Jennisea Redfield
Bio
Stories (55/0)
Sincerely
Dear mother, It's thanks to the bullshit you put me through that I am distrustful of everyone in my life. My brothers, your husband, the people you coerce into my life, everyone. I barely trust myself. So, I thank you for that. You want to know my reasons for such distrustfulness? I’ll give you the main reason: Critter.
By Jennisea Redfieldabout a year ago in Confessions
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 Redfieldabout a year 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 Redfieldabout a year ago in Confessions
The Creature
The evening etched herself into the park, slow and lazy in the summer heat, and here I am, 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 area around the now decaying paper mill. It was home, albeit a shitty one, but I wouldn’t change it just yet. No one chooses to live here by the mill. They just end up here, lost and resigned to whatever fate they made.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years 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 Redfield2 years ago in Horror