Libby Sullivan
Bio
An amateur writer that uses language to escape the real world and destress. I joined for a writing challenge and stayed for the community of writers who love sharing their stories as much as I do.
Achievements (1)
Stories (13/0)
Zeida
We walked into the shelter looking for a chihuahua-terrier mix named Tinkerbell. My mom had fallen in love with her over PetFinder in an instant. Tinkerbell met every prerequisite that my mom had laid out for their next dog. She was small (more specifically, she was lap-sized), she was already an adult (so my parents got to bypass the puppy stage), and the shelter had listed her as friendly and affectionate (the perfect combination of traits for a mother currently empty nesting).
By Libby Sullivan6 months ago in Petlife
Your Dog Doesn't Love You
Your dog doesn't love you. I know. That sounds harsh, but it's the truth. We, as humans have an expansive vocabulary that allows each word to have a unique set of rules and stipulations which must be met in order to comply with a word's definition. Words like joy, sadness, and love are all words that are easily applied to our fellow humans but are more difficult to apply to our furry friends.
By Libby Sullivan6 months ago in Confessions
The End...
"...The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. One final gust of wind crashed into the already swinging panes as if it were stones being tossed around and not just air and leaves. The glass shattered, the flame flickered, and finally, the light went out. The End."
By Libby Sullivan8 months ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in After the Parade Challenge
Tastes Like Summer to Me
My legs swung back and forth asynchronously as I sat on my grandparents' white wicker lawn furniture. Although it was made to withstand all weather conditions, my grandparents kept the two single chairs and one love seat on their large, red brick-paved, covered porch. I continued to watch my legs as they swung - back and forth back and forth back and forth. I had already grown tall enough for my feet to touch the ground, but I enjoyed the detached feeling of my bare feet grazing the coarse brick. So, I tucked myself into the back corner of the chair, tightened my stomach, and lifted my legs, watching small shadows racing back and forth over the bricks - never touching, forever swaying.
By Libby Sullivan9 months ago in Families
