Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Kimberly Gould Week 198: Details

Picture 1

Picture 2

Kimberly Gould’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Details

Melanie pulled the needle through the cloth and tucked the end of the thread beneath her stitches. WIth a flourish, she snipped the remaining thread and released the embroidery hoop. The creases did mar the effect, but holding her work next to the picture she’d take on her vacation, she was sure she’d gotten the fleabane just right.

Tamara looked over her shoulder. “That’s really good. Botanically correct. I went for aesthetic rather than accuracy.”

Her work was also washed and stretched, making it pop that much more. The ring would make a beautiful place mat.

“Those leaves are wrong.” Melanie pointed, eager to diminish Tamara’s work in retaliation.

“Yes, but they balance better than real ones.”

Melanie looked back at her work and began planning how to add the pussytoes and paintbrushes in the background. “That’s fine, but I prefer to focus on the details.”

“And that’s why yours will be stuck in a lab while mine will grace a table.”

“Mine will be appreciated.”

Tamara laughed. “You think mine won’t? We’ll see, Melanie. We’ll see who gets Philip's attention.”

Melanie frowned, unsure if the noble would prefer her botanical efforts. Then again, if he didn’t, she knew her father would. Letting Tamara have the last word, she snapped the embroidery hoop on again. She had work to do.


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Kimberly Gould is the author of Cargon: Honour and Privilege, and it's sequel Duty and Sacrifice. She can be found most places as Kimmydonn, including Kimmydonn.com


Monday, May 9, 2016

Michael Wombat Week 198: You Will Burn

Picture 1

Picture 2

Michael Wombat’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: You Will Burn

(Trigger warning: this one’s a bit violent. Please forgive any typos, as I wrote it in a two hour window between other necessary jobs)

“You will burn! You will burn!”

The voice woke me from my slumber. My dream of forests dissipated like smoke on a forest wind, leaving behind naught but wisps at the periphery of my mind.

“Let all be forgiven! Let none be denied!”

Who was making such a noise at this time? I fluttered open my eyes. Figures stood about my bed, holding lighted candles. Figures – men – from the village. I recognised their faces. There was Ailred the smith, Pentecost the baker, Father Ilbert and half a dozen others.

“Hold her!” the priest snapped. Pentecost flung aside my bedcover and strong hands gripped my wrists and ankles.

“Father Ilbert, what’s going on? Ailred?”

“Strip her,” Father Ilbert said. “Let her go naked before the Lord.”

My scream of denial went unheeded. Ailred’s meaty fists gripped the neck of my shift and tore it away. He stared at my naked body, licking his lips.

“Be not tempted by the witch!” Father Ilbert snapped at Ailred. “Before you know it she will turn you into an eel!”

“Witch? Wha... I am no witch! I am a cunning woman! Pentecost, tell them. I healed your rash last month. And Ailred, your daughter would have died but for my help. I delivered your grandson, tell them!” Both men stared silently away, their lips tight.

“There is a curse come upon this village. The crops fail, the beasts sicken—”

“The weather has—”

“It is well known that women are to blame for the world’s evil,” said the priest. “Eve, the first woman, proved that beyond the doubting. Admit to your guilt, witch, and die easily.”

“You’re all mad!” I writhed to free myself, but the hands that held me were too strong.

“We are here to save you, girl,” said the priest. “As you slept this night in your goose-feather bed we prayed for your soul in the sight of the Lord. Ailred! Break her shins.”

“What? What are you ... NO!” My protest was cut short by my screams as the smith brought his hammer down heavily on my legs with a mighty crack. The pain was immense.

“Confess!” Father Ilbert insisted, spittle spraying from his red lips.

“I am no witch!” I gasped desperately, sobbing, great racking sobs that shook my whole body.

“Bring her!”

They dragged me out of the toft, naked and bleeding. By the door little Pons lay on the ground in a heap.

“My child! What have you done?” My vision swam. Daggers of agony sliced my legs.

“The spawn of a witch must not be allowed to survive, lest they breed more.”

“You bastard! You evil turdsucker! You will rue this day—” Father Ilbert’s fist hit me full in the face. I felt my teeth shatter.

