Courtney Pettersson
Stories (10/0)
My Mother Thinks I'm Going to Hell
My mother thinks I’m going to Hell. She didn’t say it in so many words, but what she said was perhaps worse. She was crying while we sat in her car in the driveway. “I’ve never been afraid of dying before because I’ve always known where I’m going. But now… now I’m afraid because… I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”
By Courtney Pettersson3 years ago in Families
Dear Donald
Dear Donald, I am writing this letter to thank you. As a white woman raised in a Christian household where I never went without a meal and never worried whether or not I would have a place to sleep, there were many issues in this country I was unaware of.
By Courtney Pettersson3 years ago in The Swamp
Blackout
The light through the hotel curtains was blinding, pulling her out of a dream and into a hangover. She draped her arm over her eyes, trying to block the sun’s evil rays. Head pounding, stomach rolling, mind foggy – this is why she never drank. Her skin also felt tight and itchy, like she had fallen in a mud puddle and it had dried and started to flake. Even worse, her mouth felt gross and dry – she needed water.
By Courtney Pettersson3 years ago in Horror
The Beast
The earth was cold and damp against my face. I opened my eyes, giving them a moment to adjust to the low light. I was still in the same large room, the broken stained glass windows letting in just enough moonlight to see by. Foliage had grown around the walls, bringing insects, though most of them let me be. This building had once been so beautiful, but what may have been a sanctuary in the past was now my prison.
By Courtney Pettersson3 years ago in Humans
Earth in Love
The Earth was young. Every century it was discovering new things about itself. One year it was covered in water, then almost suddenly there were islands popping up and growing together as they emerged from the blue. Soon it saw a flush of green, followed by various forms of life exploring its surface.
By Courtney Pettersson3 years ago in Futurism
Outlive
I opened my eyes. I’m not sure what I had expected to see once my time came, but it certainly wasn’t the pale blue walls of the crematorium – the same walls I had seen last night. Blinking a few times, my eyes finally focused on the pile of my last belongings on the table to the left of the bed – jeans and my favorite t-shirt, the journal I had taken with me on my final trip, my dad’s old wind-up watch, and the silver, heart-shaped necklace that held my brother’s ashes.
By Courtney Pettersson3 years ago in Futurism