Rebekah Conard
Bio
31, She/Her, a big bi nerd
How do I write a bio that doesn't look like a dating profile? Anyway, my cat is my daughter, I crochet and cross stitch, and I can't ride a bike. Come take a peek in my brain-space, please and thanks.
Stories (58/0)
- Top Story - February 2024
Snow of Consciousness
There are things I should do -- a dishwasher to run, laundry to be done. But how can do I anything when it's snowing? No matter where I rest my gaze, it turns back to the sliding glass door. It's late afternoon, dark blue, and snowing.
By Rebekah Conardabout a month ago in Fiction
Places I'm Not
I can see his alarm clock from where I'm sitting. The alarm sounded at 7 a.m. and I already had a feeling this is how it would go down. The bright red digital display has spent the better part of an hour trying to point this doofus my way. The gesture is appreciated, we inanimate objects have to stick together, but he barely pays the clock any attention while it's performing its function. The colon between the hour and the minutes flashes futilely. By now the clock has burned 7:xx into my retinas -- at least it would have, if I had eyes.
By Rebekah Conardabout a month ago in Fiction
A Little Dirt
Photo Credit: Judey Kalchik Every week, I've wanted to ask about the boots, but every week I chickened out. I clean houses. Mr. Peterson hired me a few months ago, after his wife moved into assisted living. He's pretty able-bodied for his age, but his wife insisted he bring someone in to do part of the housework. Mr. Peterson told me she doesn't want him to wear himself out. Experience tells me she doesn't want him to get too lonely.
By Rebekah Conard2 months ago in Fiction
2024: Officially, the Year of the Unofficial
A little over a year ago, I began writing on Vocal. I had an existing account from the time a former teacher of mine posted a few stories. I didn't give it much thought beyond that. I write, but just sometimes, and usually just for fun, and usually to enter friendly competitions. It was rare for me to share my writing with "IRL" (in-real-life) friends and family. My writing felt private, or at least it wanted to stay private until I knew it was "good enough."
By Rebekah Conard2 months ago in Writers
Familiar Face
This is for Paul Stewart's Unnerve, Unsettle, and Scare Me Challenge. There's a full length mirror on the closet door in my bedroom. It's been there my whole life and its presence has been kind of comforting to me. When I was little, we didn't have central air conditioning in the house. I spent a lot of time sitting criss-cross-applesauce in front of that door with a book in my lap and my forehead resting against the cool glass. In middle school I put a kitsch inspirational poster on the inside of the door that read: Never let the girl in the mirror become a stranger. Looking at it now, I see it's a vague, silly statement targeting the $5 bill in a tired mother's pocketbook, but at that age I felt like I understood the sentiment.
By Rebekah Conard4 months ago in Fiction
- First Place in the Neolomicro Challenge
ExcalcifateFirst Place in the Neolomicro Challenge
You're trying not to push her too hard. In some ways Amber has experienced more in her first twelve years than you did in your first twenty. There's no question in your mind that taking her in is the right thing to do. Still, you wish she would give you some indication of what she's feeling.
By Rebekah Conard4 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - November 2023
She Was EmmaTop Story - November 2023
This story is part of the Vocal + Assist on Facebook Unreliable Narrator Challenge. You can learn more about it here: Always, she was Emma and I was Amy. We met in preschool and hit it off immediately. I reasoned that we needed to be friends because we were both 4 years old and our names sounded the same. She understood what I meant: the names Emma and Amy feel the same in your mouth. We were inseparable. Parents, teachers and friends referred to the two of us all at once: Emma'n'Amy. Emmanamy. Emma-and-Amy.
By Rebekah Conard4 months ago in Fiction
No One Can Hear You
Today is a Wednesday but it sure feels like a Monday. On the day that was actually Monday, Headquarters was made aware that contact had been lost with one of several manned deep-space research vessels. Details began to trickle in. There was an emergency of some kind which resulted in the total destruction of the ship. The data has just arrived; logs, experimental data, telemetry, audio, video, everything you could cram into a ship's computer. There are a dozen eggheads itching to tear into it from all angles, but that's not why you got out of bed this morning.
By Rebekah Conard5 months ago in Fiction