Stories (23/0)
Daddy's Fairy
“Maeve!” Daddy bellows with a drunken, guttural roar. His incoherent babbling bounces off the dusty walls fringed with mold. I scuttle behind my favorite chair, the red and yellow striped one with the wobbly leg. I hear him stomp closer, I hear a glass bottle slip from his grip onto the stained carpet, but I’ve learned to stay quiet. Hugging my knees, I sway back and forth to help me pretend that I’m quaking on purpose. I think Daddy’s stopped in the middle of the living room. His heavy breathing slows, and his mindless muttering becomes quieter and quieter, and soon a loud thump indicates that it’s safe to emerge.
By Isla Griswald2 years ago in Horror
The Name: Chapter 1
Hephzibah sobbed in relief as she held her newborn daughter in her trembling arms. The father, Naresh, with tears rolling down his cheeks in joy, gently brushed the child’s face with the tips of his fingers. The midwife bustled around the room, searching for the sprigs of sage she brought to bless the baby with. The proper herbs must be administered at the proper times, along with the proper proverbs. These precautions would ward off the Daemoni and protect the child from their evil influences.
By Isla Griswald2 years ago in Fiction
Why Every High School Student Should Take AP Art History
There we stood, my dad and I staring at another naked hunk of Italian marble. Actually, we were looking at Michelangelo’s iconic David in the Galleria dell'Accademia in Florence, Italy. To me, it was no different from the numerous other sculptures we had seen. At least Donatello’s David was wearing boots and a hat. I was mortified that Michelangelo had apparently forgotten to clothe his David. What young girl would want to see stark naked dudes immortalized in stone? Michelangelo once said, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free,” but here was a statue already “set free” and I couldn’t see it. His statue might be soaring with the angels, but I was bored and uncomfortable, and I craved lemon gelato.
By Isla Griswald2 years ago in Education
We the Women
“I am so grateful, Pomona, that you allowed me to host this party in your orchard. I would have invited everyone to my sacred garden in the west, but the Hesperides are so finicky about letting others enter the garden, and the dragon Ladon is terrible company.”
By Isla Griswald2 years ago in Fiction
The Scarf
I leaned against a black lamppost next to the busy street and huddled underneath my raincoat. Rain spattered in noisy fat droplets on the sidewalk, on the cars passing by, on my head. I checked my cracked wristwatch and was relieved that I was an hour early for the bus. I was sixteen, and it was high time I left this crooked town, with my crooked family, behind.
By Isla Griswald2 years ago in Horror