Aiden Graham Cole
From writer during childhood to artist as I've aged.
I'm passionate about using both in my storytelling.
Sometimes I illustrate my stories here; check out more at @aidengrahamcole on Instagram
R.I.P. To My Eyes
It’s been a thousand years since I could see. I writhe around the burning asphalt drive. A good life lived, at tender age of three—
50 Imaginative GIF Prompts To Help You Generate Ideas For Your Next Story
In the wake of the recent announcement of Vocal’s new Summer Fiction Series, writers all across the platform are collectively wracking their brains for original, interesting, and audience-captivating ideas. Creators who have never written fiction before are trying their hand and giving incredible first attempts, throwing their stake in the game in hopes, like all of us, of securing our place as one of the lucky 24.
Charlotte Stared South and Wilma Watched West
“Give me your best roar.” The ringmaster was thin— skin-pulled-tight-over-his-bones thin, with sunken eyes in a seemingly permanent narrow as he regarded me. Sherman Spellman, owner and host of Sherman Spellman’s Spectacular Shriekshow, was impossibly tall, with his command of the room looming equally large.
Chaya Weaves in Waiting
We’re Jewish, and so we run. Our feet are different, now, because of it. Harder, tougher— especially Dad’s. After losing my shoes in the river last month, he gave me his to wear, and since then, his feet have gone rough, calloused from the slow, constant scrape of the ground against our quick and quiet footfall.
The Day My Dad's Nose Fell Off: A Bedtime Story
When I was younger, the Dad I had was a crackling voice over a 2000's model cell phone. Dad was a truck driver. He was on the road for long, numbing hours, eating fast food and staring straight ahead from the moment he woke up to the moment he went back to sleep. He had a photo to look at on his sun visor of the family, and that gave him the feeling of connection to us— but, unfortunately, it was a bit of a different story on our side.
“Sensation or Delusion?” the counter lady asks. The man at the front of the line shakes in place, the slight hiss of drool being sucked back into his mouth echoing through the silent air before he croaks out a gasp of an answer. “Sensation.”
Standing In The Checkout Line in 2068
There are few things worse than standing in the checkout line of the QuikFaste on 38th street, although finding parking at the Quikfaste on 38th certainly comes close.
Maximum Capacity: One Hundred and Fifty
We’ve only ever been one hundred and fifty. That’s maximum capacity for the Oleander. Any more and the electronics start to get wet with condensation from our breath and the air filters clog with the heaviness of carbon dioxide. It’s something we notice immediately; the way our limbs drag, the sudden deepness of our inhales as we search for a breath in the suddenly poison air. We notice when the ship speed changes, burning more fuel than usual, because it determines how much exercise we’re able to have that week. More fuel burned means more oxygen used up by the ship’s systems— so we can’t increase our breathing rate at all from the norm or else we’ll have kids passing out at breakfast like last month.