Andrea Lindsey
Bio
Avid book reader, jazz fanatic, pr professional and, on occasion, short story writer.
Stories (6/0)
Forests and Flames
Tarren knew she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. The forest that, during the daytime, held memories of playing with her friends in the patches of sunlight breaking through the canopy had quickly become frightening as the sun set and her clothes were thin enough that she had begun shivering in the brisk autumn air. In the darkness, she couldn’t see well enough to stop her tiny feet from tripping over the raised roots of the trees surrounding her.
By Andrea Lindseyabout a year ago in Fiction
Unravel
Maeve skidded around the corner of the dark, pungent alley, Malakai on her heels. She could hear his footsteps as he splashed through the reeking puddles of the previous night’s rain behind her. That he hadn’t caught up to her yet, despite the fact that they were evenly matched in every sense of the word, was bewildering. It meant that he was distracted.
By Andrea Lindsey2 years ago in Fiction
Woven
The day the world tipped out of balance, no one noticed. The sky didn’t come crashing down, and it wasn’t accompanied by hurricanes and lightning storms and earthquakes. It happened more subtly, first manifesting itself in small things like an unusual amount of people losing their luggage on flights from Toronto. Things like terrible traffic in Tokyo and skyrocketing unemployment rates in Sao Paulo and a record number of cases of chickenpox, of all things, in New York City. Disaster fell like snowfall — what at first seemed inconsequential soon became threatening. And by the time anyone noticed how much had accumulated, it was far too late. Too late to stop the momentum of the darkness, the descriptor humans used for the terrible force before they knew it by its true name: aedion.
By Andrea Lindsey3 years ago in Fiction
