Collage Series Novels & Stories

Surrounded by dozens of melted candles that have turned into wax stalactites. On the chair, a faded wedding veil hangs loosely, its color now a sickly grey-green. But that’s not what makes me stop breathing. On the wall behind the chair hang dozens of photographs. All women. All in wedding gowns. And all their faces... destroyed. Torn. Scratched. Mutilated. I step back, horrified. And in the middle of the collage, there’s an empty space. Empty, except for one thing: my name. Alika Morgan, 2025.

“Miss Ella. I’m sure you’re both aware of why you’ve been called here today.” Theo didn’t say anything. He simply stared at the man, his expression unreadable. Ella, on the other hand, nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady, though Theo could hear the slight tremor in it. “It’s about the pictures.” A woman seated near the center adjusted her glasses and sighed. “This is a serious matter,” she said. “These photos have spread across campus. They’ve sparked… discussion.” “Discussion,” Theo repeated, his voice calm but edged with something dangerous. “You mean rumors?”

" Stand up! He yelled at me and I quickly stood to my feet shivering and still looking at my stepmom with tears dripping down my face already. He move closer to me and places his gun under my jaw, I shiver in fear and almost pee in my pants. I looked into his eyes and quickly look away . " Nice payment" he says and signal his men, I was going to look back when his men pick me up and take me away. ALFREDO. Few days ago the news of Collins Rosalie husband reached us that he died. He had borrowed a loan of $10,000,000 from my family and he promised to pay up before his death.

*** The concept came fast: Scorched Ground. A collaborative series—my first in five years. Jeff and I would co-create every piece. No labels. No ego. No separations. Just layers of our truth, built side by side. We worked for six weeks without rest. We scavenged materials: burnt wood, salvaged glass, old gallery fliers, torn contracts. I dug out journals I hadn’t opened since college. Jeff painted over sketches he once hid in drawers. It wasn’t pretty work. It was gutting.

And next to him were three guys, that I am not expecting to see. “We have three exchange students, please introduce yourself.” “Matthew Ortega. Let’s be friends.” “Bryant Lopez. Let’s get along together.” “Christian Lee. Let’s work together and graduate.” “Sunny, have these three added in your group since you are still lacking three members. Boys, Sunny will explain to you about the project that needs to be submitted by the end of the semester.” “Chubz?” “Sunny? I didn’t expect to see you here. How have you been?”