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Melissa Ingoldsby
Bio
I am a published author on Patheos,
I am Bexley by Resurgence Novels
The Half Paper Moon on Golden Storyline Books for Kindle.
My novella The Job and Atonement will be published this year by JMS Books
Stories (1084/0)
I write for people who are like me
I write characters and stories that are hard to write (for me). It’s exhausting to write happy people. It’s exhausting to write people fighting their way out of depression. It’s hard to move out of bed sometimes and open my eyes—-but I do it because that’s what thriving through pain is—-moving step by step each day to get by. To do each task and care for your family. I find it difficult to do anything sometimes, but I take deep breaths, and I do it. I try to do it well—-or least finish it to completion. This worldwide pandemic and the way everything feels slow and terrifying and unending—-it is hard to feel safe. But, with my friends and family, I can. Writing is my safeguard to keep me grounded as well.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Confessions
Breathless
A companion piece to this: ——————————— I never thought I was meant to have true love. I just thought I was meant to be stuck in nightmares—-where my parents just watch me suffer and say almost nothing——where I get stuck in these crazy situations where I feel trapped. I know my parents care. They are just so oblivious and selfish.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Filthy
Cigarette Freeze
“Why are you smoking? You don’t smoke,” I say to myself. You don’t smoke. Your father smokes. You don’t smoke, I repeat, looking into my pristine mirror that I cleaned meticulously for ten minutes. No streaks, just smoke. “I don’t smoke,” I say, and I blow the Marlboro’s burning taste out from my chapped lips. I just came from a funeral. And my mom gave me his cigarettes. My father’s last pack. My father always said he’d quit. He said he’d always stop. Half a pack a day. Just a few a day. “You don’t even smoke!” I whisper, the tendrils of gray whispering sweet suffering and tender hearted memories. He quit drinking, but he still smoked.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
The night of the chocolate cake crumbling before us
“I just watched this sad movie,” Selene started, taking off their work clothes, and changing into pajamas. The pajamas had Joshua trees on them. Selene loved Joshua trees—-they said it looked like a human that had stood out in the hot desert, arms outstretched—-and had slowly turned into the beautiful wispy branches. “It was so sad. It made my stomach hurt—-I wanted to cry. I couldn’t.”
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Humans
I can’t remember that one movie but I remember every other time (cause there are a lot of times)
Movie theaters. Popcorn. Soda. Loud speakers setting up the soundscapes. The corny pop music they’d play with the advertising logos before the movie trailers. Milk duds. Sticky floors.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Confessions
I am the shark
I am the shark, sinking and bullying. I am the shark and I smell your fear. I am the shark and I sense your breath and your blood pumping in the salty ocean waves. I am the shark and I love your smile it looks like mine. I am the shark because I mirror the moon and the green reflection of the water. I am the shark, I see all in darkness—-my black eyes are not dull as they have a tapetum lucidum. I do not like yellow or contrasting colors—-stay away from me if you wear them. I am the shark but I do not want to fight with you. I am the shark but I can’t stop my insides from biting a dancing limb near the surface. I’m the shark. I see red water, I go to it. I’m the shark. I’m tired of chasing you, too. I’m the shark but I let the remora hitch a ride with me.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Poets
Free
So I’m making my boyfriend this really rich chocolate cake. I’m making it from scratch even though I have no fucking clue What I’m doing. And I’m thinking about how his beautiful blue eyes gets red and wide, his mouth turns into a solid line, trembling and the tears flow down his cheek. I’m mixing in the real cocoa powder, and my heart is trembling, thinking of my sweetheart having another anxiety attack. God, I can’t stand it when Tweek is upset, it kills me so bad, I cry sometimes. Then, when I cry, Tweek cries louder. If I had a genie and had only one wish, I’d wish for Tweek to be free of anxiety forever.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
The hundred thousand foot tall fairy tale
a long time ago, in a distant land, in a deep part of a dream or perhaps something like a dream, there lived a ten thousand foot tall princess. or maybe she was one hundred thousand feet tall. there is different accounts of the story, but all know of her general sense of humor and demeanor. she had curly, short brown hair. her brown, wavy locks looked like something out of the 1920’s, and it suited her bright blue eyes. she loved in deep, rich manifestations of color and music, but to most, it was overwhelming. the princess, named Kizzie, had light brown skin and was of noble an ancestral claim of the Giant Clan aTigress. They all spoke slowly and surely, and died out over the years, as their kind did not live long and the smaller folk did not take kindly to their existence as a whole. only a few young giants were left, including her, the last of the dying aTigress’s monarchy. her parent’s had died several years ago. she had not yet become Queen. Kizzie did not find a suitable partner to rule with yet(though this was not the only factor as it was her age as she was only sixteen). Giant Kingdoms had their princess and prince’s coronation typically at eighteen.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
Leaving
I was feeling blue. I decided to take a walk. It was raining, but it was only a light drizzle, and I walked past all the shops in downtown and past the river. I went past the famous Spanish bar and peered inside, hearing the faint sound of boisterous laughter and I saw couples happily sitting together nursing their homemade spun concoctions and cocktails. They famously always had Matador bull fights on all the Flat screens they had in the bar. Old fights, new fights. Fights from years ago.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
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