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Quincy Davis ... Pages 6
QUINCY DAVIS
. . . Is a blossoming young Seattle writer who has published her first book in 2020, titled, Camp Misticor, and has nine chapters
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Excerpts are printed here with her permission. It is a novel and in its entirety, a work of fiction. Every word is from the author’s imagination. Quincy loves her older sister, W averly, pets, and traveling. She has already traveled to such places as Puerto Rico, Alaska, and Hawaii.
Here is the share:
Chapter 1 - Wonderland
Lost in time. Asleep. In a trance Stuck. “Candy wake up” “Wake up” “Wake up” Snap, the flowers turned to stone and the statues became Wonderlandeans again. When we got to camp, we were heroes and grounded, but we saved everyone. We are all mad here.
Chapter 6 - The Maze
Hi! I am Stella, the daughter of Snow White and I am blind. I am heading to camp Misticor. I may not be able to see with my eyes, but I can “see: with my feet, I can feel the vibrations by the slightest piece of grass I can see everything. When I got to camp, I went down to the cabins so I could get to the cabins first.
Chapter 8 - Stuck
Ya, I had the moon stone flower when I was a baby. Whoa James said. Does that make her my sister? Ha, she chuckled. Here, let me heal you, I said as I rapped my hair around her. You must be the one with the sun stone. I now have a sister cause we adopted Mai she is learning what her powers are so I am helping her.
Chapter 9 - Who Am I?
“Magic! Magic! Wait, “I am going with you and I will never leave you she grabbed my hand and walked into the distance to find somewhere we could live in peace
Elegy for Tree
to behold the beauty blemished to cringe the jeering crowd to flinch the blood-letting to shudder beneath the cameras’ incessant flashings, suffer the bristling rope
Oh, Tree!
you too will be frozen horror in the photograph obscenity printed on postcards abomination framed as trophy your branches lulled by the swinging Body the Body that once knelt beneath your shade to pray the Body that leaned against you sharing a first kiss the Body that ran, toddler feet chasing butterflies the Body squealing with joy now a dangling body bait for a murder of crows
Oh, Tree, how your leaves claw the vapid air as you weep this vile morning
