Angel Whelan
Bio
Angel Whelan writes the kind of stories that once had her checking her closet each night, afraid to switch off the light.
Finalist in the Vocal Plus and Return of The Night Owl challenges.
Stories (99/0)
Two Gifts
Silver McPhee woke from a long nap under the magnolia tree in the back garden. She stretched languorously, arching her spine as she yawned. The sun had dipped below the blue ridge, and rich indigo shades of twilight merged and blended with the last orange rays. The Moon would rise soon, and with it all the scurrying creatures of the night.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction
Love is Patient
My dearest Isaac, I cannot believe it is finally happening – how long we have waited for this joyous day! I awoke this morning and smoothed the quilt over my twin bed for the very last time. Looked around the room I have slept in all these long, lonely years with fresh eyes. It is all so dreary and sad. That narrow bed where I cried myself to sleep many a night, feverish and aching with love for you.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction
Bleeders
It crashed behind the barn just before dawn. I was still bleary-eyed, standing on the porch waiting for Red to finish his morning business. The inky sky split in two, torn asunder by an electric-blue ball of fire. It left a trail of light in its wake, and I braced myself for the shockwave that was sure to follow. But nothing happened. I told myself I was imagining things, still drunk on sleep. But the smell, I couldn’t have imagine that – an acrid, bitter scent it was, like burnt fuses, or that time Momma bleached her hair blonde. I felt the hairs on my arms tingle from all the static what was in the air.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction
The Homestead
I never intended to return here. As I drove down the bumpy lane I realized I’d been holding my breath, my knuckles white as I clung to the steering wheel with a death grip. I put the radio on, hoping to calm myself with the latest summer hits, but somehow the channels were scrambled and an angry male voice spat fire and brimstone through the crackling speakers. I turned it off. I didn’t need any more reminders of my destination.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction
The Welcome Party
Emory took the ceremonial sabre and ran it along the edge of the champagne bottle, the cork releasing with a satisfying pop. Celeste caught the fizz as it foamed out in a delicate crystal flute. The others clapped, though they’d seen him do it a thousand times before. It seemed the right thing to do.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction
This is How The World Ends
It started with the night clubs. One Friday night, after a long day at work, the whole world collectively decided to just stay home. Why go out, when you could order a take away and watch some comedy panel shows with the family? A bottle of wine and a good curry sounded so much better than getting dressed in their glad rags and hitting the town.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction