Melissa Eaves
Bio
I am an freelance writer. I love the written word and the poetry of my soul is expressed by mastery of it.
Stories (73/0)
first light
I walked down the dirt road, barefoot, clutching the ragged teddy bear in my left hand. Tears streamed down my soot smeared face and in my head I sung to myself. It was a mixture of old world hymns and modern anthems, that kept my grief from spilling into the wide forlorn world.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
Love is…
Love is love, they say. I’ve now heard it so many times. Once, before it became a modern by phrase I believed the authorship solely mine. I’ve seen it in slogans, marketed on products and in every other way. I suppose it serves its purpose. Love always does.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
2050 Post Apocalypse
His name was Alexander, and I loved him. I always had and always would. I knew as sure as I knew he hung the stars in the sky every night. The earth was still recovering from the nuclear holocaust of 2018. The ozone was so damaged by the blasts that we could no longer live in the sunlight without the shield. We called it the dome. So every night he would crash the shielding for awhile, so that we might bask in the radiance of our love and the stars.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
Freedoms Alley
They have made soldiers a out of us. The weary, the peacekeepers, the writers, artists, and thieves. Plates of molten injustice run in rivets down my back.The metal symmetrys and soft muted colors have blurred into one and replaced the fine adjustable lines of variance and democracy. My name is Jonothan.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
The Laundress
I know its old fashioned but in my mind it is sublimely satisfying to hang clothes to dry. The snap of the crisp clean sheet that smells faintly of detergent and bleach, as you shake it before fold, assures that the wrinkles are out. The solitary chore that seems less like work and more of a pleasure, simple though it may be, is a chance for me to unwind, to think, and to breathe. The quiet approval of nature soothes my anxieties. It is a meditation in practice.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Humans
dystopian daydream
Day One: It skitters across my walls in some sort of a jerking and fluid motion. All arms and legs in fully mechanized posturings. It’s ceaseless whirring is hissing through my brain hitting raw nerves. Already unhinged, I fought off the idea that the thing was stalking me, and only me. We were informed yesterday that these things would be the new and constant presence in our homes.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
before the end
No one lived anymore. I mean really lived. No one laughed, no one dreamed, no one loved. It wasn't allowed. The sky was gray, such a uniform and unchanging gray that all the color seemed leeched from the world. Gloomy, heavy, and dull. Overcast with a thunderous foreboding of control. I wished for drumbeats, for peace, for music, or dance. I wished that the sky would ever break its formation and let out the ozone, to smell fresh air and feel thunder shake the walls and reverberate in my chest. I wasnt a child when the Black Army took control.I could still remember the thrill of running through a rainstorm, feeling soaked to the bone and the cozy comfort of dry skin and clothes after coming in, as outside the storm raged.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction