Heather Holland
Bio
Heather Holland is the author of the short story "Dragonfly in Water." She also writes Simple Stories on Substack.com, and she is the main contributor to The Daily Rhyme - with Heather Holland and Special Guests.
Stories (17/0)
A Lazy Day by the Sea
She loved seashells. She spent hours on the beach, looking for the prettiest ones. She didn't care about the sunburn or the sand in her hair. She just wanted to fill her bucket with shiny treasures. She didn't notice the time passing or the tide rising. She didn't hear the lifeguard's whistle or the screams of the other swimmers. She only realized something was wrong when she felt a sharp pain in her foot. She looked down to see a shark fin slicing through the surf trailed by her own blood.
By Heather Holland12 months ago in Fiction
The Magic Word
She had always loved words. She collected them like treasures, reading books and dictionaries and writing in her journal. But there was one word she longed to know: the magic word that could grant any wish. She searched for it everywhere, but no one seemed to have the answer. Until one day, she found it in an old bookshop. It was written in gold letters on a dusty page. She whispered it softly and felt a surge of power. She smiled and closed the book. She didn't need to wish for anything. She already had the magic word: love.
By Heather Holland12 months ago in Fiction
Brother
May 21, 2021, marked 13 years since the passing of my younger brother. People like to pretend that time heals all wounds. But for those who are beginning their passage through grief following the loss of a loved one, I would like to offer the words of the chorus below because they are truer than anyone is willing to admit. Sometimes remembering the deceased will feel like reopening a painful wound. At other times it will be a welcomed comfort. I have found that learning to accept both scenarios is the only way to move through my own grief.
By Heather Holland3 years ago in Poets
The Blackbird Story
When I was a little girl, my mother and I lived with my grandparents in a small farming community in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. My grandfather drove a truck for Scott Petroleum, and my mother worked at the local blue jean factory. But my grandmother was a retired bookkeeper who sold Avon and looked after me during the day until my mom got home. In the afternoons, my grandmother’s sisters would visit for coffee and dessert. They would sit around the kitchen table sharing the town’s gossip or complaining about the low turnout at Sunday’s potluck dinner. Sometimes they would gather in the den to shell peas and reminisce about their childhood days growing up on the family’s farm. These were the stories I endured over and over until their words got embedded in my mind so sincerely that on any given opportunity, I could have told them myself as if they were my own. They seemed to leave a stain on my tiny spirit much like the stain from the purple hulls of the peas in my bucket.
By Heather Holland3 years ago in Fiction
First Impressions
The first thing I noticed before I opened my eyes was the darkness. It clung to me like a damp, musty cloak left hiding in the closet of a creepy yellow house at the end of a forgotten oak-lined dirt road somewhere in South Georgia. She was nothing like the drab traditional tabby structures that stood across the marsh. A turn of the century Victorian relic, she must have loomed spectacular in her golden years with beautiful bay windows and ornamental columns supporting intricate arches with delicate lace-like detailing draping down from her third-story gables. A lush garden in the front yard with sweet red roses and a babbling fountain once surrounded by fan palms and an iron gate now grew thick with thorny weeds, and her bright yellow facade faded in the sunlight to reveal the decay of a hundred years. The smell of her old rotten wood pierced my nose, and a staleness filled my lungs with each breath I took. I lay quietly in a pine box beneath her shadow, inhaling and exhaling the past, wondering if I would ever escape.
By Heather Holland3 years ago in Horror
It's Okay to Feel a Little Unwell
That's the message singer/songwriter Rob Thomas set out to convey when he penned the 2003 hit song, Unwell. Almost 20 years later, producer Steve Aoki and vocalists Kiiara and Wiz Khalifa have teamed up to reiterate that message with a reimagined version of the song entitled, Used to Be. The catchy rewrite incorporates Thomas’ original chorus with new unforgettable verses performed by Kiiara. It forcefully moves the all-important meaning of the lyrics back into the spotlight and emphasizes the fact, as stated by Thomas in the 2004 live Show: A Night in the Life of Matchbox Twenty, “We all feel a little messed up sometimes… you’re not alone.”
By Heather Holland3 years ago in Beat
