Collage Series Novels & Stories

As for the building collapse that killed me, it was orchestrated by the official's wife. She had secretly hired a construction crew to sabotage the structure, intending to eliminate her husband's mistress under the guise of an accident. The only actual victim in this entire scheme was me, an innocent bystander who had lost my life in the process. When the truth came to light, Joel's hair turned white overnight. He ran over Priscilla with his car, killing her, and was subsequently institutionalized due to severe mental instability. His condition was dire. He spent his days clutching a doll, mumbling to himself, "Arie, do you like me? Let's be together, okay?

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?”

And then the call ends. When I return home and enter my office, there’s a magazine on my desk that is open to a page. The heavy, glossy catalog is from Christie’s for an upcoming auction of the largest private jewelry collection owned. The catalog is folded open to a necklace of sapphires and pearls worth several million. A note is inserted as a bookmark, written on a piece of stationeryfrom the desk ofCharlene .The note reads … This would be nice. She’s fast learning, and Zara is teaching her well.

*** 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?”

Ping added quietly, “…there’s no going back.”