Achievements (1)
Stories (55/0)
Bury a Friend
Tom was dead. It had been an accident, the sort of accident that occurs after a man drunkenly makes a move on his friend for the umpteenth time and happens to be standing too close to the top of the stairs. Now he was lying in Paula’s backyard while Nancy tried to find a shovel.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Music
The song played somewhere outside the apartment window. Beth had heard that song before, but she couldn’t place it. It was something from her childhood. She couldn’t remember the words, but as she listened she could somehow sing along. It tugged at her, filling her with a strange nostalgia, like the feel of the coming autumn when she looked at a clear blue sky, throwing her back to a time and place that may never have existed, just a vague sense of having lost something over the passing of the years.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
Perchance to Dream
Amy woke, her body frozen. This was not unusual. But it was annoying. She’d thought she had her sleep paralysis under control, but apparently not. Her anxiety had reared its ugly head recently with her promotion at work. She’d had a low-level anxiety attack going for about a week, so it wasn’t surprising when her sleep started to be affected. First, she’d struggled to fall asleep. Now, this.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
The Castle by the Sea
The waves crash on the black rocks below, the grass beneath my feet green. The cliff is high, the water too distant to splash me, but I hear the orchestra of tides and shores, water meets stone. The sky is gray—it is often gray. The castle is a ragged splinter piercing the air, the dark, crumbling stones mossy and crusted with lichen. I can see into the old courtyard through the fallen wall. The turret teeters above.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
Harbinger
Beechey Island is a small speck of land within the Arctic circle. It would be unworthy of note if it had not once been the winter harbor for the Franklin Expedition. The expedition left England in 1845 to seek the Northwest Passage. They never returned. What happened to them is still a mystery, but Beechey’s place in history was cemented by a particular relic—the graves of the first to die.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
Candlelight
Teetering precariously on the ladder, Maia placed yet another candle on the ledge overlooking the stone stairs to the courtyard. The ledge was lined with dozens of candles, unlit. Tapers, pillars, tealights, all in white. Candles covered the stairs too, only a narrow walkway left free.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
Cursed Anonymous
“Hello, and welcome to Cursed Anonymous. I see we have a lot of new faces today, so how about we go around the room and introduce ourselves. I’ll go first. My name is Midas, and I’m cursed with turning everything I touch into gold.” He gestured toward the man with a thick beard to his right. “Next?”
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction
The Sound Water Makes
There was the drip, drip, drip. Always, always—drip, drip, drip. The pipes were fine. Well, mostly. It was an old cabin her grandfather had built. He’d kept it in good shape until his death five years before. It sat by a small, secluded lake in the middle of the woods.
By Lauren Triola2 years ago in Fiction