I am Winter, as far as you know. My mind has always worked a little weird. Thoughts strange and vivid would flash into my mind growing up, dark ones, and sometimes nice ones. I never knew what to do with them until I started writing fiction as a teen. While my fledgling material isn't the best written, it was twisted and odd. 

I once wrote about a ten year old boy trapped in a metal cabinet, when he hid inside during and earthquake and was trapped under rubble. By the end, that boy had screamed for help so much his vocal cords tore as he coughed blood. The hunger and pain of his injuries were so severe that he ended up biting his wrists to chew out his veins. He bled out and died. Suffice it to say, the feedback I got wasn't wholly positive, some stating excessive violence and accused me of writing tragedy smut, but I was in a dark place in life, and I needed to write down what pain felt like.  

The other one was about a grieving widow attempting suicide after her husband's death haunts her for months. Here's an excerpt:

"Cassie sat up quietly, cupping her face with her hands. It felt so real; he felt so real. They were eating BLTs by the lake. She watched him fish out the thin slices of tomato on his half of the sandwich and neatly place them on his paper plate like he always did. They talked about some movie they had never seen. He sounded happy. He wasn't stressed anymore.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She opened her eyes to the dark cold room. The power had gone out so the heating shut off. Her skin felt like a plucked goose, pebbly and dry. She suddenly felt very exposed. She wanted him to hold her again. She remembered their vacation to the old run down ski resort. That night they had to huddle under a thick blanket, it was the only thing they could do, the frost had blown the radiator pipes. Being from the south, Cassie was not used to the cold back then, but Daniel held her all through the night, whenever she felt the shivers come on, he held her tight to his warm body, and let go if she needed him to. He stayed up that night trying to keep her warm, and now she was cold again, but he wasn't there. He wasn't there, and she wanted to be with him. As all the memories she repressed came flooding in, Cassie fumbled for the handle of her dresser drawer until she saw the cold glint of metal."

The particularly gruesome stuff I want to leave out of the introduction note, I hope you understand. As melancholic as the subject matter I like to write about, I want to write some nice wholesome stories too. Hopefully I'll get to writing some. So if you think you're interested, drop a follow, or a read, or however you can find me again. Id also love suggestions for future stories if you want to share them. Hell, I might just start with a wholesome one.