“You see?” he crowed, triumphantly, “She tried to curse me! Proof indeed of her guilt! Take her eyes. If she cannot see us, she cannot curse us.”

And they did. They put out my eyes, painfully, excruciatingly, with their eating knives. I knew then that I was as good as dead, and, inspired by the wisps of my dream, began my incantation, quietly, barely moving my bruised lips. Father Ilbert could not have heard my words, yet he cried “She confesses!”

The men dragged me out of the village to the forest. It was cold, and my whole being felt like it was being torn apart.

“Ralf!” called Father Ilbert, “Did you do as I asked?”

“Yes, Father, good sycamore and broom, just as you said.” I knew Ralf. I had made him a potion to repair his broken heart not a se’night ago. I continued to chant beneath my breath, calling on Cernunnos for help as they tied me to what felt like a stack of wood. The branches and twigs scratched at my back and buttocks. My shattered legs collapsed but the bindings around my arms kept me semi-upright. I felt intense heat around my feet, and knew that they had lit the fire.

“Cernunnos, please,” I wept.

“Know this, witch!” cried Father Ilbert. “Because you confessed your sins we forgive you, even as you twist in death like a dancing silhouette against the pure light of themoon. We purify your soul in the fire and your spirit will live forever, rising with the smoke from the ashes and the embers in your eyes!”

“Praise the Lord!” chorused the men watching.

“Another soul is saved!” cried Father Ilbert.

“Praise the Lord!”

I felt ... a tugging ... within me. Something inside shuddered, and suddenly I could see once more. No, not see – this was not seeing. Rather I sensed everything about me with a kind of misty awareness. I saw the men gathered around a blazing inferno, inside which a body – my body – twisted and charred. I felt no pain. I was detached from it all now. I was ... I had become ... the forest itself. Cernunnos had saved me, gathering me in to join her in the trees of the forest, rewarding me for my years of devotion. I was blessed.

And with my new awareness, I suddenly saw the emotions of the men who had killed me. I saw terror and anger and sadness and confusion and desperation. A better woman than I might have forgiven them then, knowing the despair that had driven them, but not I. I would never forgive. In their fear of a non-existent witch, they had, ironically, created one. They had created me. I pulled strands of their emotions through the earth, deep into me, up through my roots and into my branches, creating songs of hatred from their twisted feelings; songs that manifested in leaves of red fire. It was not yet autumn, and yet my leaves sang out and fell, raining fiery death upon those who had murdered me, the leaves singing my vengeance as the men screamed.

Through the long centuries since, other people have come to this clearing, drawn here by the remarkably red leaves of the large tree that shelter it. None of them ever left. And I see you now, woman, warming your feet against the paltry fire that you have made. I see your hopes and dreams, your lusts and your greed. You disgust me, as do all your kind. It is time for my leaves to sing again.

“You will burn, you will burn...”


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michael Wombat has published several books - search for him on Amazon, or go talk to him on Twitter where he is @wombat37.


Monday, May 2, 2016

Jen DeSantis Week 197: Anywhere

Picture 1

Picture 2

Jen DeSantis’ Picture Choice: 1

Title: Anywhere

Marie knew the spot when she saw it; weeping willows were always his favorite. She let a little smile touch her lips as she walked the last hundred yards or so over to the benches. A weeping willow…. A fitting place for an ending.

She was deliberately early, knowing that he prided himself on always being on time. She wanted the time to breathe before he arrived and stole her breath away with all of his plans.

Marie had known Marc for almost ten years now. He joined the institute where she worked then and they’d been working together ever since. She’d been in love with him for almost all of that time. And the time before she loved him? It barely registered on her radar. All of the important things in her life had happened since she met him. The rest was just noise in the background.

And now, it was ending. She wondered whether life would just cease to have any color or meaning once she walked away from this bench. That would be a bitter pill to swallow after ten years full of music, color, and passion. Still, this was the way of the world. Ebb and flow. She thought, while she was in it, that it might never end. That’s never the way of things, though.

