Elizabeth Grace Parker
Stories (4/0)
The Winking Cat
I was never a man who believed in the power of fate until this particular series of events unfolded before me. It all began with the death of my daughter, freshly eighteen, whisked away to the far edges of the earth by the urge to make the world a better place. The cat came shortly after. As a widower of ten years, and now an eternal empty-nester, I sought the company of a relatively low-maintenance pet. One Tuesday afternoon, I entered the humane society just before closing. As I searched for my new companion, I noticed there was a single cage int he cat room which was occupied. A slight black cat with a star on his chest, and a particularly curious set of yellow eyes seeming to have an everlasting twinkle, blinked slowly at me as I asked the employee for a quick meet-and-greet. With a few scratches under the chin, and a low-purr that seemed to vibrate my entire core, my pocket was forty-five dollars lighter, and the black cat was packed up in a makeshift crate, mewing gingerly on the car ride home.
By Elizabeth Grace Parker3 years ago in Horror
The Unyielding, Unflattering Denim Trend
I lie awake at night, staring at the swirls on my ceiling, wondering what the hell happened at Target today. I walked in around ten in the morning, prime time to shop for one specific thing and ending up with ten other things, while forgetting the one thing I needed. The nostalgic smell of stale popcorn and name brand coffee wafted across my skin as I set forth toward the clothing section, the first place a young woman goes when she needs some avocados and a loaf of bread.
By Elizabeth Grace Parker3 years ago in Styled
For Once, I am Alone
For once, I am alone. Surprisingly, I am okay with that. Marilyn Monroe once said, “A wise girl leaves before she is left,” but the thing is, I have not decided if I was wise for leaving, or if I was foolish for not having left sooner. The relationship in question was not just a relationship, but a marriage. A short-lived, broken one at that. We were the type of couple that looked happy and put-together whenever we posted on social media. Loving selfies by a cliff-face while on a hike, feeding each other dessert after a romantic meal. We even took photos together in our scrubs and surgical caps, since we both worked in the same hospital, me a nurse and he a doctor. We were quite literally the picture of a healthy relationship. Behind closed doors, a different story was unfolding.
By Elizabeth Grace Parker3 years ago in Humans
The Barn
I sit in the rafters in the barn of the Old Farm contemplating my life. The November wind picks up and whispers between my feathers as it twists in through the cracks of the rotted planks, making the tiniest whistling sounds as I tuck my head further under my wing. Have I been this way for days? For years? For lifetimes even? I wasn’t always like this. Or at least I do not think that I have been. I very often find myself perched in this way, as a bird commonly does, and then, for a split second, I feel my legs buckle and my vision blur, as if I were scared. I look down at the hay-strewn dirt floor of the silent, crumbling building and wonder what it is to fall. Then in an instant, as quickly as the fear comes, it is gone. A faint whiff of a naive memory is all that remains. The mindfulness of a barn owl has never been one written about by scholars, but I am certain that I remember things. Perhaps they are not things from my life, but they belonged to someone. Every morning, as the lavender speckles begin to melt apart from the yellowing sky, as twilight turns into daybreak, I allow myself to succumb to sleep and relive the same dream, skipping over itself like scratched vinyl.
By Elizabeth Grace Parker3 years ago in Criminal