Jasper A. Flintsmith
Bio
Queer writer sharing my point of view one story at a time.
Thank you for reading my work.
Stories (5/0)
How I Woke Up In Atlantis
Lake Tahoe gleamed in the hot summer air as my family clambered onto the boat with their assorted party gear, ignoring me until the last moment when they noticed that I was still standing on the dock clutching my stuffed giraffe. I was stuck in inaction, focused on the rippling water and anxious that I couldn’t see the bottom of the lake. In my seven-year-old mind, there was a whole catalogue of monsters swimming beneath the surface, each one more terrifying than the next. I was stuck, immobile on the dock while my mom yelled and agitatedly gestured at me to get on the boat. My eyes were locked on the dark water under the dock, pitch black after a few inches. I finally looked up at my mother as she was getting back off the boat, walking sternly toward me. She scooped me up in her arms and carried me on board while my breath stuck in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. I cried and asked her if I could stay on land. She didn’t accept this scenario, as there would be no one to watch me back at the cabin. Before I knew it, we were in the middle of the lake, where I never wanted to be again.
By Jasper A. Flintsmith3 years ago in Fiction
His First
When the final bell rang to end seventh period, I already had my notebook and worksheets shoved into my backpack and ready to go, ready to bolt out the door and off campus. I didn’t linger in the parking lot with my friends like usual. I just ran home, unable to think of anything but what was waiting for me there.
By Jasper A. Flintsmith3 years ago in Pride
The Late Jade Wildheart
Shrouded in darkness they sat, contemplating their peculiar circumstances. A short, nearly bald man in a bulging, three-piece denim leisure suit sat rigidly in a loudly patterned accent chair. Fifteen floors up in a moderately expensive hotel chain, deep in downtown Los Angeles, the night sky was starless from the artificial glow of streetlights and signs.
By Jasper A. Flintsmith3 years ago in Fiction
Meeting Place
2021 The sweet scent from a solitary, mature jasmine vine grappled onto the dusty walls of the abandoned barn hung in the gentle, twilight breeze. A vine planted by lovers long ago, adrift in hopefulness but trapped in reality; destined to find shelter within these four walls until the end of time.
By Jasper A. Flintsmith3 years ago in Fiction
Morning Star
Earth has rotated eleven times around the sun since the last time a grumble of an engine or a perfectly timed chime from a sky-scraping cathedral greeted an ear. Long gone are the days when colossal metallic wings glided above the horizon, but the swallows still fly north when the sun warms the earth. A decade has passed since aromas from a café made their way to the street with a clink and clatter of knives and platters; but the welcoming, earthy scent of a low burning, homespun fire does at times still dance along the breeze. Days of old hold memories of blue-lighted screens, but communication persists through words spilling from lips. The crunch of a footstep, the swish of a tail, the simple indications of lives being lived continue to illuminate the Earth, which now basks in proper darkness since the collapse of manmade lights.
By Jasper A. Flintsmith3 years ago in Fiction
