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Papoose Doorbelle

Papoose is a technical writer, technical editor, copy-editor, web designer, programmer, publisher and technical trainer with a degree from Rutgers University and additional coursework at Chubb Institute and NYU-SCPS. Papoose specializes in educational game theory for younger generations.

Fantasy Papoose PG-7
Fiction for All Ages by Papoose

Bees Need to Eat
Poem about bee food by Papoose

Spoon & Fork
Cutlery-based limerick by Papoose

Never Sunny In Brooklyn
Short prose poetry piece by Papoose

French Pig
This is the first poem Papoose ever wrote at age 9.

French Pig II
The naked pig drama continues by Papoose.

The Distraction Prelude
One of the first fictional pieces written by Papoose

Backstroke
Prose poetry piece by Papoose

Morning After
Romantic fiction short story by Papoose

The Kitchen
Dark romantic fiction by Papoose

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Witch Exiled

Witch Exiled "Bring this witch before me," states the queen. "Witchcraft falls under my jurisdiction," argues the goblin king. The queen looks over at her husband. Her head turns slightly, signifying the anger she is restraining. "Here she is," calls out a royal guard from behind the audience in the royal court. A pathway clears up as two guards emerge at the other end of the room, holding a witch's arms at her sides. She is slumped over, showing visible signs of physical abuse. "Bring her forward," orders the queen. The royal guards march her down the path cleared by the standing audience. Her feet drag as her body is pulled before the king and queen. "This is out of my hands," the goblin king states calmly. "I didn't know!" The witch calls out, barely lifting her head to speak. "You didn't know what?" Asks the queen, "you didn't know it's against goblin law to practice magic in the ro...
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Stone Flight

"Lady, I got two months to live," I explain. My legs trembling beneath me like some stoner just caught his buzz and can't stand on his own two feet. "That may be, but I can't let you on there with this," she argues. Her voice firm, and her eyes confirm she is unconvinced. She whispers into the mouthpiece of her walkie-talkie something garbled that I can't make out; my hearing obscured by the drugs taking their toll on my body. I lost my sense of smell earlier this year. Suddenly food lost its flavor; the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong until an assistant asked if maybe I just lost my sense of smell, then suddenly it became clear that it wasn't anything serious. "Get me your supervisor," I demand. She squares off her footing and places her fists on either hip, standing firmly as if waiting for backup. Sure enough, not a moment later two other men show up, armed and just as serious. "Sir, he'll tell you the same th...
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Main Menu >> Fiction Home >> Authors >> Jessica Messinger >> Jessica Jessica by Jessica Messinger And there she was at the top of the stairs; a bad brunette with streaks of blonde. She had her jeans spill low so I could see her thong. I turned back to check on Blyde, then she was gone. One moment's beauty, just like the song. (I was just passing by the doorway to see if my friend was down there. I wanna say I didn't even notice Kay, but truth is he was kinda cute at first, so yeah, I noticed him.) I later learned her name was Jessica. She was a foot shorter than me, her hair a full natural waterfall just passed her shoulders, and then her skin. Her cappuccino tint glistened with radiance of her soft, youthful texture that only required eyesight to appreciate how pleasant it would be touching her skin as we would hold hands. (I don't know why Kay's all touchy-feely sometimes. He's not always like that, though. There's...
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