Tomorrow When I Die – Teaser

Today commemorates 101 years since the Armenian Genocide. 1.5 million Armenians were tortured and killed in a silent genocide by the Ottoman Empire.

It’s a genocide that has yet to be officially recognized by the American and Turkish government. President Bill Clinton promised to bring this issue to the table during his campaign, yet failed to do so during his presidency.

1 year from today, Tomorrow When I Die will be released. A literary fiction story told by a 14 year old girl named Anahid. She tells her story from the grave. It’s a heart felt story that’s not only about the horrors of the genocide, but the love, sacrifice, loyalty, and friendship that is found in the darkest realms of terror and evil. A story about how an attempt at eradication ended up being a rise from the ashes.

Mark your calendars, spread the word and let’s count down together over the next 12 months for the world wide release of a story unlike any other. A story that needs to be shared.

It is my best work yet.



Death never comes easy. Sometimes it’s slow and the breath suffers. Sometimes it’s quick and it’s the heart that suffers. Not of the person who dies, but of the person who’s watching.


A pressed wing against the muddy ground and I can tell it’s broken. I don’t know what kind of bird it is, but I see many of them around. They are small and fly fast. The dark line of feathers from the beak to the inner corner of its tiny black eyes make it appear angry. ‘Looks like Mama when you eat too many of her Gatas’, my brother would say.


I stroke the bird’s soft feathers, like Baba would to my hair when I was sick. It would make me feel better. The tiny bird tries mercilessly to move its wing. An instinct, I wonder, to fly – even though it can barely breathe. I know death will come soon, but it doesn’t. It just suffers.


“You need to squash it,” Mama says and her voice startles me.




“It’s suffering.” She stands over me, blocking out the sun. I can only see her outline and her hands are on her hips.


“No, Mama!”


She clucks her tongue at me and I hope she goes away. I’ll hate her forever if she squashes the bird. I don’t know if it’s a threat.


“You want it to suffer?”


I shake my head and feel the tears start to come. “I don’t want it to die,” I whisper.


“Everything dies, Anahid.”


I shake my head again.


“I don’t want it to,” is all I can say.


The sun is warm on my shoulders again and I know Mama is gone. She’s right. But I don’t know what to do. “I can’t hurt you little bird.” The tiny bird struggles to breathe and its eyes are crusted with dirt and mud and foam forms around the edges of its beak. Death is ugly.


I find a small boulder and can barely lift it. It will definitely do. My eyes are filled with tears and I barely locate where the bird is through my blurry vision.


“Please die,” I whisper. “I don’t want to do it.”


It moves the broken wing again and looks worse than it did seconds before. I close my eyes as tight as I can and chant ‘I’m sorry’ over and over as I drop the boulder on the little bird.


Children at the Window Teaser

Like all other teasers, these are unedited. So… it may be a bit different in the final book but still wanted to give you a little taste.

There’s nothing there – I told myself. One step. There’s nothing there – my new mantra. Another step. There’s nothing there. Three, four, five steps. There’s nothing there. My breathing was still shallow, my heart still raced, but I still took another step, and another. There’s nothing there. I was only three steps from my window. I stared at the motionless curtains. There was nothing there. There wouldn’t be anything there and I would just laugh at my silliness. Two steps left. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. One step and I stood in front of my window, my heart pounding so loud in my ears it was all I could hear. There’s nothing there.

I placed my shaky hand on the edge of the curtain, my hand curling around the thick linen. With a deep breath, I pulled it back and nearly screamed at my own reflection staring back at me from the window. On the other side was complete darkness and no children.

Children at the Window TEASER




“Yes, baby?” I answered.

The suds and water, cleaning dishes, this was therapeutic to me. Something about the quiet rush of the faucet water, the clean porcelain dishes, a full stomach, it all soothed me. It wasn’t until the third dish that I realized Caleb never responded.

“Caleb?” I called out, a half-soaked dish still in my hand.

I shut the water off and listened to the quiet of the house – too quiet, I thought. It only meant one thing. Caleb was up to something and probably nothing good.

“Caleb?” I called out again.

I wiped my wet hands with a dishtowel and left the kitchen – calling out for my seven year old son as I searched the home. A distant, yet muffled, giggle alerted me to where he was.
“Caleb, I can hear you and I know you’re up to something,” I called up to the stairs, where I heard him on the second floor.

The front door slammed, startling me. When I spun around to see what it was, Caleb stood in front of the door, kicking off his dusty boots.


“Yes, mommy?”

“Where were you?”

“But I just heard you. You called out for me.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said while putting his ear-buds into his ears.

I plucked one out, annoyed. “Caleb, don’t play games.”

“You said I could play after I took the trash out.”

“That’s not what I meant.” A knocking at the door interrupted our conversation. “Ok, can you at least see who’s at the door?”

Caleb tilted his head quizzically. “Huh?”

“Can you answer the door?”

