Jennisea Redfield
Stories (14/0)
Comet C/2023 E3
For an entire month, maybe even more, I sat or stood on my porch every single night. The pale-yellow light that resonated from the porch remained off, cutting down on the lustrous pollution that masks the brilliance of the stars. Sometimes this works, but not always. Pity. I love the stars.
By Jennisea Redfield24 days ago in Earth
Home
Growing up, home was a series of memories. Home was the smell of cheap cigarettes, of Mexican beer that, when spilt on the carpet, stuck to calloused feet. Home was coming back from school, and you hear your mother singing, very off key, to Selena and the Kumbia Kings, while making horchata to sell on the weekends to our neighbors by the gallon. Home was my brothers and I gagging and coughing, our lung burning from the fumes of poblano peppers being fire roasted on the stove top, to us bolting outside, frantically slurping down water from the garden hose, and later turning the backyard into a mud pit to beat the growing heat. Home was getting our asses kicked for reenacting the mud wrestling scene from Shrek on the dog and each other, and later being told to strip down to our underwear and leave our once colorful clothes in a pile of brown sludge by the laundry room.
By Jennisea Redfield2 months ago in Confessions
The Creature
I was hiding from my older sister, Evie, in the vast and kinda spooky woods that lined the boundary of the wilderness and the slummy line of houses that populated the decaying paper mill. It was dusk, the sky darkening from hues of red and orange and purple, to shades of grey and blue, as the older folks shuffled home in a caravan of time worn vehicles. Mostly there were paint scuffed vans and dusty trucks, but the only other cars are either driven by our working mothers, or the tired cops. It’s been a new record since we last saw Officer Walsh come and knock on the McCarthy household. Three days, so it was three days the folks of the court last saw fresh marks on Mrs. McCarthy and her gaggle of little ones. Evie said that Mrs. McCarthy kept popping out a kid like a PEZ dispenser. Mama said it's because she can’t keep her legs closed.
By Jennisea Redfield6 months ago in Earth
The feast
A single candle burned in the window, flickering light and gay, As the cabin it resided in beckoned menacingly for weary travelers. It promised something, something that was both heavy and light, both lying and truthful. Whoever looked at the candle was entrapped like a moth, drawn to the warm light.
By Jennisea Redfield9 months ago in Horror
Becoming a dragon queen
There weren't always dragons in the valley.... But then again, life is weird enough. With the discovery of dragons, there was also a mass influx of medical alterations that many people can perform on themselves, but I explain those later.
By Jennisea Redfield10 months ago in Futurism
A Night at the Reno
I remember the day I saw him for the first time. He wasn’t much to look at, but there was a rough beauty that wafted from his cat like grace, from the broad arrow shape of his shoulders. Skin was weathered from the sun, darkened from exposure and long days outside. Even from across the dimly lit room, I could see muscles flexing from his thighs and arms, a firmness to the slim peak of stomach that rose when he flipped off the television. A dark colored Stetson was on his head, shielding his eyes. He was wearing some thick, industrial boots normally meant for trekking through the thick brush of Montana woods, scuffed and bleached from usage. He was beautiful, so beautiful. Like a masculine nymph created from the rough grains of Persephone. Does my admiration make me Hades? He was leaning against a wall near the back door, watching both the tv and the exits.
By Jennisea Redfield11 months ago in Humans
Found
The freshly fallen snow acted as a muffler to the night time nature of the local park. The crisp crunch of the frozen liquid was still muffled like, sharp and dull at the same time, under her boot. Karen Morales was lost in thought. Her sister went missing just three days ago, mere minutes before her wedding. No one knew where she went. She wasn't in her suite, or anywhere.
By Jennisea Redfieldabout a year ago in Horror
The bear
It was the cusp of June. The air dry and cloggingly hot. Kiki, a short little black dog with one white toe on her front right paw and a splash of grey around her chest, darted in and out of the dusty green bushes that dotted along the old logging road. She was just a mutt that I rescued, who in favor rescued me. More than once, but I will never admit that to my family.
By Jennisea Redfieldabout a year ago in Petlife
