Author Archives: J.R. Jacobs

About J.R. Jacobs

Welcome! I am elated that you have found my blog. I am a writer who is currently crafting two novels to become published. Here there will be offerings of open reading from these novels as I see fit to share so please revisit again to be sure that you don't miss anything. My hopes in creating this blog are to get connected with other aspiring writers and published authors alike. Befriending other aspiring writers for encouragement that goes both ways and seeking the council of published authors to help become a more rounded author one day are two important goals I have in creating this blog. Here you will find a collection of short stories for your reading pleasure. If you are not fond of one short story I post please consider viewing another before you give up on me as a blogger to follow because I don't choose one style of writing or theme- but rather prefer to reach every individual at some point. I am aware that it is important to "get to know" your blogger so they say and I will be posting windows into my life periodically as well. Perhaps you will find these musings just as interesting as my short stories. I have star reaching aspirations and need your visits and opinions to aid me in obtaining the destination of my goals. I am a writer mother and wife, and take pride in every title I have managed to collect over the past few years. I am a writer thanks to my father, a published author himself, who never discouraged my writing no matter the subject matter. I am mother to my one year old son who- let me tell you- is a handful but I am convinced that I wouldn't have it any other way. I am a wife to my truly amazing and patient husband who will always be there through my successes and failures which proves to me how much he truly loves both I and our son. My hope is to complete my Creative Writing degree which I began in 2010 but got severely knocked off course by life. Please enjoy my short stories, sneak peeks, and beyond fictions and feel free to provide any constructive criticism to aid me in bettering my writing. You, my reader, are as important to me as the words in my stories. Merry cozy time reading! Jade Jezabinette Jacobs.

A Nightmare To Behold

The night was pervasive as they trotted at a speed quick enough not to get trampled and swift
enough to give the illusion of safety along the trek when the herd was being picked off like sheep to
wolves. They didn’t know exactly what it was they were running from, they just knew they had to get
from the vessel to a structure lying just up ahead, but beyond the security of safety. The shelter was
large, metal, and gray, the remanence of an abandoned garage. The survivors of the hoard were
ushered through its doorway, just big enough for one person, but challenged by many. Those with guns
formed a path, staving off what attack they could.
The raging forces against them howled and screeched as the small family was ushered in, a few
among the untold, but the shelter offered little to mute the tormenting sounds of the ambush beyond.

The room they entered was lit and large, rows of old metal shelving lining the silver walls and resting on
concrete floors. People huddled against the walls being pounded and scratched by whatever beasts had
chosen them as their next victims; people sat in circles covering their ears as tears wet the ground
between their feet. The air was musk with fear, but the true word for it was terror.
Desperation resounded through the calls of the living, pleading through the unflagging, lost on
the offering to their pursuers until a slam was heard and the sound of shuffling intensified. Suddenly the
air was hushed outside, and the inside followed suit. The masses stared up at the ceiling straining to see
through the barrier, to better know what was taking place outside; but the escaping moans of the
suffering distracted from any false ability to do so.

With the fantasy of safety obtained, quietly people were shown to places to rest to the best of
their abilities. The small family was shown to a room mostly barren aside from a stripped mattress,
dusted on the ground. The child among them only saw the bed as he crawled, spent from emotions too
strong for such a small being, to sleep, to escape, to pretend. But the parents only took notice of the
large three paned window stretched along the far wall.
The murk beyond was thick and dotted by light, only bright enough to make out its direct
surroundings, which offered little in the ways of sight. They stood motionless in the closed doorway,
their predicament unknown by those on the other side of the door. If it had been noticed surely the
soldiers would have patched this hole in their delusion of repose. Instead there it was, a portal
unprotected to the horrors beyond. The pair couldn’t see their pursuers, or if there even was any, but
they knew to keep quiet and remain in the dark. Eventually, exhausted too from their experiences, they
crawled into bed on either side of their dozing child.

Soon after the woman pulled out a phone with a dimly lit screen and low battery to know the
time, but the screen was too dark to make out any of the numbers, so absent mindedly she turned the
brightness up. The man yowled and pressed the phone against her chest as the screen lit up the room,
staunching the light, but it was too late. The forces outside had gathered nearby and were back up in
arms at the alert joining in chorus. The creatures pinged themselves off the window, attempting to
break the glass and devour those seeking refuge inside.
The couple were on their feet witnessing the barrage against them helplessly, hoping beyond
prayers that the glass held. As they drew near the window, ready to shield their child from anything that
made its way in, the assault stopped. The beasts changed their tactic and perched upon the windowsill
outside. Sitting still the two could clearly see what they were up against, and their horror grew with
every breath, and every inch they saw.



What they observed was a large creature that had leathery wings spread open as their long,
finger-like claws gripped the glass, the points of them digging and leaving marks as they held steady.
Their bodies were thick and furred, and their legs short but spindly. The true crime of the abomination
was its mangled face, contorted with human like qualities but twitching like an animal on the prowl. The
hue of the bubbled faces were pink and purple housing eyes that were blackened, hungry, angry, and
depthless. The opposing sides stared at each other a moment, assessing, anticipating, contemplating.
Then their winged hands worked around hinges, turning the nobs, cracking open the windows.

