Chelsea Peterson
Stories (7/0)
Gift to the Gods
Dimitris listened with a panicked mind. He had been summoned to the house by Kyriakos himself. The senator’s courtyards were magnificent and meticulously kept. Dimitris was awed by the archways and hallways he was hurried through by two guards. He could not keep Kyriakos waiting.
By Chelsea Peterson3 years ago in Fiction
Eustice
Eustice studied the stitches carefully. The curled upholstery needle lay nearby, ready to be reengaged at any moment. The stitches were even, anchored well, and attractive, she thought to herself. The thread had been sleek enough to pass through the tough material intact.
By Chelsea Peterson3 years ago in Fiction
Black Shark
Gabe paused the video, the bright screen of his phone nearly blinding him in his dark room. He glided his finger along the cool glass, appreciating the effort behind re-watching the video. It began replaying and satisfaction rolled over him. On the screen was a shark, dragged onboard a commercial fishing boat. The shark thrashed slightly, prepared to bite with its massive mouth and seemingly surprised at the weight of its own body out of the water.
By Chelsea Peterson3 years ago in Fiction
Sharks are Born Swimming
The flash was brief, just a bit of dark movement that almost perfectly blended into the waves. The white of its underbelly was the trigger that re-engaged my brain. Just as the flash appeared and disappeared before my eyes, my brain pulsed the same white and I felt my limbs tingle. Here it was. I was on a bullshit Amazon wakeboard and a shark had graced my presence. Others around me sat down on their boards, pulled their legs up, and sat in quiet terror. I felt shaky and bold.
By Chelsea Peterson3 years ago in Fiction
War
The message was stinging in its clarity. My antennae reverberated with my...our charge. There was a repository of food waiting behind the enemy line. We were to break through the line and return to the colony with supplies. I had been waiting a long time to be so nobly tasked. The others twitched with excitement as we waited for the dawn. I could not help but join in with my own nervous pacing.
By Chelsea Peterson3 years ago in Fiction
Crochet Bees
Crochet Bees By C. Peterson ____________________________________________________ I strained to see the thumbnail image on the phone screen held up in front of me. A picture of a package label, sent from the post office box Michael kept in Las Vegas. The company sent pictures of the incoming mail before they forwarded it to wherever we were at the time. We had been full-time travelers in a small 1998 pop up trailer. A glorified tent, really. Not by choice, both of us are some form of refugee.
By Chelsea Peterson3 years ago in Humans