‘Twelve left.‘ Her mind told her. ‘Where could they have him?’

Rory ducked a swing and cut the legs off of another, stoping him from getting around as she stepped on his chest, piercing his heart and keeping her balance as he turned into dust. She was on autopilot. Decapitate. Stake. Decapitate. Decapitate. Stake. Stake. Stake. Damn it, broken shoe. Back with a vengeance. Decapitate. Decapitate. Decapitate.

They were nearly gone, there should only be one more. She could feel him, watching her, just outside of her line of vision. She rested her stake in her hip and headed over to her weapons bag, to fetch her battle ax.

“Very impressive.”

Rory whirled around to see a familiar face attached to her final foe sitting atop a mausoleum. Jared was standing a few feet away from her, arms folded, looking at Rory curiously. There was no menace in his face or stance. He was so very average-looking, nothing remarkable about his face or body at all. Just the white skin, the circled eyes she’d was horrified to see. He wore a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt and faded blue jeans.

“Jared, you’re-?” Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she was too late, they’d turned her brother into one of them. Forever. Her heart sank deep in her chest, too late, but could she destroy someone she loved and shared blood with? What of their parents would they be safe?

“I’m immortal now, with power beyond my wildest imagination…but there’s one little problem, Ror, you’re killing all my new friends and this isn’t a game of cowboys and Indians you want to play…this is real life Sis,” he said casually observing the deceased members of his clan as nonchalantly as though he were discussing the weather.

“Get out of here, Jar, I don’t want to have to turn you into dust.” Rory warned, dropping her axe. It sliced through the leather of her shoes and cut her foot, but she ignored it and sprung up a tree, and leapt on top of the mausoleum.

“Well, I don’t know about the dust, but I’m impressed again. You’re a skilled Slayer, Rory…who is your guardian ?” Jared asked.

Rory glared, “I didn’t learn a damn thing from my guardian .”

Jared stood, smiling again, “So you have one. Well, sister dearest. Let me show you how it’s done.”

The pair launched into battle, as Rory managed to kick him down, “No, let me go! Just go! It’s kill or be killed, Jared and –” she gasped in a breath as a searing pain went through her chest along with the deafening crack of her rib cage.

The vampire, Jared, grinned as Rory fell to her knees, “And you just got killed, traitor, Rest In Peace”

Rory’s eyes widened, she was definitely sick now. There was more pain coming, she could see it in his eyes. It wouldn’t be enough for him to win, to feed and go. There would be no quick end like she’d been counting on. Rory’s knees began to shake, and she was afraid she was going to fall.

Jared stepped back, and began to circle, casually, as if he were trying to get a better view of a statue in a museum. His face was still open and friendly as he decided where to start.

Then he slumped forward, into a crouch Rory recognized, and his pleasant smile slowly widened, grew, till it wasn’t a smile at all but a contortion of teeth, exposed and glistening.

With a steak in her chest so she couldn’t help herself- Rory tried to run. As useless as she knew it would be, as weak as her knees already were, panic took over and she bolted for the wrought iron cemetery grates.

He was in front of her in a flash. She didn’t see if he used his hand or his foot, it was too fast. Another crushing blow struck Rory’s chest driving the stake further into her organs- She felt herself flying backward, every breath she drew labored and painful that’s when she heard the crunch as her head bashed into the angel statue . The stone head and wings buckled, as some of the pieces shattering and splintering on the grass beside Rory. She entered shock, a point she was too stunned to feel the pain. She couldn’t breathe…not anymore…

Bless Mother…Bless Father…Bless Brother…Bless family and friends…those good and those bad…to God almighty my soul I commend’ Rory thought as her brother walked toward her slowly.

“That’s a very nice effect,” he said, examining the mess of porcelain and stone, his voice friendly again. “I thought this would be visually dramatic and ironic place for you to die. That’s why I picked this place to meet you. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

Rory ignored him, searing blinding pain ripping through her and yet still she scrambled on her hands and knees, crawling toward the gates.

He was over her at once, his foot stepping down hard on Rory’s leg. She heard the sickening snap before she felt it, but then she did feel it, and Rory couldn’t hold back her scream of agony as she fought twisted up to reach for her leg, the adrenaline was the only thing keeping her alive so she dared not try for the stake nor did she want to look up at him- he was standing over her, smiling.

“Would you like to rethink your last statement?” he asked pleasantly. His toe nudged Rory’s broken leg and she heard a piercing scream it took moment before she realized it was her own.

“Wouldn’t you rather have stayed at home with Mom and Dad and not looked for big, bad Jared?” he prompted.

“No!” I croaked. “No, Jared, don’t I’m your-” And then something smashed into her face, throwing her back into the broken stone angels.

