Bridget Couture
Bio
An aspiring author and poet with an unquenchable love for books. Can often be found typing intensely or substituting reading for sleep.
Stories (33/0)
- Top Story - January 2024
The Ashen Grave
In vain fall the lost… drown us in their cries. Drown us deep and dark… beneath their mangled lies. Uttering thus, she moved forward, a figure drenched in moonlight. The shadows cast upturned lines on her face, neither parallel to the earth nor becoming of any natural laws. They bounced like the reveries of a crooked midnight fever, dancers summoned from unknown time. She did not create the shadows. She could not rip them from her features. And yet they trailed, just as her voice did, onto the canoe boards and apart from reality.
By Bridget Couture6 months ago in Fiction
Hansel and Gretel
They called it Angel’s Lattice when the webs grew on one’s face. The plague was worse in rain, worse still in sunlight, forever eager to gnaw on the flesh. It danced from hand to hand, lover’s kiss to dying breath, and once settled could not be excised. Invisible it was, yet lethal as a honed blade. The first signs were pallor, weakness, a rustling in the veins. Then came fever and gray-tinted eyes, and finally, the lace. Across the body the murky patterns would sweep. Thin like spider’s legs and elegant, too. They trembled along with the victim, sprouting against no will but their own, to remain etched until death, merciful, interfered. Thus was how it began, and as long as Gretel’s eyes remained open, thus was how it would end.
By Bridget Couture8 months ago in Fiction
Convergence
A woman waltzes around a sunset lake, tired and caught in a net of daydreams. On a bench, a lone stranger adjusts his jacket. He resumes drawing memorized trees; willows, maples, elms. The woman passes him. She glances at his illustrations and the somber beauty they hold. There’s a kindling of a light inside her, reminding her of days long buried. The stranger looks up, and for an instant, a fraction of infinite possibilities align, two shards of being positioned on parallel lines. Another version of the woman moves on, but this one stays.
By Bridget Couture11 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - April 2023
