antoinette
Bio
Stories (3/0)
The Box
The Box Death. Dying. Die. Dead. I was thinking of all the ways you can use the word die as I walked around this rather bleak church that we occasionally visited if my grandmother guilt trip my parents to come. It was so easy to say, so easy to think about. Death. Dying. Dead. My mother and father are dead. My mother and father have died. My mother and father have experienced death. My English teacher, Miss. Rowley, would be so proud of all the ways I could use die in somewhat complete and captivating sentences.
By antoinette3 years ago in Families
Happy Death Day
Happy Death Day “Happy Birthday to you! You live in a zoo! You smell like a Monkey, and you look like one too!” My mother, Loraine, belt out, I didn’t call Loraine anything except for Loraine. Why would I call her “mom,” when that was the last thing she was to me? Maybe I was being too harsh…? Well, I am the writer of this story and what I say goes.
By antoinette3 years ago in Fiction
HIDDEN MISTAKES
Hidden Mistakes The radio static blasted through the speakers, all around were soaring fields of cornstalk, a creepy scene on a night like this. The overstretched, twist and turns of the road felt like a faraway drive to neverland. I was staying at my boss’s old home with my wife. The house that settled way too close to an enticing cliff that led to ghastly waves chunking off at the rocks below. Enticing only because I would walk to the far edge, hearing the waves crunch below, convincing myself a jump into the ocean wouldn’t be so bad, a chance to get away in hopes of finding the little mermaid.
By antoinette3 years ago in Confessions