Jennifer David
Achievements (1)
Stories (50/0)
A Star is Born
Seconds tumbled by. The hours and minutes, I’d long lost track of. The day could have lasted for years for all I knew. I'd spent it plodding through the barren wilderness desperate to be rescued. And to my disillusionment, the blistering heat was by no means assuaged by shedding my shoes and jean jacket. My feet were burned bare. My back could no longer support me. I had trekked as far as I could. My skin could no longer sweat. It was tacky with a salted white film covering it. The landscape before me, warped. And every breath I took felt too big and, yet, too empty. Black spots marred my vision. And stars twinkled in my sight even with the lingering rays of the sun. Then the chill of the night snuck up on me. Suddenly I was cold. I was too alone. I had nothing left to cover me. And it became all too clear that I had nothing left to save me. So I let go. I was engulfed in the desert’s silence.
By Jennifer David7 months ago in Fiction
Insatisitirepistemania (noun)
I’m a writer. I paint landscapes of worlds unseen on blank pages, with finite words and insufficient punctuation. I break chains of complacency. I push boundaries to wreak havoc on monotony. I burn bridges and invent new structures to carry and connect us. I build houses for new language to dwell. And I throttle diction beyond sight, into oblivion. It’s intoxicating, yet daunting. What if words to articulate the inexplicable never emerge in me?
By Jennifer David7 months ago in Fiction
Layers of Love
The Story: I’ve always loved lasagna. The first one I ever remember eating was made by my Uncle Joe. Uncle Joe is the oldest of my father’s 12 siblings. Unfortunately, he passed away when I was in high school. However, I’m thankful that I have a special piece of him to carry with me--his famous dish, lasagna. When I have lasagna, I think of his wicked laugh and experience joyous nostaligia. To this day it is one of my favorite meals.
By Jennifer David8 months ago in Feast
A Letter to You: Doshini
I, for years, have tried to mimic the resonance of your song. I have failed to strum the right strings, in your succession. My vibrato mimics my longing in futile attempts at playing your refrain. I realize now, however, that the strength of your verse did not come from forced baselines. Instead it was crafted through an entanglement of trial and error, dynamics. The beauty you sang was full of experience, of moments and memories.
By Jennifer David10 months ago in Humans
Flora
Autumn of 2008, I wrote a poem. It was elementary, yes, but it was also somehow mature. It depicts the story of a leaf, Flora. The poem relates to her as a ballerina, resplendent, and searching for meaning. I found her, Flora, nestled in the piles of many leaves that riddled that North East, in October.
By Jennifer David10 months ago in Writers
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