Erin Fleming
Bio
Stories (5/0)
Let Him Not Eat Cake
All night he kept going back to the fridge telling himself “just one more bite” as the double-decker chocolate buttercream rectangle got smaller and smaller. Each time he sank the fork in and pulled off another piece it came away with more guilt. Still, he could not seem to stop himself. He knew the party was tomorrow and he knew they’d be expecting a full sheet cake and he knew they’d be angry and he’d be embarrassed when they opened the box to reveal a half-eaten one. He knew all of that but he still kept coming back. Every five minutes, another small bit of filling and fluff to stuff down deep inside.
By Erin Fleming3 years ago in Fiction
What It Means to Be Human
The first few nights I spent here I did not sleep well. The hay poked and scratched at me all over; a pile angry cats, which irritated my skin and made me itch. I tried not to move too much, which seemed to help with the itching, but even when my body found a still moment, my mind was tossing and turning. Bits of my old life were still stuck to me the way food sometimes sticks to a plate so stubbornly that it won’t even come off in the dishwasher. Each day I would spend some time scrubbing it away. This is how to get clean.
By Erin Fleming3 years ago in Fiction
Listen to the Birds
I’m six and I’m running through the meadow with my mom. We are playing. I trip and fall and my mother bends down to tickle me. I giggle and plead for mercy. She stops and lays back in the tall grass. I shuffle my body over so my head is next to hers. We look up, trace the white clouds in the blue sky with our fingertips.
By Erin Fleming3 years ago in Fiction
Put A Label On It
So, I’m awkward. The awkwardness is born from anxiety. I’m not “at home” in social situations, especially when there is the hint of anything romantic. I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless. I mean, I can actually flirt pretty well if I’m feeling relaxed. On a good day, it only takes a drink or two to wash away the anxiety. Even then, I’m a little awkward. I make jokes and smile, but my eyes find the ground a lot. Or sometimes, I pick a random object in the room, and I pretend like I’m really super interested in this incredible piece of art and I try to start a conversation about it, knowing full well that this person does not give a shit about that mannequin head sitting on the bar or where it came from. I guess some people think my quirkiness is intriguing or cute or something, because I’ve had girlfriends. I’ve had long-term relationships. I can fill the silence pretty well once I’m comfortable.
By Erin Fleming3 years ago in Humans