Christina Barber
Bio
Vancouver, Canada
@lille_sol
@canuckreader
Publications:
“Alone in an Empty Room” https://www.thecreativezine.org/issue1
Stories (33/0)
Dec. 2 - Sappho's Hummingbirds
One of my greatest discoveries upon moving to Vancouver was finding out that Anna's Hummingbirds make their home along the West Coast all year round. I have since been a regular friend, making sure there is always fresh nectar. In winter, on the rare freezing cold days, I take care to bring the food in at night to keep it from freezing, and I am greeted by hungry little birds in the morning, impatient for food. I am delighted to keep company with such beautiful and tenacious little birds. The flash of magenta and orange of the males and the bright, shining olive greens of the females signal their arrival. I look forward to their visits, however brief. When there is a lot of snow, they sit patiently waiting on branches that protect them from falling snow. Like me, they are patiently waiting the sun and warmer days.
By Christina Barber2 years ago in Poets
Icebreaker
The snow started falling the day before in a fury of wind and ice pellets. There was nothing to do but hunker down in the cabin and put an extra log on the fire. The old man took a tattered book off the shelf, choosing from the cast-off paperbacks he picked up every summer in the church bazaar when he went to town for supplies. He sat down in the rocking chair by the wood stove, reading by the light of a kerosene lamp. It felt appropriate escaping into another world, while he himself was trapped in a steadily deepening pile of snow. He made sure to open the door every now and again to clear the snow from under the overhang, preventing it from blocking him inside.
By Christina Barber3 years ago in Horror
Measured Kindness
Theo arrived, his mother in tow. She was carrying a two-tiered cupcake holder, the kind you find in high-end specialty kitchenware shops. His mother looked rather like a fancy cupcake herself: hair in a French roll, immaculate make-up, white pearl necklace and looking down at the hands holding the cupcake carrier, pristine French nails. Mrs. Griffin didn’t need to see what she was wearing, the whole outfit probably cost more than what she made in a month.
By Christina Barber3 years ago in Fiction
Last Post
The corn stalks, almost shoulder height, would be ready in a month or so. Camille was down by the river picking berries. Down the road from the house, climbing the hill, a horse and buggy, the distant sound of the wheels and then the sight of the dust. Camille raced up through the field towards the house.
By Christina Barber3 years ago in Fiction
Scattered Light
Maura knelt down, swaying left then right, trying to find a passage through the underbrush. Spying a narrow gap between two stunted trees, she pushed her way through. Thin as she was, she needed to jut her right arm forward first, grabbing onto a vine and wiggling her shoulders to fit through the cramped space. She slid through to the other side with one more tug. A sound of ripping: another tear in her tunic. She was still crouched, the brush packed densely overhead. A small space, nestled in a circle of trees. The light was dim. Her eyes adjusted and she briefly admired the dust motes swirling in the soft rays and the way the leaves emitted a green light as the sun's rays passed through them.
By Christina Barber3 years ago in Fiction