Marc bounded toward her over the grassy hills. She saw the little spring in his step that belied his excitement. Though her heart ached in her chest, Marie couldn’t help but smile for him. He was happy; it was all she ever wanted for him. She took a deep breath and counted to four, then exhaled deeply. She had to hold it together for him now. She wouldn’t let her sadness taint his joy. Not now.

“You came,” Marc said, a smile growing across his face as he squinted into the sunlight.

“Of course,” Marie replied. “Have I ever not come when you asked?”

He snickered. “No, I suppose not. How are you?”

He sat down next to her on the bench, the fleshy part of his leg nudging against hers. She felt her heart flutter and took another deep breath.

“Alright, I suppose. Been a bit busy. You? You sounded very excited on the phone.”

“I am!” Marc exclaimed, and he took her hand absentmindedly. “It’s all so thrilling really.”

“Well, I’m on the edge of my seat. Tell me before I burst.”

Marie concentrated on the sway of the branches around them to block out the dizzy feeling his hand on hers caused. Breathe in, breathe out. Hold it together.

“The grant money finally came through,” he said breathlessly. “We’re going!”

Marie exhaled hard. She felt her face crumpling and worked hard to keep it together. Of course, she had already known what his news had to be. It was only thing he’d working on since he joined the institute those ten years ago. The only thing that brought out his fire.

When he joined the Institute, he’d done so to work on a theory about long term space travel. He believed he could harness the science and make it a reality for humans to reach the outer edges of our solar system and beyond. It was all he talked about, all he worked towards, and all he dreamed of. When the money came through, he talked of nothing else but hopping on a spaceship and leaving this world behind. For him, no time at all would pass as he slept away the journey to the galaxies beyond. But for her, earth bound and awake, he’d be gone. Completely and forever.

“You’re not happy,” Marc said softly.

“Of course I am,” Marie said too quickly, trying to recover. “I am so happy. Your dream is finally a reality and you’ll finally get to go.”

Marc looked at her and squeezed the hand he still held. “We,” he said again. “Unless….”

“We?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I always thought that you…”

All of the reminders she’d given herself to breathe failed as she stared into his bright eyes. The excitement was still hectic on his face, but there hesitation there now as well.

“Thought that I what, Marc? What did you think?”

“I thought that you would want to come with me.”

She exhaled and moved her other hand on top of his. “I didn’t think…. You see, I always assumed you meant to go alone, with just the astronauts. I didn’t think you’d want me there.”

He tilted his head to the side, a faint smile playing at his lips. “How would I ever get by without you?”

“I didn’t think…. Let me understand. You want me there as your assistant, yes? You are simply worried about the experiments and the data?”

Marie knew it didn’t matter. Should he say that that was the only reason he wanted her to make the journey, she would go home and settle all of her affairs immediately. It wouldn’t matter in the slightest that she’d be only his assistant. But, suddenly, she needed to know where she stood. It would be a very long time in that spaceship to always only wonder.

“You are very good at your job,” Marc replied slowly. “But, no. I had hoped, perhaps, there was a little more there than that.”

Marie leaned in closer to him. “There has always been more than that for me. But, I never thought…”

He kissed her without warning and the world around them seemed to stop. She breathed him in, her heart feeling like it might beat straight out of her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as the broke apart. “I always thought you knew.”

Marie laughed softly. “Of course you did,” she replied. “It’s forgiven. And yes. I’d go to the end of the world with you.”

“And beyond?” he asked with a smile.

“Anywhere,” she said. “Anywhere at all.”


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Jennifer DeSantis is a Horror and Paranormal Author. She lives near Philly with her family. Tweet her at @JenD_Author


Thursday, April 21, 2016

Denise Callaway Week 196: When the Smoke Clears...

Picture 1

Picture 2 

Denise Callaway’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: When the Smoke Clears...

Lost in the crowds, rioting and cursing,
Could any kindness remain?
Is all that is good lost?
When the smoke clears,
Do we only see bloodstains?

Lost in angry rhetoric, shouts of hate,
Could love make a break?
Can it risk the cost?
When the smoke clears,
Do we only hear the empty ache?