He shrugged and opened the door, then stepped aside to let me see behind the screen door.

All I could do was scratch my head. I stepped outside quickly and looked up and down the street, then walked quickly to the sides of our house. When I returned, Caleb was standing in the threshold.

“Caleb, this isn’t funny,” I said.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You heard the knocking on the door, didn’t you?”

“I think you’re losing your mind,” Caleb laughed.

“You didn’t hear the knocking?” I refused to let this go. It wasn’t like him to play jokes on people, but seven year olds weren’t exactly predictable.

“Nope.” He stuck the earbud back in his ear and I knew that’s all I’d get from him.

Children at the Window – TEASER –


August 25, 1937

756 Olive Drive

Fear gripped me. My son slept soundly in his room down the hall. The air was thick and choking, and fear swelled from my husband in waves. I forced a comforting smile. This was nothing, I thought, our overactive imaginations at play.

“It’s nothing,” I said aloud.

He nodded, more out of habit than agreement. I wanted to go to my son’s room but was afraid to. Somehow I knew that would just – make things angry. I could feel my husband’s presence next to me as much as I could see him.

“Watch,” I said to him, gathering my wit. “Whatever you are!” I said with forced bravado to no one in particular. “You’re not welcome here! So you can just leave!” I sounded more brave than I felt.

Even though I spoke with force, the words sounded muffled. I could almost hear the words spoken back to me. Maybe I felt them, I wasn’t sure. Looking back, I knew something was very wrong, but it wasn’t until I stepped out into the hall that I was given the proof.

The hall felt darker, colder, longer than usual. The table lamp in the study was the only source of light and it barely illuminated the outline of my husband behind me, who hadn’t moved from where he stood.

“Fine!”I said as loud as I could muster. Because my fear was literally choking me. Each time I spoke, it took more effort and less sound would come out of me, as if I were in one of those nightmares. “If you don’t leave, then we’re leaving.”

The front door swung open of its own accord, beckoning me. I could hear the foreign thoughts in my mind. ‘Go ahead and leave. But you’re leaving alone.’ The thoughts bombarded my mind, not in words – but as knowledge. I slid quietly into the room next to the study where my aging mother slept. I needed prayers. I collapsed onto her bed and tried to shake her awake. She stirred, but her sleep was deep. When I tried to call out to her, my voice was barely a whisper. I felt like I were in a void.

“Please!” I begged, my throat burning and my voice raspy. “Please!”

I knew there was no use. I wouldn’t get the prayers from my mother. I stood then and felt compelled to look out the window. Three normal looking strangers stood just outside my window, staggered, watching me. I pushed out the screen which caused the stranger, a woman, closest to the window to walk toward it – her arm outstretched.

“Don’t do this!” I said to her.

It didn’t matter. She easily reached into the window and pulled me out with little effort. I collapsed onto the damp, cold grass into a heap – the house behind me. That was the last time I ever saw my family. Whatever it was, it wanted my son, and it got him.

  • End recording –

Masochists Teaser – Danny Ruiz

The bloody tear trailed down her sunken in skin and I just eyed her warily. She had that look about her – I remembered it from when I was a child and I knew then… I knew she was up to no good.

“Sara? What are you planning in that tiny little fucked up brain of yours?”

She giggled hysterically and wiped the single tear, smearing red across her cheek instead.

“You’re calling me fucked up big brother?”

Sara twirled her brown hair around her slender fingers and continued eyeing me hungrily. I took a reflexive step back without thinking. She tilted her head and watched me now like a hungry animal. I did it, I instinctively showed fear and now she was out for blood.

“You stupid little cunt!” I hissed through my clenched teeth and slouched over now – the animal instincts taking over. I still didn’t know what she was planning to do but I knew that look – I remembered it when she took our sisters doll at the age of seven and ripped the head off, burning it in the fireplace, as revenge for accidentally being tripped.

That was then.

She was seven years old and still held a conscience. Now? Now she was a raging animal with not a drop of conscience in her ignorant little brain.

“Doctor Ruiz. Paging Doctor Ruiz,” she said, continuing to giggle like a lunatic.

You didn’t need a conscience to know that this was a really fucked up situation. She ran the tip of her finger down her collarbone and her chest slowly. Was she seriously trying to tease me?

“What do you want Sara?”

She leaned back against the raven black granite countertop, letting her chest protrude out. I saw one of the humans from the corner of my eye hesitate as he wiped down the windows. It was a fraction of a second, but I noticed his hesitation. I would take care of him later. Right now, I couldn’t afford any distractions.

“Donny – get the fuck out,” I said calmly, without taking my eyes off Sara. It took only seconds for him to dash out of the room. Good boy

“I’m not asking again, Sara. What do you want?”

“I was going to see if you want to be partners, but you hurt my feelings.” Her bottom lip stuck out as she pouted and batted her eyelashes at me. The effect was startling over her deep blood red eyes.