Daniela Alejandra
Bio
Life's a journey and I don't have map.
I long to create worlds like the ones I would read about under the blankets late at night.
Magical realism.
Stories (14/0)
Driftwood Beach
The soft ticking of a large austere clock hanging on the wall was the only indication that time was moving forward. It was almost perfectly synchronized with the almost inaudible ticking of the silver Rolex on Dylan Drake's left wrist. Dylan, however, was in the same position he had been since 8 AM. Sitting erect at his computer, his hands on the keyboard, eyes unblinking, and mouth set into an expressionless line. His only movement came from his fingers that whizzed over the keys. Their clicking harmonizing with the ticking melody. Finally, he broke eye contact with his computer screen and glanced down at the marine blue face of his watch. If it were not for his watch informing him of the date and time, Dylan wouldn't know the difference between any of his identical days. It had been three years ago that Dylan had arrived on Wall Street, hungry for something new that he would be bored of within a year. That was how Dylan Drake was, nothing held his interest for too long, and yet he performed impeccably. None of his superiors had ever complained. Locking his computer, he grabbed his leather briefcase and headed to the elevators.
By Daniela Alejandra3 years ago in Fiction
Of Marigolds and Memories
The tattoo needle danced across Catrina’s skin, leaving behind a swirl of orange yellow ink mixed with droplets of blood. She took a quick glance at the tattoo artist, awed that she had finally been able to secure an appointment. The artist was a slim young woman with straight, waist length, raven black hair, and a heart shaped face upon which she wore black cat eye glasses. She was a travelling artist, who had quickly gained fame for her exquisite work. The artist lifted the tattoo machine to wipe away some of the blood before proceeding. Catrina felt the needle return directly on her rib and she internally winced. No way was she going to move an inch and risk ruining the artwork. Catrina also noticed the artist had no visible tattoos which she found a little odd as she quickly ran through previous artists she had interacted with. “No tattoos?” she asked, finally breaking the silence. “Nah, I prefer to be the artist not the artwork.” she replied. “I imagine it’s hard to decide on a permanent piece when you’ve seen as much art as you have.” The artist remained quiet for a minute before she replied “Nothing is truly permanent.” Wasn’t that the truth, Catrina thought to herself. Two hours under the needle later and the piece was finally done. The artist handed her a piece of paper and said “Here, follow these care instructions.” Catrina put the paper in her purse as she exited the shop.
By Daniela Alejandra3 years ago in Fiction