Cheery on the outside, moody on the inside. Jenell Riesner (she/her) is a Writer, Marketer, and seeker of adventures. She is an insatiably curious human who loves podcasting, hunting ghosts, and taking road trips. Instagram: @jenell.riesner
Home is a Cheap Motel
I was in a trance between asleep and awake. It was another world there, a magical land where all of my fears and desires seemed to participate in a flash mob of sorts, dancing through my mind. I saw faceless beings. Blackholes where facial features should be. The world was limitless in the best and worst ways. It was filled with possibility. That possibility clashed with events that broke me open over and over again. Sometimes in my dreams, I would fall endlessly. Other times, I’d fly. I was in a purgatory of sorts. A mirror into the unspoken reflection of my psyche.
Irrigon, Oregon isn't the Oregon you know.
Irrigon, Oregon isn't the Oregon you know. There aren't waterfalls, a rocky coastline, or lush green forests. In Irrigon, there is corn, sand, and the murky waters of the Columbia. Water that understands it's best to travel West, away from this place and to the Ocean. I've grown certain that this part of the Oregon Trail is where people died of dysentery or maybe exhaustion gazing upon the miles of desert-like landscape and tumbleweed highways. A town so small that your mayor and bartender are one and the same. Residents drunkenly spill their beer and sorrows onto the bartop for one woman to clean.
It was a simple task - yet Jules felt a rush of endorphins. This chemical-induced bliss was all caused by a sleek Macbook she carried out of the office. With a delicate hold, like a baby bird that had fallen from its nest, she transported her golden ticket back to her car where she tucked it underneath her driver’s seat. It’s own vault, dark and secure.
Freeze Your Fat for a Fee
*A Note to Readers: This story contains content on eating disorders. Reader disgression advised* I pulled my hood up and placed sunglass on my face for extra measure as I exited my car and walked across the parking lot. The storefront of a strip mall grew larger with each step until its awning was looming over me. I avoided eye contact with the vinyl window clings of life-sized women smiling next to enlarged photos of their stomachs. Red circles emphasized areas that contained fat or skin rolls. It reminded me of getting back a test in school, knowing it wasn’t going to be an ‘A’ by the amount of red ink that had bled through the paper. It was clear who the enemy was.
The Missing Poster
The missing poster flapped with the gentle breeze from a late September day. The edges of the poster were worn and stained from the summer sun and heavy rains, but his eyes remained unchanged. His green iris seemed to jump off the paper like laser beams at a light show. His sandy brown hair hung long past his shoulders, a person passing by unable to tell its true length in the 2D world my brother was trapped in.