J Lashelle
Bio
Creative Writer
Dog Lover
Foodie
Thanks for your support!
Stories (10/0)
The Dancing River
Andre watched as his wife of fifty-three years stood on the edge of the river that surrounded their home. He called out to her from the porch. “Juliette! Juliette!” His wife seemed to ignore his call and began dipping her legs into the slow current beneath her. She leaned into the waters, allowing them to embrace and hold her as she waded deeper and deeper beneath its surface.
By J Lashelle2 years ago in Fiction
Evelyn Francis Louise Hall
Evelyn Frances Louise Hall stood in front of the mirror after getting out of the shower, staring at her almost thin frame. This was because she noticed that her rounded belly hung loosely like an apron from her midsection and gently rested on what she perceived as swollen thighs. The extra skin that hung freely from the back of her arms lay quiet and still until she moved them, and a slight flapping sound would remind her of the weight she’d lost and gained and now lost again. Only this time, she’d managed to keep it off an entire year even to her own amazement and astonishment. She wasn’t skinny by any means, but she wasn’t fat anymore either. It was what she liked to refer to as the more hopeful place in between the fat and the skinny. That place where she wasn’t quite the hot girl but not the chubby bridesmaid who kept company with great uncle Charles at the wedding because no one asked her to dance.
By J Lashelle3 years ago in Fiction
Emma's Grand Adventure
Rachel sat up on the sofa. Her sleep ripped away by the sound of bare feet slamming across the wooden floors beneath them. The noise resonated throughout the house. The footsteps that ran up and down then zigzagged across, went as quickly as they came. The darkness cloaked the room, and she squinted at the faint hints of moonlight that slid beyond the thin layers of curtains that hung from the windows. She could see the soft silhouette of the woman that darted through the dim shadows, her image catching rare beams of light, and the radiance exposing the white gown she wore. Its fluid movement danced and shimmered behind her. Rachel watched quietly as her mother ran in uneven circles, carrying innate objects, both real and imagined. Her silver hair and gown disappearing regularly into the absence of light-a bold reflection of the ghosts she chased into the night.
By J Lashelle3 years ago in Fiction