Harvey Elwood
Bio
I used to write constantly (journals, poems, short stories) but these days I mostly write lyrics. I am looking forward to participating in challenges as a way to get inspired and un-stuck.
Stories (5/0)
The Things We Share
I never thought I looked much like my mother. She was naturally a very light blonde with stick straight, fine hair and blue eyes. While my hair wasn’t as dark and coarse as my then bald father, it was brown and wavy with a mind of its own when I’d bother to brush it. No one ever thought we were related. I had a few blonde friends and if we were out anywhere together, strangers would assume that one of them was her daughter. Our body types were pretty different. I was taller, awkwardly lanky, flat chested. She was more of what I thought of as ‘normal’ proportionally, never worrying about sleeves being too short,bangles sliding off her wrists or strapless dresses having nothing to hold them up. Her rings and bracelets would never fit if I’d wanted to borrow them. But she was more into gold and I preferred silver back then. We wore the same size shoe but her feet were wider so we rarely could share those either.
By Harvey Elwood2 years ago in Families
Four Minute Carnival
It started in the hall, after the rain of ringing, in all ears, through every wall. It really started just inside the door, where our legs burned in place. My feet scrubbed the carpet, tapped impatiently behind me. I close my eyes to cut off their sensibility and let all the conversation smash together, creating a kind of static music. I feel an ache beginning just between my shoulder and neck. My book bag straps are little pink bursts in the corners of my eyes. The voices are stilling, two by two until the silence is complete. It's as though the clock has stunned its victims with a paralyzing, soundless cloak while we wait for permission to commit motion. The poison wears off. A twanging, far away alarm snaps them from their daze. They launch all at once through a portal, which was intended for maybe one or two to pass through at a time.
By Harvey Elwood2 years ago in Poets
The Keepers
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But if you scream on Earth and there's no one around to hear it, what's the difference? Tomorrow is October 31st, 2051. Halloween. I've been searching around a large and foreign home, hoping to find some leftover stash of decorations. Those who left, couldn't take much with them so a lot of houses remained eerily full of the previous owner’s non-essentials. I remember a time when a town like this would be infested by jack-o-lanterns, styrofoam graves and rubber zombie arms. I can almost smell varying degrees of rotting pumpkin mixed with dead leaves which used to dominate on a street like this, this time of year. There haven't been pumpkins for at least a decade now. They'll try to grow them, up there. Or at least that's what I've heard. But I've accepted the fact that they are one of many things I will never see again.
By Harvey Elwood2 years ago in Fiction