Trace of Deception


I knew he duped me. Knew it. I would hint at finding things around the house. Things I hadn’t placed where they had been found. I hadn’t placed them there for a good reason. They weren’t mine! The final straw was the traces of blonde hair on my dresser.

Did he think me a fool?

This entire time I thought I was the one he loved, I thought I was the one he wanted to be with… forever!

“Has your wife been here?” I asked slamming my mug on the counter; coffee splattered everywhere. That wasn’t the only thing that would be splattered if I didn’t get some damn answers.

His gaze shifted just as he shifted in his seat. “Why would she be here?” He scooped up his scrambled eggs with the fork and dumped them on the plate, over and over like a four-year-old.

“That’s not an answer,” I snapped.

“What do you want from me?” He snapped back.

“You said we would be together. You told me it was over for you two!” I screamed then steeled myself.

“Well, about that,” he started but I interrupted him with laughter.

“I found the hair. Why would you bring your wife here?” I cut right to the bone. The games were over.

“I didn’t. She just showed up,” he pulled at his collar and pushed the plate of eggs toward the center of the table. I opened the dishwasher and pulled out a butcher knife and a plastic baggie.

“She just showed up and wound up in my bedroom?” I turned and brandished the knife in one hand, the plastic baggy in the other.

“It’s not what you think, love,” he whispered and stood up. That’s when I saw the blood: on his pants, on his hands, on the chair. I took a good look around the kitchen and realized there was blood everywhere.

“What did you do?” I shrieked as I held the butt of the knife at my belly.

“You’re about to find out,” he cooed.

Copyright © 2017 All rights reserved

Buff Bufferson

ego man.jpg

“You can’t go in there,” I shouted this time. I could feel my face crinkle with displeasure as I stormed toward the arrogant, naked man by the edge of the pool. My face twisted for two reasons: the stench of chlorine and I had dealt with this imbecile all week.

He scoffed and remarked, “I can do whatever the hell I want. Don’t you know who I am?”

Sadly, I did know who he was. He was Buff Bufferson. Allegedly the most handsome man in all the land. Women would take one look at him and instantly fall in love; men would become insanely jealous.

It was all bullshit. I couldn’t believe the number of people who had seemingly gone completely mad over this arrogant dufus. Didn’t people think for themselves anymore?

“Mr. Bufferson,” I sighed, “the pool isn’t ready yet. It has just been cleaned and shocked. There is enough chlorine in there to-”

“Don’t tell me about chlorine! I know all about chlorine! Don’t you know who I am?” Buff snapped and stuck his nose in the air.  “How dare you insinuate that I am a moron. Why I think I’ll call your manager right now and have you fired.”

This was not the first time he threatened me with a good time. Usually, I fell into his little trap of control. But not today. I was too pissed off that I was about to miss my game show thanks to this jerk. Not to mention, I was sure my eyebrows were burning off just from the lingering odor of the swimming pool. My face felt lighter so I was sure they had singed off at this point like some weird sci-fi trickery.

“Fine, Mr. Bufferson. You wanna go in the pool? Be my freaking guest. But can you please wait until I get back to the office? That way I have no knowledge and we can both plead ignorance. You know, help each other stay out of trouble if management finds out.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! I don’t need you to tell me anything and I damn sure do not need management,” he stopped to laugh then continued, “management to dictate to me. Now excuse me while I go-” he was still talking as I had turned around and started walking away.

I turned back around to see him mysteriously missing from the pool deck. There was no water on the concrete as I crept toward the edge of the pool. My hands instinctively went to my mouth.

There was Buff, floating in the pool as his skin melted off in chunks and sank to the bottom in gooey globs of gray and pink.

“Aww, man. Now I am going to miss all my shows,” I said to Buff. I knew he couldn’t hear me. His ears were at the bottom of the pool, also in gray gooey globs.

I snickered at the sound… gooey globs.

Gooey globs of Buff Bufferson floated and sank in the pool like melted pieces of concrete if that were at all possible. I debated for a full two minutes on what to do. Once I realized there was nothing I really could do, I went back to my shows and made a mental not to chat with the pool guy.

I guess he did go overboard on the chlorine this time.

Daily Reprieve

Daily Reprieve





This is just a short blurb because it is Friday and it is a holiday weekend (Thank a Vet!) and I have a lot of serious editing and finalizing a novel to do over the three day weekend… mark my words, I will be a national best-selling author.

