Heather Fritch
Bio
Just a working, single mom trying to find time to write.
Stories (3/0)
Hey Preacher!
When it comes to embarrassment, I am a prodigy. At the tender age of 2, I was on top of my game. One day, I done something so bold, so purposefully, and so unexpected that, today, thirty-eight years later, the story is still being told at social gatherings and family functions, not to mention all the posts on social media; and it is no less shocking to those who hear it today as it was to all those who witnessed it on that fateful day.
By Heather Fritch3 years ago in Confessions
The Fight
It was a clear night; not a cloud in the sky. The moon was shining so bright, the streetlights were barely needed. Jake couldn’t help but look at the stars, wishing he was going anywhere else. Still sore from last time, Jake held his ribs and took a deep breath as he scanned the area to ensure he wasn’t being followed. He clutched his gym bag in his hand as he ducked into a dark alley, where even the man in the moon couldn’t see him. Jake walked up to a large, steel security door and knocked two times. A small window popped open and a set of eyes glared at him. “Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches,” Jake said confidently. The door opened and Jake walked in.
By Heather Fritch3 years ago in Criminal
The Journal
The final bell rings, and an explosion of students hit the hallway. The excitement of summer is loud in the air. Harold keeps his head down, he just wants to get to his locker for the final time, and out the door. A screaming pack of cheerleaders knock Harold’s book out of his hand as they run past him to greet the rest of their pack. Ironically, if it weren’t for the occasional bump in the hallway, Harold would question his existence altogether. He finally makes it to his locker and out the door. The bookstore is only a couple blocks from the school; he can pick up some new reading material on his way home. Long days in the sun at the beach, fighting off bugs in a tent, putting slimy worms on hooks; Harold can’t see the glamour in any of these activities. Being engrossed in a book, whisking away to unknown worlds, that’s Harold’s pleasure.
By Heather Fritch3 years ago in Humans