Tree Soldier – My First Children’s Book!

It’s finally happened. I’ve published my first children’s book!


Tree Soldier by Sarah M. Flores

Being able to hold in my hands the very thing that’s only been a vision in my mind is an incredible feeling.

My story of Tree Soldier came to life through magical illustrations by Max Stasuyk. He is an unbelievable artist and a true visionary, and I can’t thank him enough.

— Sarah

Tree Soldier is about a little boy who goes on a journey with an unlikely friend and discovers that spending time with family is more meaningful than a big home overflowing with toys.

Tree Soldier is available on Amazon in paperback and eBook. Hardcovers will be available in January.

To Watch Him Leave

I’d be a fool to say I didn’t know it was coming.  Something this perfect couldn’t have lasted.  I just didn’t expect it to come so soon.

I watched as he put his belongings into a bag.  As one item, and another item, disappeared from our lives together, I felt my chest tighten. He was packing the most fragile pieces of my heart.

He said it wasn’t because he’d found someone else.  He said he wasn’t happy, and that I was the only person who’d given him a shred of hope for a good life when he moved to Texas for work.  His contract ended, and he said I wasn’t enough to sustain a life outside of the world he grew up in. He said people were different back home. He said there he knew a different kind of happiness. He said I wouldn’t fit in.

He was my happiness.

With a packed bag over his shoulder and his back to me, I thought I heard pain in his voice. “I want you to know that you own a very deep and personal part of my heart.  You always will. But, I don’t love you the way you need me to. I’m sorry.”

Through watery eyes, I tried to memorize every last detail about the man I’d vowed to love forever. I knew I’d never see him again.

My knees couldn’t withstand the heaviness of my heart, and I fell to the ground.  I dug my nails into the carpet and looked up at the ceiling. I begged, “Please God, help me.”

The Wrong Time


Alarm clock, off.  One foot in front of the other, just like the doctor said. I shower, brush my teeth, look in the mirror, and hate myself. Twenty-three hours and nineteen minutes left in the day.

I get dressed, microwave a breakfast heart attack, and turn over an empty bottle of depression meds. Shit, not good.  Five months of refills and the pharmacy doesn’t open until 8 a.m. when I need to be at work. I hate that job and everything about it.  Why did they hire me for customer service?  I don’t sound happy. I’ve never sounded happy because I’ve never been happy. I hate the fake chit-chat, the “How are you doing?” every Godawful morning without a second’s wait for my answer, though I never respond.

I start my walk. My pharmacy is a block from work.  I’ll clock in late at 8:10 a.m., someone will notice, and they’ll tell the boss I’m slacking again.  I’m always screwing up somehow.

I pass Rusty’s Drinkery. Good thing it’s not open this early – Jack Daniels is a great kisser.

I feed my brain its anti-depressant and start the path to paycheck Hell.  I make it two steps, and I see the exterior of my building rupture into a tidal wave of glass and fire. Blood claws at the sky, and I shield my eyes from the smoke and death.  No one survived that.

Jealousy burns inside of me. Of all mornings, I had to run out of meds today.