Jessica Berkmen
Bio
I am an actress/writer/artist in LA. I love writing, but my dog hates it. I just realized how weird staring at a laptop for hours must seem to him...maybe I should get a typewriter
Achievements (1)
Stories (10/0)
Lessons In Spoken Flame
Part 1: Lovers Painted Blind Two bodies entwined in rhythmic centrifuge thump against damp earth, flattening over clover blossoms and weevils in their rapturous downhill wake. The young lovers barrel into a woodpile near the edge of Feeding Forest, where none, at all, were permitted. Never.
By Jessica Berkmenabout a year ago in Fiction
Compartmentalized
COMPARTMENT 1 - PENNY TUMMY Hot, copper fumes climbed up Zeynep's throat and kindled her awake. For a second she expected to see her big brother's menacing, thirteen year old face, centimeters from hers. Back when they were children and shared a room, Memo would hover over her and breath gutteral, bullish breaths, until it stirred her awake. His features would stretch, like a rubber band across his face, and snap into a twisted, maniacal gang of eyes, nose, and mouth, that Zeynep did not recognize to be her own brother. The fright would send the same coppery fumes up her throat. "Penny tummy," she used to call it. She got the penny tummy during her first trimester of pregnancy too. But those were happy pennies. They tasted like bitter cherries and bergamot and a hint of wild lavender. She reveled in tasting the playful bouquet of her unborn daughter, still in her perfumed belly. Safe and alive.
By Jessica Berkmen2 years ago in Humans
Elan Musk Father of Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. There were Teslas packed with organic beach towels and newborn film and tv scripts. There were coffee shops with spoiled dogs and busy laptops. And transient tents like piñatas, spilling their insides out onto the sidewalks. Now the Teslas are packed with ash, the coffee shops darkly roasted, and the homeless crisis in Los Angeles has been solved. All since the arrival of The Valley Dragons. Hi, I’m Dragon Dame, you’re expert on everything Dragon!
By Jessica Berkmen2 years ago in Fiction
Why I Can't Cry Like The Other Girls
Mom, The only way I can tell you the truth about how you make me feel, is with letters on a page. This way you can't scream at me, cut me off, call me a little shit or an idiot, and wish me ill. This way, you are quiet. This way, you have to hear me.
By Jessica Berkmen2 years ago in Confessions
- Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
Founder's Fountain
An atmo-blimp passes over head. Its digital banner scrolls, “Mother Angel Arrival in One Day - Check your Eligibility Now.” Hopeful young women stop in the streets. Their yearning faces crane towards the sky, desperate for their monthly visitation. They beckon to the holographic angels descending with babies in their arms.
By Jessica Berkmen2 years ago in Horror
Little Mirrors That Penetrate
Summers on the Cape, with my grandmother, were for crafting. We’d sit for hours together, not saying a single word, painting birdhouses or sewing reusable shopping bags. My grandfather thought he was just taking my grandmother’s home away, when he forced her to sell long after their divorce. But he also took the pine trees, the spools of thread, the morning hoots from the owls, the tall flowers, and my adolescence. I didn’t speak to him after that.
By Jessica Berkmen3 years ago in Humans
6 FEET APART
Fairy juice, I used to call it when I was a little girl, watching my mom pour her ritual glass of wine at 5pm. Now, my friend’s refer to it as “Jessica num nums.” It’s true, if someone asked me what my passion is at this very moment, I would simply reply, red wine. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been waiting for something to bump it down to second on my list of passions: a fulfilling career, someone to call “babe”. I’ve been thinking, everyone’s lucky in something, right? Unlucky in cards, lucky in parking. Unlucky in love, lucky in work. I don’t play cards, I can never find parking, and I’m currently working a thankless job as a restaurant inspector for the health department. So the love thing’s GOTTA work out. But when? And more importantly, HOW? How do you date from 6 feet apart? I’m 37 and getting uncomfortably comfortable with living alone. I need to go on a date before picking my nose becomes a habit I can’t break.
By Jessica Berkmen3 years ago in Humans
Nancy Ann's Diary
“Those who don’t believe in magic,” I quoted to my grandmother, “will never find it.” She smiles and nods at Roald Dahl’s borrowed words she’s used to inspire me with since I was a little girl. I’m only 8 years old now, but I feel like a giant laying next to her shriveled body, in the sterile hospital bed. There’s a lump in my throat that feels like I swallowed an owl pellet: dry and boney. I want my last words to her to be powerful and meaningful, but my mind is blank under the pressure. So I squeeze her; her breath smells like chemicals. Gently, I slip away onto my feet. They weigh a fifty pounds each, but I drag them to the door. I look at her and just say what I feel. “I’m going to miss you Nana.” Voiceless, she mouths, “I’m going to miss you too.”
By Jessica Berkmen3 years ago in Families