Instantly the spell was broken, and the couple lunged to close and lock the windows again,
severing tiny hands from their owners, being rewarded with the shrill cries of their enemies suffering.
The trove retreated to nearby trees, hanging from their feet calculating their next attempt. With the
withdraw, the adrenaline supply also drained and they returned to their places on the mattress. But rest
was not on the schedule for the night, as the monsters tried time and again to infiltrate the sad excuse
for a stronghold.

As the two maintained their frontlines at the window the child woke and cried continuously with
weariness and panic. There was no comfort to be offered though because the only source of comfort
was busied with the preservation of life.
Then, during a lull of the onslaught, a long-haired black lab scratched at the windowpane.
Without thought the man swung open the biggest window, and the dog, previously hunched with its tail
between its legs and ears drawn back darted quickly as its four paws would hurdling into the room, but
the pace wasn’t quick enough as several of the monstrosities made their way in through the opening as
well, making quick work of their intentions inside. Young, too young, agonized screams filled their ears,
piercing and failing; deep growls and sharp snaps quickly silenced too.

The parents stared with dread at the scene, circled by the beasts, bathed in the blood that
splattered and saturated the once white mattress. Fur and skin and remains were strewn along the
surface, resting in patterns they did not belong. Among what was left, was the once bright, laughing,
smiling, curious, and adventurous child. Now with a pale, marble-like, lifeless, gaping, stained face that
belonged to nothing more than the air it was attached to.
Gawking at what was now never to be, tears swelled with depression and defeat that blurred
the visions of the lost. Instantaneously hearts broke and will drifted with the realization of all the “I love
you’ s” that were never to be and arms that were never to comfort again, that wish they had only a few
moments before, now outstretched to the empty and cold space afront them. The few seconds they had
left seemed to last three lifetimes as they were slaughtered, seeing only the face of the child they once
had before the disaster rocked the earth, tormented only by the pain that they could not protect the
only thing that was left of theirs.

Outside Normalcy

She sacrifices – her Young

Hopes extending – her Duration

Once children – cries Sung

Winters approach – ill Recreation


Her sins – her Blood

Rooted Remains

To birthing – extend Longevity

Forevermore martyring – ever Creatively


We revel – her Massacre

green, red, Orange, yellow – colors Falling

Final decay – now Brown

Premature funerals – sparkling Crowns

Life In-between Death

Spring morning Scented Air

Honey womb Tasted Water

Bonfires warming Earth

North lights like sky Fire,

Butterflies whispered Temper

Something in human birth.


Tar plumes mask in out Air

Ash mingles in out Water

Sythet-is-istic Earth

Imperceptible Fire,

Deaf beneath in out Temper

Something in human birth.


Acid eroding Air

Copper vapor from Water

Abandon own to Earth

Hostility in Fire,

Starving crows control Temper

Something in human birth.


It is possible that even in the eye of the storm we necessitate some discontent; it wouldn’t be the eye otherwise. At first the lull of lazy swells are a welcome break from constant torrents of tidal waves; although eventually everyone tires of sunbathing, leisurely sipping a beverage adorned with umbrella, and dipping toes into blue waters.  Has anyone ever stopped to ask why? Bothering with sloshing otherwise still bathwater onto the floor of life to embitter, mold, and slip over seems exhausting to me.

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Popping Rainbows

Brimming hope, coffee, love

Voyaging on no path lain

Afore eyes rainbows stencil slain

Nothing quite like rising above.


Yesteryears fears tamed.

Dawns arrived – New heartbeats heard.

Ears future turned

No mind maimed.


Encourage forevermore

This revolutionist

Bearing tiny speechless fists.

Make the difference – in a score.


Nobody covets to be Somebody

Somebody prodigious to Everybody

Nobody – Everybody.


Everyone amassed of Anyone

Anyone chosen by No-one

No-one wrought by Someone


Somebody identical to Nobody

Nobody indistinguishable from Everyone

Everyone – Someone.

Middleton Park

Let’s take a journey together this evening; down a sidewalk past tall brick buildings, across streets, and into a park. The park is flourishing with color and vibrant with life; there are old stone benches, newer metal ones, and some wooden benches from sometime in the past. You’ll notice these things while strolling down the thin trail; you’ll also observe a woman sitting upon a stone bench.

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Lake Breakfast

Have you ever watched the summer sun rise on Lake Michigan? I did. I watched the sky turn from ink to blue velvet to gray. I’ve seen red orange and yellow bleed out from the horizon; I’ve seen pinks purples and powder blues take over the sky. I’ve witnessed seagulls flock out of an old lighthouse circling the beaches for breakfast of their own. I’ve been part of a salty sea breeze morning only once.

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On Four Past Two: The 11th Sense

Winter sets

disaster Gray


Puzzle pieces

pressed Today


Snow drifts

Ashes tonight


ice Melts

spring Delight


Tomorrow persists

impressions Forlorn


Yesterday proceeds’

Memories Scorned

Air Force Rangers

Middle school was a life changing time for me; those two years were the beginning of outside influences on my personality. Before middle school I was a quiet but confident child that said whatever whenever which was never a terrible thing- my words harmed nobody and empowered all. I didn’t go out much preferring to sit in my room reading a book or playing with various pets, and yes- spending time with my family. I had lost interest in involving myself with the neighborhood kids and lacked friends otherwise. In school I concentrated on my studies or expressions of creativity opposed to making a ruckus and passing notes with other girls. Seventh grade science class changed that.

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