K. Kocheryan
Bio
I write, delete, write, and on most days, delete again.
Stories (28/0)
- Top Story - December 2023
- Top Story - September 2023
The Door’s LockedTop Story - September 2023
Knock. Knock. Knock. Cherry stood in front of the accident: a lake hidden between tall whispering trees with a perfectly preserved old wooden dock. The lake, which had a local nickname, but wasn’t important enough for Cherry to remember, contained countless good memories; it washed over the area in a thick coat of paint: its hues ever-changing after every visitor. But that was its lie, and within that lie hid its true depths, the memories caged, and the number of bodies it had stored over its long life. Even Cherry couldn’t help but indulge, imagining a day when she would watch the stillness, soaking her feet in the stained water.
By K. Kocheryan2 months ago in Fiction
Chapter: OCD and that Thing.
(Written in third person for distance.) Half her feet dangled over the cliff edge ever since she first heard God Pan's silent shout as a child. Sometimes she could predict when it would happen; sometimes, she could not. But whenever it happened, something behind her would dig their fingers into her back and push. She would lean forward. And when she leaned forward, heels still firmly planted, eyes looking down towards a cold void, she saw all the horrible possibilities pushing and pulling at the surface—teeth trying to cut through, claws trying to rip open. However, when she wasn’t looking, they would merely knock.
By K. Kocheryan3 months ago in Chapters
Michelangelo's David - The veil between us.
When looking up at him, as one must towards the famous sculpture, I wondered as I gazed upon his details, such as delicate veins and toned muscle and thoughtful texture, whether the real man or entity resides inside, watching me looking up—an experience of a transaction between mortality and immortality.
By K. Kocheryan4 months ago in Critique
A Letter to The Next One
"The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own." That is what you will believe at first and maybe until the very last moment. So, as I write this letter sitting in front of the mirror you came across, I think of two things: the first moment my eyes laid upon my reflection and the second, the realization of a strange truth that the mirror holds. And as I listen to the slow creaking footsteps behind me, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder…
By K. Kocheryan8 months ago in Fiction