Circling the lost and lonely, listless and forsaken,
Could forgiveness take light?
Can it spark a new flame?
When the smoke clears,
Do we only feel the cold winter’s bite?

Running into dead ends, lost in unseen nightmares,
Could salvation be reached?
Can it lift the damned?
When the smoke clears,
Do we only smell the stench of leech?

Curled up and forgotten, passed by unseen,
Could we lose our breath?
Will it continue to consume?
When the smoke clears,
Do we only know the bitter taste of death?


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Denise finds herself lost in a field of dandelions. With one blow, her dandelion dreams transform into the words on a page. Some of those dreams have found their way to her website: https://lostinafieldofdandelions.wordpress.com/


Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Mark Ethridge Week 196: I See Angry People (Part 18)

Picture 1

Picture 2

Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: I See Angry People (Part 18)

I always found it interesting to see people eat nothing but nuts, berries, and what they fondly referred to as weeds. As the five of us made our way eastward, into the foothills of the Appalachian mountains, the four women had their first experience of eating what was available. Of living on what the land provided.

They weren’t too happy about that.

We didn’t talk much, what was there to talk about? I couldn’t really understand the nightmare they’d lived in. And I was pretty certain they couldn’t remember how long, how many days, weeks, months, or even years, they’d been kept in that nightmare.

At first, they didn’t tell me their names.

The first day they joined me on my walk, I didn’t have anything to feed them. It’s not like I was expecting to feed anyone but myself. I shared what little water I had, shared what pine nuts and berries I had. Until they were gone.

I carried the weakest one most of the day. She was light, maybe 90 pounds. Too light for a full grown woman. There were scars on her. I didn’t ask where they came from. I carried her in silence.

After a couple of hours, we took a break, to give them a chance to rest, to catch their breath, and to let them care for the one I carried. While they rested, I hunted. I searched for anything we could eat. Any source of water.

I found nothing nearby.

We couldn’t stay where we were. That’s always the way it is when you’re walking in nowhere. You have to walk until you find a place you feel safe for the night. Trees were sparse, but you could tell they wouldn’t stay that way. Saplings, and small trees dotted the landscape. Another ten years, and they’re be a large forest that covered everything.

Bushes, and briars where everywhere. “I hope you all like whatever berries we find on the briars. ‘Cause that’s lunch.” That was the thing with the briar patches. They meant food. Not the best food. But when you have nothing, you’ll take what you can get. Wild blackberries and raspberries, chokeberries, and were everywhere.

It amazed me how the thorn laden runners of the briars always had edible berries. As long as I could find briar patches, I could find something to eat.

I let the four women eat all the berries they wanted, and I watched them help their weak friend.

It was four days before they said anything to me. Four days before the weakest one put her hand on my cheek, “Thank you.”

I made nothing of it. “They were evil men.”

I never touched them. Not once. It would have been wrong. They were wounded souls, I could see that.

As we walked, I scanned the countryside for trees. When I found them, I checked for nuts. Walnuts, chestnuts, hickory nuts. Hell, even acorns. Anything we could break open, and eat. I gathered what I could, and shared what I could.

When we came to a creek or river, we walked along it for a while. It gave them a chance to bathe. And yes, I had to wander off, and let them bathe in peace. They deserved privacy, after all. They thought about fish as a meal. So, I tried my hand at fishing. It took time, but we had a small fish dinner, and spent the night by the lake. Yes, I did make a fire, and I did cook the fish. It made them happy. And it let them rest for a few extra hours.

As we walked along the waterway on the fifth day, she declared she wanted to try to walk. I helped her to her feet, the other three gathered around her, and helped hold her up. We went slower that day. Took more breaks. Drank plenty of water.

That night, she spoke, “I’m holding you back.”

There was nothing I could say, so I shrugged. “You’re getting better.”

“You could leave us behind.”

“That wouldn’t be right.”

She thought for a while, and stared at the stars overhead. “I wondered if I’d ever see the stars again.” She was silent for a while. And she cried. I watched her tears, and felt that familiar ache I’d felt so many times. She tried to speak again. “You know what they did?”

“I know what that place was.” I nodded. “I know you weren’t free there.”

