Western NC-based gal who writes sometimes. I like plants, cats, and going to pretty places.
February 5, 1976. One of few nights in history when San Francisco would speak of snowy memories. The silent flurries looked like television static against the glow of the Golden Gate Bridge railing and towers, disappearing into the dark bay waters below where Gordon Harris had jumped mere hours before, taking the stories of three women’s final moments with him.
I read this challenge prompt with a lazy sigh. Less than a month into creating this Vocal account, scarcely a few weeks into the new year, and already I gotta talk about my aspirations? Clearly I’m up to it, otherwise I wouldn’t have opened a word document in the first place, nor would I be typing about it now. True confession, I still don’t exactly know what aspirations I’m going to write about (and here we are, one paragraph in).
- Top Story - January 2024
Something In the WaterTop Story - January 2024
Sascha was the first to find the fish. At least, she thought she must be. The sky outside was still a bruised purple, light gradually seeping through the horizon. No other patients had been in line at the nursing station when Sascha went for her morning meds. She did not know what time it was, only that she had been lying awake in the interminable darkness of her room for longer than she could stand it. Deciding to wander the halls instead, it was by coincidence rather than intention that Sascha was the first to arrive for her medication. The morning nurse had chirped merrily at her, some praise for being an early bird, and did not ask her to wag her tongue when she lifted it after swallowing.