Eve Luxembourg
Bio
Currently taking life far too seriously. I wish I read more than I wrote, yet here we are. I am incredibly cyclical and I like to write down my mind before it shifts.
Stories (10/0)
Excerpt from: I'm So Sorry I'm Not Dead
A young boy stood, crumpled homework in hand, alone by the train tracks. He was deep into the forest, far from the road, and adjacent to the meadow beyond the Atcherkamp’s crop and head-row. The faded words on the homework sheet asked the young boy the assumed square acres of a property line, and inquired as to how much it would cost. The boy didn’t care. He just wanted to look at the old tracks, the discarded planks, and bits of stuff lying on the gravel, dotted sporadically with the wildflowers that poked through the gray rocks to have a look around before their predictable death. He liked the bits of stuff, examining, analyzing, and eventually categorizing the little things as a bottle cap, a piece of a lady’s blouse, a bit of orange flagging, or his favorite category, unknown. After knee-high frustration, he would be overcome with desire to bring the thing home for further inspection and research. And while he was instructed to “never bring street waste into this house again”, his waste was almost always from his spot on the tracks, and certainly never from the filthy street. This was a distinction he knew was better unvoiced.
By Eve Luxembourg 11 months ago in Fiction
Air Conditioning
When I was fifteen, I found a girl named Fior. I met her while carpooling to a voice competition (she was musical theater, I was classical). She was loud and posturing, desperately drawing attention of any kind as if it was her oxygen. What I was, on the other hand, isn't the sort of insight I am allowed, and doesn’t not really matter.
By Eve Luxembourg 11 months ago in Humans