I sat on the ground, and looked at the stars. She sat too. I made started to move a bit further away from her, so she could feel safe, like I wasn’t a threat, but she stopped me. “We were objects to them. Things. Possessions.”

I could have told her to stop, that I knew what happened in that place. But I’d learned sometimes, you have to let a person say what they need to say.

“They did what they wanted.” She crossed her arms, pulled her knees toward her chin, made herself small. And her tears became an ocean.

I said nothing. What was there to say? Another man might have held her, let her cry on his shoulder. Maybe that would have been the right thing to do. Maybe it would have been the wrong thing to do. I let her cry. I listened to her, tried to hear the screams of anguish I knew her soul let loose.

With time, her tears slowly faded. She looked up, at me, with the most wounded eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that relived all the nightmares she’d been through every time she slept. Every time she closed them. “Thank you.”

We sat in silence, and watched the stars for a time. “I’ll get you to Jessica’s town. You’ll be safe there.” I nodded, and tried not to look at her. “There are others there. They’ve been through what you’ve been through. They know.” I looked back to the stars, “They understand. And they can help.”

When she was ready to sleep, I watched her make her way to where her three friends were. Then, I found a plot of ground, and slept beneath the stars.

The sixth morning, everything changed. I woke to find an eagle standing next to me, staring at me. When I opened my eyes, it screamed. It was a friend of Jessica’s. The eagle had been searching for me.

“Yes. I’m Frank.” I nodded at the eagle. “Tell her. Tell her I’m alive.”

The eagle spread its wings, slammed them against the air, lifted from the ground, and was gone. But we all heard its cries as it flew. And I knew it was spreading the word. I’d been found.

The four women wondered what had happened. “That eagle was a friend of Jessica’s. Jessica’s asked them to look for me. To let her know if they find me.”

We continued east. As the day continued, one by one, the women approached me. They told me their names. Susan, Linda, Tasha, and Ellie. They each said thank you. I told them it would take a while, maybe another week. Maybe longer, until we reached Jessica’s place. But they’d be safe there.

Ellie was the weak one. She tried so hard to be strong. To walk on her own. Susan, Linda, and Tasha helped her as much as they could. But, when Ellie grew too tired to walk, the four of them decided the best way to keep going was to let me carry her.

It was a simple thing, a little thing, but I knew it was a big step, a big risk for them. I was, after all, a man. And it was men who’d done unspeakable things to them, who’d caused so much damage to their hearts, and minds, and souls.

For some reason, Ellie talked to me while I carried her. “My parents came here from Ireland, when I was a little girl.” She tried to smile. “I don’t remember much about the trip. We came in a plane, I remember that.” She seemed to enjoy riding piggyback, her arms around my neck, over my shoulders. Her head next to mine. “I remember seeing Ellis Island, and the Statue of Liberty. It was beautiful.” Her story paused for a while, like she was thinking, or maybe remembering. “Mom and Dad were full of hope. We were coming to America, the land of opportunity.”

She was quiet once more. But I felt the dampness on her cheek when it brushed mine as we walked. I felt the silent raggedness of her breath, as her tears fell. And I knew enough to keep walking, and let her cry all she wanted.

A lot of dreams had died when the world went insane.

When Ellie’s tears fell no more, I finally spoke. “I’m glad you’re still in this world.”

I thought a moment as we walked. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Why haven’t you four left?”

She looked puzzled.

“You’re free to leave anytime.” I glanced at her. “You’re not possessions. You’re people. And after what you’ve been through, I have to wonder why you haven’t left.”

Tasha heard my question, “Because you aren’t like them.”

Susan was next, “You haven’t touched us. You’ve made sure we have something to eat. You’ve take care of us. And you didn’t have to.”

“You could have left us behind,” Linda continued. “You could have set a pace we couldn’t have kept up with, and left us behind.”

“Or, you could have slipped away during the night,” Tasha pointed out. “You could have abandoned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. But you didn’t. Instead, you made sure we were safe.”

I listened to their words, “But. I’m a man.” I paused, “I’m one of them. The same gender that did all those things to you.”

Ellie’s cheek brushed mine again as we walked, “But, you’re not like them.”

