Alyssia Balbi
Bio
Hey, I am Australian and I am around 22 years old...I love to write, on my deck, with a cup of tea...this is just my being really, I am sure you will not judge. Thank you for coming here.
Stories (18/0)
Arrival
It seemed to Carmen, as her taxi charged off the highway, that she may have made a mistake. Her mouth had been dry since getting off the plane and just now she had noticed how white knuckles were from grasping onto the greasy door handle. Whether these symptoms were born from elation or fear of what lay on the other side of the taxi-door, Carmen was uncertain. The morning was early, and a usual greyness hung in the air, a greyness that always seems to carry the chance of rain. She peered into the rear view mirror, all hints of the airport and the highway and her old home, amongst gum trees and white-washed coastal suburbia, were long gone behind her.
By Alyssia Balbiabout a year ago in Fiction
Anatomy
You see, in school they taught anatomy with a male model. Breasts were on occasion mentioned but never permitted to be seen, at risk of damaging fresh-teen eyes. Fearful of the risk of over-exposing young brains to what even they, in their infancy relied on for life, the breast was often given just a dry description.
By Alyssia Balbiabout a year ago in Poets
Mangos are Immortal
That summer tasted like mangos. The summer that I discovered Kate Bush, the summer I started smoking pot and having good sex and wearing sunscreen. That summer my neighbours mango tree blossomed so heavily that the bows slumped, pregnant over our green tin fence.
By Alyssia Balbi2 years ago in Humans
Chameleon Father
My dad is my creational nemesis. As I have grown older, our creative souls seem to be at war; who can be the bigger philosopher, who can create the greatest work of art, who can be the biggest fuckwit to the world, who can draw the most tears out of eyes; who can be the better artist. I have always wanted to meet his level of imagination, dreamed about being half the God of aesthetic and creation that he is
By Alyssia Balbi3 years ago in Families
Life Dichotomy
She was unnoticed. That was the way she wanted it stay. She seemed to blend in with the portraits on the walls. The people didn't know who she was, where she came from or why she was there. Her mind was a chained to deception bay, swimming in the bottomless sea of her manifested indecisiveness. She nursed the rim of her wine glass with her index finger, surfing the crowd with violet eyes. As though expecting to see a familiar face. She watched as the lost dancers wove webs in and out of each other, tangled in a net of one night stands.
By Alyssia Balbi3 years ago in Fiction
It Flickers in Oblivion
You know the idea of letting go? Well, its’ a lie. There is nothing more impossible than letting go of someone you loved, or love. The only advice I can give you on the lie of ‘letting go’, is that the only alternative us to forget or to replace, but ‘letting go’ in itself is painfully and impossibly unattainable.
By Alyssia Balbi3 years ago in Fiction
Dylan's Chocolate Cake
4:35am. I woke up in Dylan’s bed. Which wasn’t unusual, we had been friends since the age of six. Now at the age of 23, Dylan’s bed had become mine over and over again. The bedroom smelt like hash and incense. A whisper of the sunrise could be seen over the suburbia, I stretched, arms reaching up, up, up, to the ceiling.
By Alyssia Balbi3 years ago in Fiction
- Top Story - July 2021
Escape To The Imagination Island Top Story - July 2021
Disconnection has always meant connecting with an intangible space, another realm that exists not in but above my head. It’s not heaven, its more like a life that could have been, or once was. I can’t touch it but I can see it, distinctly For me, disconnection is inner peace, it is the quiet that I crave during the insanity of the day. I get there by writing my sentences and scavenging for old photographs and piecing them together in a book that probably won't translate much meaning to anyone else.
By Alyssia Balbi3 years ago in Humans