Over the pain in Rory’s leg, she felt the sharp rip across her scalp where the glass cut into it. And then the warm wetness of blood began to pool out of her and spread through my hair with alarming speed. Rory could feel it soaking the shoulder of her shirt, hear it dripping on the wood below from her stomach, chest and head. So much blood was lost now, she wished for death as even the smell of it twisted Rory’s stomach.

Through the nausea and dizziness Rory saw something that gave her a sudden, final shred of hope. His eyes, merely intent before, now burned with an uncontrollable need. The blood – spreading crimson across her off white shirt, pooling rapidly on the floor – was driving him mad with thirst. The boy she grew up with was gone, his own turning is what inspired Rory to become a slayer. To destroy who distorted and destroyed her brother. No matter his original intentions, he couldn’t draw this out much longer.

‘Let it be quick now,’ was all she could hope as the flow of blood from Rory’s head sucked her consciousness away with it. Her eyes were closing…

She heard, as if from underwater, the final growl of the hunter which had once been her younger brother. Rory could see, through the long tunnels her eyes had become, Jared’s dark shape coming toward her. ‘The casket need to be open’ she thought sending her last conscious thought to her brother, her killer and with her last effort, Rory’s hand instinctively raised to protect her face. The face that she was told a million times resembled her Mother’s…their Mother’s beautiful face which was smiling at her that morning …was her last coherent though as Rory’s eyes closed for the last time, and she drifted to nothingness…


ah man that was dark, want to know a fun fact? I can’t stand scary movies but some of my best writing samples are horror and suspense. I blame my nightmares and an overactive imagination.

Love you. Mean it.



Two Articulate Officers Talking to A Shallow Sinner

This short story popped into my head fully formed and was heavily influenced by years of binge watching Investigation Discovery and reading Edgar Allen Poe. I always wondered what would of happened in Poe’s ‘The Tell Tale Heart’ if the narrator hadn’t developed a guilty conscience. Although not explicitly stated, Katy and William are like Bonnie and Clyde members of a mafia or at least I see them that way. I also explore themes that evil isn’t born but rather it’s made. My parents always said, you are who you hang out with. I’d like to think this story explores that possibility. I wanted to share this story here on my blog with all of you because I’m proud of it. So here, without further ado, I give you a sample of my new short story ‘Two Articulate Officers Talking To A Shallow Sinner’

Two Articulate Officers Talking to A Shallow Sinner

A Somewhat Short Story

by B.M. Schmidt

(Please note that NO part of this story may be shared or reproduced without explicit permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

Clearwater, Florida

Late June, 1991

Early Evening

Rain drove downward through the darkness in vast, angry torrents. By the edge of the sea, the windows of a small house glowed with soft, golden light. A lone figure stood in the window, watching the scenery around her as though waiting for something or someone.

The figure, a woman by the name of Katy Parker, was thinking about William Downy again. William was an enigma of sorts with stormy grey eyes and white-blonde hair. Tall and lanky as he was intimidating, her feelings for him were murky at best. There were moments she loved him; after all he was her friend they’d shared many drinks and laughs together once upon a time but there were times she couldn’t stand him; he’d lied to her, picked apart her flaws and could never admit fault in anything and slowly he chipped away their friendship with his arrogance.

Katy walked over to the window and reflected on her stormy surroundings. She had always loved the white sandy beaches of Clearwater, Florida with its deep, and steep dunes which dropped down into treacherous ditches. The ocean was churning violent waves of green, blue and grey crashing upon the beach violently. The sky lit up in moments which lightening streaked savagely against it. Yes, it was picturesque but it was also a place that gave her the tendency to feel on edge.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone trespassing up her crushed seashell pathway towards the door. It was William, his long violet cloak flapping in the relentless wind as he strode down the garden path.

Katy grinned like a Cheshire Cat which ate a canary. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a tall, willowy woman with long, thick shiny dark hair, and thin red lips. She had heavily-lidded eyes with long eyelashes, and bronzed skin which made her appear as though she’d spent a lot of time in the sun. While she had the classic great good looks, her personality was anything but. The years of working beside William had taken their toll on her and her friends saw a marked change in her demeanor. To say they mourned the loss of who she once was an understatement. She was arrogant, deranged and detached where she was once modest, rational and empathetic but those days were gone. Even worse, she didn’t miss them or the feelings of powerlessness that came with such weaknesses.

But not even a sadistic person who had once known compassion like Katy, was prepared for what William had in store on this evening.

The rain hammered steady like a heartbeat against a rib cage, making Katy pace like a wild cougar. She grabbed a shiny metal gun that had been tucked safely in a drawer nearby and she massaged it with her fingers reverently. Closer. He was even closer now.

