Sometimes the greatest joys in life are in the worlds we like to get lost in. I enjoy creating them far too much and am always open to feedback :)
24-year-old aspiring writer with a daughter to hopefully one day impress
Diary of the Damned
Emily: I died smiling. There’s a pounding in my head and a deep rumble underneath me. What is rumbling under me? I remember the man jumping out, the crack my head made when it hit the pavement. It’s echoing so loud I can’t think. I reached my trembling hand up to feel my head, to make sure it's in one piece.
Light the Way Home
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. I say this as a last-ditch effort, I need you to understand something: you’re in danger. If you’ve gotten this far, I’m sorry to say it's too late for you.
I’ve never really had the type of dad that I would call when I was in danger, the kind that I told about my first kiss or my first love. Honestly in those moments, I felt completely and utterly alone. I had my mom, and she’s great, but I won’t underestimate how much I wished I had the fairytale father.
The Broken Version
It started small. A crack, a groan, a hint of amber dancing by. It’s as if it knew it was taking too long, for in a moment it took everything with it. The flame burst through the carefully set trinkets, the portraits that adorned the walls, the furniture we wore in. I just watched it burn, thinking if I stood still long enough it would freeze too.
A Sisyphean Task and a Rare Reward
I love my job because… it's simple. My life was once a cacophony of people, places, and responsibilities. My day-to-day consisted of meaningless interactions where I would say “I’m good how are you?” at least twelve times a day. I was a bright-eyed bushy-tailed twenty-one-year-old who was ready to take on the world; I genuinely thought I had it all figured out too. I was working as a waitress at a very popular breakfast eatery in a town that’s best known for cow manure. I really wish I was joking, but that is how I identified where I lived to people who wanted to visit.
I inherited the house from my grandparents, they could best be described as the traditional types. Grandma cooked and cleaned; Grandpa worked eight to five every day. He would come home, set his knitted newsboy cap on the hook by the door, and lumber his way to the dinner table. His grunts would fill the small home; there was no “honey I’m home!” No kisses or show of affection, a curt nod would pass between them, as food was placed on the table in front of him. I always thought it was like a black and white film that had been stuck in the player for too long.
The Infinite Coil
The dirt filled air hit my lungs quickly and without mercy. My hand hit the cold metal of the door handle with an alarming jolt. I found myself leaning on the wooden frame of the barn, alone except for the slight wink of the stars. Groggily I looked around me, the familiar dirt path lay in front of the decaying building. My footsteps left their mark on it, but I don’t know why I came here.
The Uncanny Valley
The night was still, the streets wet with fresh rain. Guards patrolled the quiet buildings, looking through windows and edging across rooftops. Their uniforms glinted in the moonlight, an abrasive silver and blue, it was hard to picture them as people sometimes. They all blended, one giant mass of shapeless voices. I think the weirdest thing about them was their smile or lack thereof. Have you ever seen a man smile but no muscle moved? It’s more of a twitch, empty gazes met with cheeks that angled the wrong direction.