Susan summed it up. “You’re different.” She almost smiled, “You’re not evil.”

Ellie said it best, “You won’t hurt us. We can feel that. We know that.”

We walked another while. I’m not good at time. There are no watches anymore. Just the sun, and sunrise, and sunset. When I played out, we found a place to settle for the night.

It was the first night the four of them asked me to stay nearby. Where they could see me. Susan spoke the words, “We’d feel safer if we know where you are. If we can see you.”

That sixth night, I stayed on the far side of the same clearing they were in, as far as I could get from them without being beyond their sight. They slept huddled together. Sisters in their plight. Sisters who understood each other. Who understood their wounds. Who knew the hurt each of them felt.

I slept lightly that night, ready to wake at the slightest sound. And as I slept I wondered how long it would take to reach Jessica’s town.


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Mark woke up in 2010, and has been exploring life since then. All his doctors agree. He needs to write.


Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Kimberly Gould Week 196: Streets of London

Picture 1

Picture 2

Kimberly Gould’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Streets of London

Jessica continued to turn in circles, finding something new to see in every spin. There was the parliament, there a cathedral, there the palace, Waterloo bridge, the Eye.

Ah, the Eye. She had spent the entire time pressed against the glass, looking at every building on the skyline in turn until the others in the carriage with her were ready to strangle her.

“Oy, watch where you’re going.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Everything is even prettier in the dark with all the lamps out.”

“American?” the young man asked, sizing her up.


“Ah, much better. You like London at night?”

“Oh, yes. It’s beautiful, magical.”

“Lookin’ for magic? I know just the pub. Come with me.”

The stranger slipped his hand through Jessica’s. She knew she should be catching up with her friends. They’d left her behind, cutting in a straight line while she took in everything. The flat they’d rented for the week wasn’t far from Waterloo station.

In her free hand, she unlocked her phone and sent them a text: Hooked up with a local. See you later!

“All set?” he asked.

She tucked the phone away again. “Yep. Now what kind of magic do you have for me?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave him a look that should encourage him down whatever path he had planned.

“Blood magic.”

Jessica shrieked, but one more cry went unnoticed amid buses, taxis and street vendors.


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Kimberly Gould is the author of Cargon: Honour and Privilege, and it's sequel Duty and Sacrifice. She can be found most places as Kimmydonn, including Kimmydonn.com


Monday, April 18, 2016

Laura James Week 196: Waiting

Picture 1

Picture 2

Laura James’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Waiting


He sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees staring straight ahead. Waiting had never been his strong point but he wouldn't give in, he could outlast them.


The silence was deafening, memories of the last few days fought for attention in his mind, his fingers started to twitch.


A dull ache at the base of his spin forced him to stand. He made his way to the window giving no indication to those he knew were watching that he was in any discomfort and opened the curtain. The sun was bright and he felt the heat on his face.


Closing his eyes he allowed the warmth to spread through his body and focused on the pain in his back. It was spreading and it took all his strength not to cry out. Raising his hands he gripped the window sill hoping that they wouldn't see past his body. His fingers cracked and he crushed the sill leaving indentations in the wood.


Dark clouds moved over the sky cutting off the heat the sun was providing.


Opening his eyes he saw the world outside shrouded in false darkness, his resolve wavered. Would it really be so bad if he gave in? He wasn't ashamed of what he was, what he had done.


He stepped back from the window, bring half the sill with him. He looked at the wood in his hands and with reluctance left it drop to the floor. This he couldn't hide.


Standing in the centre of the room he watched the door. They would come for him soon, he had left them no choice. But he was ready, the time to hide had passed. If they wanted his true self for better or worse they would get it. He relaxed and gave in to the change.


His senses were heightened in his true form and he sensed that they were behind the door long before the handle turned. Smiling he crouched, his nails gripped the carpet ready to pounce as the door opened "Come on in boys, I'm ready for you!"


Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Based in Dunfermline, Scotland, Laura is obsessed with all things horror and spends her time writing flash fiction which she hopes, on occasion, really scares her readers. Feel free to stalk her on twitter, @lejamez