Bianca Jeanette
Bio
The world is poetry and I've fallen in love with its words.
I'm an artist in many forms (actor, singer, visual artist, writer) who adores a good story. I'd love to create worlds for other people to escape into even if for just a moment.
Stories (7/0)
Takeaway
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It waited there on the dresser, standing before the window like a woman longer for her lover to return. The flame flickered and danced as I gazed out at the darkness that consumed the world around us. Trees, ground, sky, all swallowed by the feral mouth of midnight.
By Bianca Jeanette2 years ago in Fiction
Italian Summer Sweets
Having finally grown out of the childhood stage of grubby fingers in packs of candy and popsicles, I have come to hate the sticky sensation of eating sweets that clings to my hands and transfers to any surface I brush in the slightest. Even after eating the finest of desserts. But today? Today was different.
By Bianca Jeanette2 years ago in Feast
Dragon Blaze
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” The statement had often been whispered by the elders to eager children behind closed doors, trailing from house to house like a gust of hope in our dark and barren land. The words echoed in the long-quiet cavernous ears of those who had long forgotten to dream, the ears of those who no longer found purpose in eyes alight with fantasy when they had children to keep out of the ground.
By Bianca Jeanette2 years ago in Fiction
What Happened Here
It perched on the roof, peering at him with intent and wary eyes. Its gaze so sharp and predatory, that he felt his very soul shrink within himself. He was its prey, skittering helplessly through the grass as it pursued, talons outstretched, ready to shred. To tear. To kill. Its eyes told him it knew. An all-seeing being sent as his divine judgment, perhaps. An eye from above to count each tremor of fear and every hesitant step. Despite all his instincts and nerves twitching within him and preparing to run from what he knew lay ahead, he trekked cautiously toward the dilapidated house and the knowing barn owl that watched from above.
By Bianca Jeanette2 years ago in Fiction
The Pebble's Game
Tap tap tap Three in succession. It used to be that such a noise would bring her comfort, as the small pebble hitting sharply against the delicate glass pane greeted her and guided her to its master down below. Even now, memories crept their way past her defenses and up to the surface of her mind. Memories of sliding through the window, falling blissfully as the wind rose up to meet her, and two arms catching her before she could unite with the earth in a fatal embrace. Most would be horrified by such a descent, but knowing what awaited her below made the fall feel as though she was floating. She knew no danger would reach her as long as those faithful hands remained outstretched.
By Bianca Jeanette2 years ago in Fiction
The Pressed Flower Diary
Worn, yellowed pages crackled underneath the pressure of my hands as I clasped the small book tightly. A petite poppy flower was engraved in chipped gold on the cover and I imagined that long elegant fingers had once held the red diary, and traced the tiny engraving. Then, with the most imperceptible of gestures, I tipped the front cover of the aged diary open. Like a butterfly in flight, wings wide and beautiful the pages smiled up at me in all their glory. Pictures, receipts, and pressed flowers peered at me over the edges of the pages, holding their breath and waiting to be rediscovered. It hummed with the promise of untold stories, the music of a kindred spirit’s wonders and adventures.
By Bianca Jeanette3 years ago in Humans
