Elizabeth Corbitt
Bio
I am a thirty-one year old full-time postal worker living in Ohio. I am an aspiring author who enjoys writing, soccer, and my two cats.
Stories (13/0)
Fading White with Love
I have heard the phrase, 'if walls could talk,' countless times in my life. I am old now. The once vibrant white paint covering me has faded to a dull yellow. If you were to look at me now, you would never see the years of laughter and the heartaches I have witnessed. Recently, no family has inhabited me, filling my space with their lives. I am lonely. I am desolate. In truth, I am probably close to condemnation, but I still have hope. There is life left in these walls if only the right person can find me.
By Elizabeth Corbittabout a year ago in Fiction
An Improbable Paradise
There was a time Katherine De Bruyne would never take a vacation. Although it wasn't true in her childhood, she could afford such things now. It was the work ethic ingrained into her from childhood. She was a workaholic, though she hadn't aspired to be. As a child, she was driven to make a better life for herself and achieve her goals, which resulted in devoting all her time to studying. It transferred over to her law career. She had earned fame from the cases she had won and the high-profile clients who sang her praises. Yet, she was burning out. When all you lived for was your work, there wasn't much pleasure to be gained from the rest of your life.
By Elizabeth Corbittabout a year ago in Fiction
Fighting for Freedom
The boxes are packed, tucked neatly by the front door, the tan coloring contrasts against the white walls. She stands in the middle of the room and stares at her old life. The couch is still sitting along the back walls, the worn-out brown fabric revealing the yellow padding within. She can see the stains and signs of life on the couch, filling her with a yearning to have that life back. She longs to sit one more time and laugh with friends or watch television, but that life is over. She is moving forward, heading toward new goals. It is a rebirth of sorts, but not one she ever wanted.
By Elizabeth Corbitt2 years ago in Fiction
Revelations During a Strike
The lights were dim, smoke billowing around the room, creating a hazy glow accentuated by candlelight, indistinct conversations filled the air. We were seated at our usual table in the corner, dressed in a black off-the-shoulder dress and simple black heels. My husband, clad in his favorite charcoal suit, was seated beside me, studying the menu. I noticed the grey beginning to appear in his hair, a stark contrast to the brown that had always been there. Wrinkles were permanently etched into his forehead from the stress of the past few days. Tonight, our anniversary dinner, had been planned for weeks. Still, his mind stayed at the job site, back on the present difficulties at hand.
By Elizabeth Corbitt2 years ago in Fiction
Postal Love
I am up before the sun, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. I'm groggy; wipe the sleep from my eyes. Tennis shoes on, and I'm out the door. The summer heat greats me like an old friend, and I smile as the first rays of light begin to grace the sky. It is beautiful, the reds and oranges giving me peace as I make the half-hour commute to my office. I'm a rural postal carrier.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Journal
Fruit of Life
I am sitting cross-legged, my back leaning against the strong trunk of the pear tree in front of the family home. The sun is shining, the heat of summer causing sweat to roll down my spine. My throat is dry, and I long for something to drink, but I am stuck out here. Again I am locked out of the house, kept from the cooling comfort of the air-conditioning and television, waiting. I am thirteen, and this has been my life for as long as I have remembered. It is the consequence of unreliable parents.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Fiction
Streetlight of Hope
Glancing skyward through the windshield of my Ford Escape, I suppress the urge to scream. I am parked still, near the constantly blinking yellow light of the town’s one stoplight. For years, it has been broken, meagerly flashing red and yellow, a notice to drivers to stop or use caution. My work is on the corner, but my office faces the building beside us, meaning I don’t see this view from my window daily. It is only when coming or going am I forced to see the flash.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Fiction
Divorcing the Bull
The apartment is lined with labeled boxes, each packed full of the things we've accumulated over the years. Our names are written neatly on the side, the division of ten years together. We have a week left before we turn in our keys and go our separate ways. There will still be the legal side of the divorce, the official termination of our marriage. Still, in some ways, this feels more like that moment, the visual representation too drastic to ignore. I'm alone in the apartment, walking the space that once held so much life and joy, trying to believe it has come to this. In the open space, I clearly see the choices that created this final decision.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Fiction
The Package
Numb. I've been numb for weeks now, merely going through the motions of living. The pain cuts too profoundly to do much else, my brain shielding itself against the devastation of that day. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, the flash of red streaking across my memory like a comet. I fear closing my eyes now, and I squeeze them together tightly, wanting to shut out the images I can't help but see. They are seared in my brain. When I open my eyes again, I only see the emptiness where life once was so prominent.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Fiction
Letting Go with a Slice of Cake
The place is packed, the noise echoing throughout. It is enough to put me on edge, to make me want to run and hide, escape from the world. I know I can’t. Tonight is too crucial for me to turn inward. Rumors about tonight have been circling for weeks, though I haven’t given them much thought. I can’t bring myself to do so. To allow me to think such things would give hope and hope is what kills you. That is the one life lesson I have carried over. I glance around the room, trying to recenter myself against the commotion.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Fiction
Crumbling Love
It looms in the distance, more of an eyesore than anything useful. I barely notice it anymore. The once red barn is now grey, the rotten wood exposing gaps in the structure. For my entire life, I've been told the place is unsafe. It's forbidden, though many other things fall into the category. My family is overly protective and overly religious. From a young age, I knew of the sins of the flesh, knew of things that would cast my soul into eternal damnation. Now, I'm not so confident of it all.
By Elizabeth Corbitt3 years ago in Fiction
