Heyo, I'm Layne. I write poems, short stories, and creative nonfiction. I'm a fan of science-fiction, horror, and all of that type of thing. I've got a BA in English from Penn State, and I live in Santa Fe, NM.
To Take Hold of, To Seize
I was fourteen years old, and I had my first seizure. I was at school and walked into the wrong classroom. I woke up on the floor and wasn't able to remember my birthday, my address, or what class I meant to go to. I was wheeled off into an ambulance, and I had another seizure in the hospital. I did not have cancer, or any other ailment that causes seizures. I was diagnosed with epilepsy.
Fire and Fury: The Language of Waves and Radiation
Imagine this. You had just gotten home from work, school, or whatever you do during the day or night. You are tired, and excited to rest after an especially hard day. When you get home, you open your preferred beverage, and turn on the television. Your favorite television show had recently released a new season, and you are excited to watch it. Unfortunately, the streaming service has ads. You make the best of it, having your cellphone by your side to keep you entertained during the commercials.
Don't Forget About Pensacola Beach
Don't Forget About Pensacola Beach Schools of small fish pluck barnacles from the post of the dock, while big fish scurry below. Scraps of grass float in from the other end of the bay, taking with them tiny crustaceans. The waves are gentle, and the tide is high. The salty water feels cool on my dirty feet. In the distance, I see a few paddle boarders paddling above the sandbar in the middle of the bay. A fish breeches the surface, gobbling up plankton on the way up. In the far distance, a boat named "Southern Charm" heads towards the canal, its inhabitants eager for the space to pick up speed. Buoys bob, informing boaters that a sandbar is aflutter with string rays dwelling beneath. On the other side of the bay, restaurants, bars and hotels inhabit the horizon.
A Hard Rain
We heard the news. On this night, my mother was in Los Angeles at a “quit smoking” resort (she still smokes.) My brother, Franz, had come to join us. Pointer, our family friend, also decided to enjoy an evening of wine and debauchery. We had two dogs, Rosy and Wahoo, a German Shepard and a Golden-Retriever respectively. My father was there too, of course. He owned the house, after all. It was a lovely two-story home in Old Metairie, an affluent neighborhood. We spent the majority of the evening watching television, and I had fallen asleep on the couch.