Usually, a reprieve is saved for things like religion and prison.

But every day I have to give myself a reprieve. I am a human being and while I desperately do my due diligence to be the best human on the planet, I at times falter.

And while some fuckups are not forgivable, some need to be because, hey… shit happens.

So if you’ve done something that you aren’t proud of and when you really pick it apart, that demon is nestled in your brain whispering awful things to you… you have to figure out a way to get in front of that and let it go. You need to forgive yourself. That demon needs to be smothered for good.

I held onto my demons for many years, beat the hell out of myself in every way (mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically) and at the end of the day, I was still an empty shell of self-loathing. And I was not getting any better.

I can’t really tell you how to get to the point of giving yourself a reprieve… but if you’re sitting in a self-inflicted hell right now, it might be something to take a look at…

Self-loathing leads to terrible roads, and sometimes when we get lost on those roads, there is no way to get back. Don’t travel into that dark abyss too far… figure it out and find the light.  There is always light somewhere…

Surviving Can Be Sad


(Warning: language and sexual reference)

Morning came as the sun beamed through the vertical blinds like it had something to say. Celeste rolled over and covered her face with the over-stuffed pillow next to her. She smiled as she thought about last night. Her smile faded, remembering the conversation Jack had started with her; the conversation she wanted to finish.

“No way,” Celeste whispered to herself as she crawled out of bed and walked over to the wet bar. She opened the refrigerator to see a note taped to a bottle of vodka.

Good morning, sunshine, Sorry I had to cut out early. Meeting. Here is a gift for you. There is money in the nightstand drawer. See you Thursday? My love, Jackie.

Celeste twisted the cap off of the vodka and threw it at the mirror on the adjacent wall. She schlepped over to the nightstand and slid the drawer open.

There was a pink envelope inside; the flap tucked in. Two thousand dollars. She would give Spitz a grand to keep him quiet for a while. She dropped the envelope on the nightstand and chugged two shots of vodka.

It’s unbelievable what you do to survive, Celly. She thought to herself.

Celeste plopped on the bed, pulled her panties to the side and fingered herself while she closed her eyes and thought of a random dark-haired man. Jack crept into her head along with the conversation from last night. Her stomach flip-flopped as she ran to the bathroom, both her hands over her mouth. She made it to the toilet and puked.

She looked hard at herself in the mirror behind the sink.

“Hunny, there is an explanation for this. There has got to be another dancer named Janice. God has a sense of humor, sure. But he ain’t no sick fuck, is he? No way have you been banging your daddy.”

She scooped the money up, got dressed and threw the key on the bed. It was time to go get some answers.

*excerpt from a novel written in 2011

Last Impression
©  2017 DAMSteelman


When I was younger, I had the impression that I really mattered and I’d grow up to be a five-star lawyer living in New Hope, PA with a cat and four sports cars (or a sports car and four cats).

When I was naive, I had the impression that I sort of mattered and that my husband loved me and that we’d build a great home with a wonderful family and grow old together.

When I was broken, I had the impression that I didn’t matter and that my life was a trainwreck because of everyone else including that abusive husband from all those years ago.

When I became hopeful, I got the impression that I was worth saving… maybe.

When I became determined, I got the impression that with hard work and determination, I could trudge forward and still live my dream.

When I became confident, I got the impression that I woke up today with eleven years clean and sober and that anything is possible. I am married to an amazing man and am going after my dreams.

I now have the impression that I am an amazing human being capable of anything.

Do what it takes and do it well.

Daily Post: Catapulted

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There was no way I could see the future

I couldn’t know that I would be here



Catapulted into the moonlit darkness

Just me and my morbid thoughts

The eyes they still follow me

The screams still surround me

I need to hit the ground

So I can leak into the sun

Waking Darkness

darkness before dawn

Stuffed down in the dark, cobwebbed dirt

That’s where I bury the pain, loss and hurt,

I’ll never be that version of me again

Sometimes it’s easier to let the demons win,

Don’t you worry your pretty little head

There’s more than one way for us to be dead,

Sure I’m breathing but am I truly alive

It’s just an adaptation of conscious suicide,

Some days are a struggle from my first waking breath

And it’s all I can do not to hate myself to death…


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