E.K. Daniels
Bio
Writer, watercolorist, and regular at the restaurant at the end of the universe. Twitter @inkladen
Stories (159/0)
Sam the Snack Man
After fifteen years of marriage, you think you know someone. And you do, in a way. You know their habit of sneezing -just once- when they get out of the shower. You know the curve of their back when you're their big spoon. You can predict with precision the number of sparse hairs on their chin by the time five o'clock rolls around. But you can never really know someone, can you?
By E.K. Danielsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Car Seat
She was overjoyed with her purchase. After hours of painstaking research, she had finally settled on the crème de la crème of car seats. It had extra leg space, it was height adjustable, impact resistant. It was built for comfort. But it couldn’t comfort her. The total came to $354. It was her utility bill. It was her groceries. But she would rather freeze in the most fridgid of winters or starve in a season’s blight than spare the fee. The car seat sat unboxed, eager for a companion. She was spared the child.
By E.K. Danielsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Wisdom of a Web
The wise words of William Blake echo a feeling that is familiar to us all: the captivating power of the seemingly small. In "Auguries of Innocence," he reminds us of the power of perspective. With the world and its vastness, often the most profoundly meaningful moments are those which are fleeting. As a child I remember walking home from the bus stop and the caressing scent of honeysuckle from the neighbor’s yard. Sticky summer days would find me underneath the oak trees, where I would sit for hours mesmerized by the dance of the sunlight through the leaves. Each day a new display as the nights grew longer.
By E.K. Danielsabout a year ago in Humans