With a deep breath, Katy stepped outside as William came towards her, the wind fiercely whipping her hair and she could see the cruel glint in his eye. “William,” she smiled sadistically, inclining her head in mock respect. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Katy,” growled William, with a delightful glare that reminded Katy of opportunistic foxes when cornering their prey. “I see you’ve come prepared” a chuckle escaped his cracked, dry lips. “It’s nothing personal, it’s just business. They’re coming for you, Katy, you’re a witness…Tony says your a liability and I was given orders to take you out.”

Katy looked back, even more sharply and still fingering the metal 9 millimeter gun. “Well you’re never going to get me,” she replied. “Don’t you see? Coming here tonight was a big mistake, William…your life will never be the same…say a prayer, take a moment to see what you did to me what a monster you turned me into,” she laughed darkly. “You miscalculated my abilities…what a pity there’s only one of us leaving in a body bag tonight and it won’t be me, love.”

William pulled his revolver out and he too caressed it lovingly in his hands, “there’s only one bullet in here, Katy, the rest a blanks…I think you’ll find I only need one shot though.”

They circled each other pointing their guns square at each other’s skulls daring the other to make the first move. Once thick as thieves and now adversaries they eyed each other like starving vultures waiting to swoop down and attack. There was only darkness reflected back from the depths of the windows to their souls.

In a move which nearly killed her, William lunged forward and fired a shot which rang out into the momentary silence between thunder and was surprisingly a blank. Wasting no time, Katy grabbed the sleek, shiny gun in her hand and brought it down on William’s skull.

William’s feet trembled and his lips quivered in agony. Katy didn’t remember how he looked, in fact, she doesn’t remember much other then bringing the gun down methodologically against his skull over and over again. Blood coated the gun handle and caked beneath her finger nails but she herself was unaware of this….

The scene has changed blessedly. She’s now on the white sandy beaches of Bermuda, with a gin and tonic in her hand, the sun shining on her white, wide brimmed, beach hat. She’s taking in the heat and shoving hundred dollar bills in the swim trunks of cabana boys to keep her drinks coming.

Thunder booms and shakes the ground violently beneath her feet as the scene vanishes once more and she was back in the cold, stormy, beachside of Clearwater. There’s a bloody gun in her hand and a man at her feet who lay bloodied and collapsed on the ground. For it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see, William Downy was dead.

Katy Parker worked diligently as hours passed by, hastily, but in silence. First, she put on blue rubber gloves and dragged the bloodied body of William Downy down to the ocean, it took time but she was smugly pleased when she deposited him out to sea. He was swallowed instantaneously by the angry ocean waves. If William had in fact survived their bloody encounter or was clinging to life, he was surely dead now. Food for the fish, just as he’d intended her to be. The fool underestimated her for the last time, she’d done her waiting. Twelve long years in witness protection and she alone was faithful to their Boss, Tony’s cause. It was William who was the rat, and now that rat could drown.

William had been lying when he said Tony sent him to take her out. It was Tony who told Katy he’d be coming and Tony who had told Katy to take William out. Arrogant prick would never realize in his arrogance he was the one who’d been set up. She stood there by the ocean for a while cursing William’s name and reputation, cursing him for turning her into the twisted monster she was today, but ultimately cursing him for allowing her to realize how much of a rush she got from doing it and how much she ultimately enjoyed it. When she’d finally had enough, she made her way back to her home. She cleaned her gun, diligently burying it beneath the floorboards. When that deed was done, she replaced the wooden boards in the floor of her kitchen so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye could have detected any thing wrong.

There was nothing to wash out, no stain of any kind, no blood-spot whatsoever. The confrontation had taken place outside so the rain had washed away any sign of a bloodbath. Katy, herself, had been relieved for that. For the next several hours she soaked in her tub amongst lavender scented bubbles cleansed her fingers, arms, hair and face of his sticky, warm blood. She found herself humming the tune to Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash.

“But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. When I hear that whistle coming, I hang my head and cry” she sang as she scrubbed herself clean from head to toe.

By the time she finished scourging the scene for any lingering and incriminating evidence, it was four o’clock –still dark as midnight aside from flashes of lightning accompanied by load booms of thunder. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knock at the door.

Katy craftily schooled her features to appear impassive and went down the creaking floor boards of the stairs (in a fuzzy purple robe) to open it with a light heart, there was no body or blood, what had she now to fear?

There entered two men, who introduced themselves, with suave professionalism, as member of the Clearwater PD. “Good evening ma’am, we got a noise complaint from a neighbor of hearing yelling and screaming. There’s suspicion of a domestic dispute taking place at your home thats been aroused by the sound of a gunshot.”

