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Jessica Spates
Stories (3/0)
Bishop Hill, IL
When I was young, I was forever being reminded of my Swedish roots, and the history of a little town called Bishop Hill, IL. I wore a crown of candles for Saint Lucy’s Day, and danced around a May pole at the start of summer. The place was magical to me, filled with wildflower gardens, cute little shops, a white picket fence town square with a May Day celebration every year, quilt shops, sweet breads, and of course, a candy store that sold Swedish fish by the pound. Still today, I am drawn to every bakery with hopes for rye bread and cinnamon rolls, and every room in my home contains a homemade quilt to snuggle into. It was the magic I found in this little dying town, that filled my soul with magic, and made me want to become a writer someday.
By Jessica Spates3 years ago in Wander
The Thing With Feathers
Hope strained her muscles and pushed the pedals of her bike the last 200 yards to the safety of the shade of the former four-stall car wash. The idea of wasting water for vanity's sake was a ludicrous notion to Hope. Still, her people had put the building to better use. A grow house. It warmed her heart, thinking of all the plants that large of a building could maintain. The solar panels appeared cared for, and the roof was of special greenhouse glass. The air purifier was attached to the side building. The old "Holiday" sign still stood, beckoning long-dead travelers to its doors. Not much for travelers these days. This location was a part of H.O.P.E. Heal Offer Protect and Educate. A last-ditch effort for the survival of life on earth. Their fight was an uphill battle. Some chose a nomad lifestyle, trying to survive however they could instead, often stopping through posts to trade goods, news, and even act as a postal service. Nomads were always a risk, and special precautions were taken with those that had not taken the oath. A nomad could become a scavenger if they grew desperate enough. While H.O.P.E. was against the destruction of any living thing, those that preyed on others were a cancer that could not be tolerated. Even names were safeguarded against strangers. Hope was the name of all that brought it to others.
By Jessica Spates3 years ago in Fiction
The Mom Belly Monolog
While trying on a pair of jeans last week, I found myself looking for something with a bit of stretch and support in the tummy region for my constant companion, the mom belly. In the dressing room, I stared it down sadly and asked why it stayed around so long, and in fact, when exactly had it entirely moved in?
By Jessica Spates3 years ago in Families