Grace Derderian
Bio
Stories (4/0)
Kid Stuff
Rea (pronounced “Ray-uh”, thank you very much) sneezed as her younger sister rolled the car window down. In the front seat, her mother sighed happily. The fresh spring air smelled like hay and lilacs, a stark contrast to the city air they’d been breathing in just a couple days prior.
By Grace Derderian2 years ago in Fiction
Across the Bridge
Peebles, thought Agent Jack Monroe, is a ridiculous name for a town. He shivered in the early January light, his hands deep in the pockets of his navy peacoat. An hour south of Edinburgh, the Scottish town was far more peaceful than the places he was normally deployed to, with its snow-dusted hillside and picturesque cobblestones. He’d driven in the day before, under the gloomy cover of twilight, and seen children with colorful scarves skating on a frozen pond. At the sound of their laughter, his only thought was to wonder if they knew how precarious it was.
By Grace Derderian3 years ago in Fiction
The Fifth Season
We had a pear tree, and it was the joy of the neighborhood. It, and my mother. My beautiful, bright-eyed mother, with her aprons and baking prowess and generosity. She baked pies and tarts with our fresh-grown pears, giving them to our friends and neighbors like a plague. She made jams with them, sorbets, salads.
By Grace Derderian3 years ago in Fiction