Mayra Martinez
Bio
Just another writer . . .
Stories (25/0)
The Drake
Kieren wiped the sweat off his face with a blistered hand. It was unrelenting, and he never felt so useless. As if on cue, a deep, guttural scream rang through the forest. He looked up at his cabin at the edge of the woods and sighed. He grabbed another hunk of wood, set it carefully on the stump, raised his heavy axe, and split the wood into two smaller sizes. He brushed them aside and reached for another. He had been chopping wood since before sunrise, and almost all the upcoming winter’s wood was chopped.
By Mayra Martinezabout a year ago in Fiction
The Train
SNAP! He jolted in his seat, head rattling the window where he had been leaning as he slept. Where am I? He rubbed his eyes, helping them focus on his surroundings. He could hear the hum of an engine, the clack, clack, clack of wheels on a rail, the distorted sound as the train he was on hurried through the tunnels. Train. Ok. I’m on a train.
By Mayra Martinez2 years ago in Fiction
Cuban Delight
Sergio ran across the hard-packed dirt and slid silently behind a tree. From his vantage point, he could see Carlos’ house. Carlos was at the door, shaking out a small area rug, but looking up to see if Sergio had arrived yet. Sergio let out a soft whistle, and Carlos smiled. Sergio knew that Carlos had gone back into the house. Faintly, he could hear Carlos’ mother calling to the boy to not be gone too long.
By Mayra Martinez2 years ago in Feast
Lest There be Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There didn’t use to be much of anything in the valley, really. Still wasn’t. There was one small town, hardly noticeable, at the north end, after the valley proper. The freeway didn’t pass through or anywhere nearby. There wasn’t a single HoJo’s or Notel Motel within miles of Amfield, which at one time catered to miners and their entertainment, namely hookers, saloons, a barber, and a town jail when the fun got out of hand. The mines closed, the silver run out, and the town grew to accommodate outdoor enthusiasts; rock climbers and hikers in the summer, skiers and snowboarders in the winter for the lucky few who could find work in town. The rest of the residents had to travel eastward to Haven to work at the Nike factory. There was still a town jail in Amfield, but there was also a small courthouse, a city center which consisted of one building housing city records and licensing, and in the basement a morgue big enough to hold one body in its refrigerator until the county coroner could make it in to do an autopsy, but that didn’t happen very often. When it did, it was usually because someone got too close to the tree line while skiing or lost his grip on a ledge.
By Mayra Martinez2 years ago in Fiction
- Top Story - December 2021
Never a LoverTop Story - December 2021
I'm younger; I can feel that immediately. It's not that I have fewer aches and pains, or even that I'm thin with perky breasts. It's more like my spirit feels lighter, less burdened by time. I breathe easier; again, not in a physical sense, but in the sense that I have yet to fill my lungs with air taken in gasps of fear or gulps of rage. My lungs are still breathing out whimpers of surprise, sighs of joy, moans of pleasure.
By Mayra Martinez2 years ago in Fiction
Pear Tree
Winter had been long, and silent, and beautiful, and in many ways, life changing. Emma had never been alone for so long with nothing to do. Check that: With nothing electronic to do. She was a Millennial, and like everyone she knew, her life revolved around her phone, her tablet, video games after work, Instagram, and the Internet in general. Even while watching TV, she had one device or another in her hand, playing a game or swiping through TikTok vids. That was before, of course.
By Mayra Martinez3 years ago in Fiction
Long Thaw
The days leading to winter’s arrival flew by for Emma. She spent much of her time–something she had in abundance–going back and forth between the small country town and her newly chosen home, stocking up on everything she thought she might need. She eventually learned to siphon gas, and while the old gas made the old Ford she had liberated sputter and occasionally not start, she had no other choice. She stocked up on gas additive, too. She didn’t know how long it would last, but she stored as much gasoline as she could find. She just hoped she could keep the generators running through winter, or at least until she figured out a way to go solar. She took a chance, loaded up Boy, and drove the sputtering truck to the nearest decent-sized town and raided the library. She had all of winter to educate herself. Boy rode with his head out the window, tongue waving to the side, as they rode along the quiet roads.
By Mayra Martinez3 years ago in Fiction
Raging Bull
Emma sat in a tree at the edge of the pasture and watched the only other living creature she’d seen other than herself and Boy, the dog that followed her across the state. Now, both she and the dog watched the bull in the field and wondered what they should do. Well, Emma wondered. Boy knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to give chase and nip at hooves, but that wasn’t a good idea. The chances of stumbling across a vet were less than zero.
By Mayra Martinez3 years ago in Fiction
Golden Summer
Shimmers of steam rose from the pavement, making the road look magical. Emma folded back the flap of the tent and stepped out. She stood and looked around. The early morning rain had changed the countryside. The rain had washed the dust and griminess away. The world was clean and new again. Sweet petrichor still filled the air, but as more of the rain evaporated, the thick, cloying heat of the day to come started to appear. The rain did, however, bring the promise of the coming Fall.
By Mayra Martinez3 years ago in Fiction
Brown Paper Box
Brown Paper Box Part 3 He was a good boy. He knew he was. He had been told all the time, which made this silence so much more painful. What had he done to deserve this? Sitting at the curb, he closed his eyes and remembered the times he was scratched behind the ears and told, “Hey, Buddy, you’re a good boy, you know that?” He had. He had known. Now the fur behind his ears was matted and dirty, with biting burrs digging into his tender skin.
By Mayra Martinez3 years ago in Fiction