Blake Smith
Bio
Blake Smith is a student and aspiring author in Australia. Their work is influenced by their political leanings, trauma, and reading nonsense online. Who's isn't though? Did y'all see that orange with the limbs and the face? Terrifying :/
Stories (25/0)
Cake in the Oven
Who would I be after this? The chocolate cake batter slopped into the pan. A few drops fell onto the pale countertops. Bits of flour that I didn’t fully incorporate into the batter stood out like sores. It was so hard to get these things right. What would I do if I couldn’t even make a chocolate cake right? A better person would have remixed the batter. Well, really a better person wouldn’t have needed to. I slid it into the preheated oven. The pale green door was browning around the edges. My mother had chosen the colour and now my husband and I were going to live the rest of my life with it.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Fiction
A Place For Us
The smell of fresh straw enveloped Jean. A beam of rose-gold sun peeked through the cracks in the wood panelling and lit the dust dancing there. It made the bales of straw in the corners look like woven gold. There weren’t any animals to house yet, so it was still fresh, clean, and quiet. There were no passing cars, or sirens, only a few birds somewhere in the distance.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Fiction
Baby Bear
When I was a kid, my favourite book was about a baby bear. It was a story of a bear that got lost in the woods and had to get home to his family. It’s a classic introduction to animals with a basic storyline for babies, with the addition of some fake furs and feathers for some of the animals.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Families
Finding Hope
Grey snow had started to fall around them and the dirt was already sludge under their boots. Annalise shuddered, pulled her coat tighter around herself, and watched Tabby do the same. This winter was proving to be the worst one yet. The June air was bright against their noses and ears. They hadn’t found any balaclavas on the last run through the old town. They hadn’t found much of anything. Scavenging was becoming less of an option every day.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Fiction
What About The Million?
We see so many The One in a Million stories. They’re the stories of people who, despite the odds, pulled themselves out of financial strife and became famous. Musk, Lil Nas X, Rowling, Gates, Nicki Minaj, Bezos, every millionaire, billionaire, or moderately successful artist, makes the same claim. They say that they worked hard and got lucky, and You Could Too! The legitimacy of this claim varies, (obviously, I’m not going to suggest that Emerald Mine Musk and Wall Street Bezos were actually in financial strife) but is still parroted by them all.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Confessions
From a Guy in the Girl World
When I was a kid, I wanted to hang out with the boys. At the time, I was under the impression that I was a girl. I was wrong, but that came later. Then, all I knew was that hanging out with the boys was fun. There was something that the boys and I shared in common. It made hanging out with the boys—being one of the boys—easier than hanging out with the girls. The boys wanted to rough house, shout, and be loud. I wanted to rough house, shout, and be loud.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Confessions
In the Red
I always thought of space as dark. The truth is, when you get sucked into the void by the will of God, there’s a lot of light. It’s just so far away. Thousands upon millions of little white dots, and colourful galaxies in the distance. They’re all blues and greens and purples, and they’re all so, so far away. I float untethered through the middle. Although I suppose it could be the edges, for all I know. I can’t tell and it burns a hole in my brain. I try not to think about it.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Fiction
Please, My Son Will Be Home Soon. He Can Explain.
The door to the woman’s home was on the ground, the hinges still clinging to the doorframe by splinters. She was on her knees beside the couch, wailing as if Katie and Chris were going to kill her. She clutched her hands together and begged in her language. Or maybe she was praying. She kept bowing her head like she was trying not to look at them. Katie hated people like this. People who would try to get pity when they broke the rules. People who would spend all their time and money getting over here, but wouldn’t put in the basic effort to learn the laws or language. They wouldn’t even do the bare necessities to communicate.
By Blake Smith3 years ago in Fiction