Hayley Roberts
Stories (6/0)
Last Letters of Julia Sinclaire
Proof of my (Julia Sinclaire’s) folly October 13 It has recently come to my attention that I am to die soon. I haven’t had any dire prognostications from doctors: no cancer or any other kind of terminal illness, and in fact I have gotten a perfect bill of health from my doctor not three weeks ago. I am not planning on killing myself, nor have I received any threatening letters that women in detective stories always seem to get. I am not getting so up in age that that should play a factor in my death, but despite all of these things, I can feel the reaper’s scythe hanging over my head as though dangling by a mere string.
By Hayley Roberts3 years ago in Fiction
The Thing in the Forest
The cold wind buffets my already frozen face. My harsh breaths turn to icy fog, only to be whipped away by the wind. In the darkening night, bony hands reach from the ground and attack, grabbing at my vulnerable ankles and trying to bring me down. Shadowy figures surround me, too tall for me to see their tops, and their long thin fingers stretch towards me as I run as fast as I can to avoid being captured and returned to that Thing. I rip my body away from the figures that seek to harm me. I can’t feel any tears dripping down my face, but I know they must be there.
By Hayley Roberts3 years ago in Fiction
The Downside of Immortality
Her laughs had their own range: from babbling brook to the stomping of elephants. Bartholomew’s favorite laugh was when she snorted like a pig, her giggles punching the air. When she spoke, her voice flowed like melted butter, her southern lilt charming. She couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she sang anyways, her enthusiasm overpowering her inabilities. The confidence in her own voice was something to behold. Her voice, her words, her tone were the definition of beauty. The way she said his name was enough to set his soul aflame. He could have listened to her for an eternity, a prospect he nearly gained when an accident stole her away.
By Hayley Roberts3 years ago in Fiction
The Nurse in the Downfall of Healthcare
The nurse walks down the near-empty hall of the cardiac intensive care unit. Her brand-new black clogs clack rhythmically on the marble flooring. She hums to herself as she logs out of work and waves good-bye to the arriving night shift. Today was rather slow. The only patient in the unit is a man in his late fifties who just got out of heart surgery. He had had an arrhythmia that was repeatable under stress testing, and the doctors ordered the implant of a pacemaker. The implantation was successful, and the patient is being watched for a few days.
By Hayley Roberts3 years ago in Fiction