Harrison Sissel
Bio
Curl up with your new favorite author? Writer of all things fiction. Occasionally poetry. Please give my stuff a read?
Stories (6/0)
Variance: Act 1
PROLOGUE Time Time never stops. The second hand will continue ticking. The world will continue spinning. The sun, the stars, space, will forever be in existence. Life is malleable; squeeze it tight enough and it will end; push it hard enough and it will break. Certainty.
By Harrison Sissel 2 years ago in Fiction
The Waiting Room
She scratched her index nail against her thumb nail impatiently. The beige walls staring at her the same way they always did, or had? She couldn't tell anymore. This was the worst part. The waiting. Nothing exciting every happened when she stared at these beige walls. To her left, four empty hard-plastic, navy blue chairs sat, the same as before. To her right, three empty chairs. Her nose twitched.
By Harrison Sissel 3 years ago in Fiction
Here We Wait
The fire burned slowly, the embers no longer swirling into the air as Danielle sat staring at the orange burning log. The sky was a navy color speckled with the stars. She was slightly cold with only her palms still being warmed by the flames. She waited patiently as the rest of the crew explored the large, abandoned barn behind her. A radio sat beside her, the volume almost completely turned down, but she could hear the others whispering.
By Harrison Sissel 3 years ago in Fiction
So Here I Am
Dear diary... Day 571 since the Framework crashed and I am still here pilling away in the basement of house three in this cul-de-sac. I have to be honest, I sort of miss the subtle blue tint that the city gave the distant skyline, but I suppose now I don't have to wear my blue-blockers like I used to. Mom would be so proud, she hated those things and how they covered my eyes. What else, diary? I feel like I'm treating you like my own personal Wilson from that super old movie... Which by the way, I'm not sure if I've apologized yet to the person who owned this diary before me. I think her name was Abigail. Let's start now, Abigail, I'm sorry I stole your diary and began writing in it. But to be fair, you only wrote on three pages and I've practically filled this from cover to cover. Also, excellent choice on the light pink cover, very tasteful.
By Harrison Sissel 3 years ago in Fiction
Heisted
“And there goes another woman,” Charley said from the passenger seat, “look at her too. That dress.” He let out a whistle. Errol didn’t look. He simply flipped the pages of his black book, each page turn flashing drawings of the interior of the building before them. Bank codes. Account numbers. Delivery truck routes. Personal information on each employee. Until he finally reached the page where he marked how many people come to this particular bank on Tuesday mornings before 10am. He added a tally mark to the “women” column.
By Harrison Sissel 3 years ago in Criminal