“Why officers, I can assure you, it’s nothing but the thunder which hit so close to my window it frightened me” Katy breathed, in staged fearfulness.

“We’re sorry to waste your time ma’am, but since we’ve been dispatched it’s protocol to search the premises and make sure you’re indeed safe. May we come in?”

Katy smiled, –for what had she to fear?

“Of course, do come in, I’ll put on the tea.” Katy said smoothly. “Embarrassingly enough, the scream was from me…I was out looking for my cat Johnny Cash when the lightning struck the ground beneath my feet. It sounded like a gun shot, I screamed and yelled for Johnny but could not find him.”

Katy took her visitors all over the house. She gave them mugs of hot lemon tea while they searched her home for evidence of someone lurking within. She led them, at length, to her kitchen. She showed them her mini bar and in the enthusiasm of Katy’s over-confidence, she brought tall bar stool chairs into the room, “please sit down and finish your tea before heading back into that horrid storm” she said softly while she herself in the excitement of having seemingly convinced the officers nothing had occurred besides the disappearance of her tabby cat, placed her own stool upon the very spot beneath which reposed the gun which killed William.

“Thank you for your cooperation ma’am, we’re sorry to waste your time.” The lead officer said with satisfaction. Katy’s manner had clearly convinced them of no evening dispute and she was now totally at ease.

They finished their tea uneventfully, asking about Katy’s cat and while she answered solemnly, as they chatted of various places her cat could be hiding, taking shelter from the storm. They had even promised to put out the message to other precincts. Finally, just as she began to grow weary of their presence they took leave into the now eerily quiet night. “We’ll keep an eye out for your cat ma’am.”

“Please do,” she smiled false sweetly before entering back into the house and locking the door. She leaned against it, laughing with near hysteria as a loud bang rang out from under the floorboards of her kitchen.

The gun had gone off as though condemning and damning Katy Parker from not coming clean. Katy continued to laugh, like an unhinged demon as she found her way back to her stool in the kitchen, beside the floorboard with a huge gaping wound in it. She’d deal with that later, she reasoned and poured herself a nice glass of gin and tonic.


I hope you all enjoyed that, have a great weekend everyone!

Love you. Mean it.



Of Love and Lost Favor

I wrote this poem about a series of dreams I had, I think they were about Anne Boleyn. I love this poem because I think it captures her maternal love for her daughter with her romantic love mixed with fear for her husband. Anne is a complex character, but she’s strong, brave and beautiful-in this poem I gave her vulnerability.

Love You. Mean it.



Confessions of A Disappointed Heart (A Poem)

I wrote this poem on a very overcast, sweltering day in early July of 2010. The feelings of inadequacy coupled with the quiet determination to want what’s best for yourself I think is normal in life. The: “there’s got to be more in store for me out there somewhere.” Is honestly a thought I think everyone has at one point or another. For me, this was one of the first real crossroads of my life (and it wouldn’t be the last). For me, looking back on this poem it’s raw, honest and relatable to any woman who looked herself in the mirror and said “Why me? Why now? What next?”

My favorite line comes at the end when I finally admitted you can’t real fail others, you can only fail yourself.

So without further delay, I give you the second poem of my ‘The Misunderstood’ series ‘Confessions of a Broken Heart’…enjoy!

The Misunderstood…

Confessions of a Broken Heart (7/8/10)

“It’d rather be strong enough to stand on my own two feet,

Then to drown in anything that wishes to hold me down in a sea of masked emotions and unspoken self-defeat.

It is but a woman’s choice to chose between her sweet disposition and self respect from people and things whom do not take her verses which she sings to heart.

Pain is keeping quiet,

Pain is holding back,

Pain is confining and resigning yourself to a place which no longer serves you and allows you to grow.

Misery is holding on to people and things you have no control over,

Misery is keeping ties simply because they’re the only ones you know.

Strength is taking that leap off a plane and in an instant hoping your parachute works,

Strength is taking risks and letting go despite fear of what beyond what’s known lurks.

Faith is believing that failures in situations are only temporary but the success and glory you’ll find from never giving up through adversity will last forever.

Faith is believing what’s meant to be will always be and we’re exactly at this moment where we are supposed to be in the grand scheme of things.

Acceptance is knowing somethings will flee forever never to return and believing it is for the best.

Acceptance is gratitude for the good and the bad life brings.

Acceptance values blessings and lessons can be taken from times of joy and distress.

Disappointment breeds gentle, humble, humility.

Dignity allows restraint from regret.

True heartache can never come from knowing you failed one person,

True heartache comes in knowing you sold yourself short and failed yourself.”

-Brittany Hackett Schmidt

Well, what are your thoughts? Please drop me a line in the comments below and let me know what you think! Have a blessed week ahead!

Love you. Mean it.