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 (63/0)
Mewsic
Is this thing recording? Testing, one, two... Okay. Let's do this. Breathe in, and... Hey, my quadrupeds! The name's DJ Mittenz, Lil' Mittz for short. Though, I guess that's not that much shorter. Wait, shit. I write lyrics for Frisky's sake. I speak Human, I swear.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Divide
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was a visual lullaby that transfixed my violet eyes from my earliest days. The ladies having coffee with my mother in the living room would remark, "What a strange child it is, to be in the crib wide awake so late, night after night." Their words would not have turned my head even if I had heard them. To drink the sight of the midnight clouds was prerequisite to my dream-drowned slumber. Snatches of those early dreams still live in the back of my skull and sometimes brush against my memory. The colors, the textures, the vague shapes that occupy the dreams of infancy float subtly, casting dim shadows across my coherent, waking thoughts.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Her Bedroom Wall
If walls could talk, I would have shared in your parents' joy and excitement as they prepared your nursery. They spent hours just sitting on the floor of the empty room daydreaming about the possibilities. A beige carpet was laid down and I was painted lavender. The anticipation was great fun, but it was nothing compared to the joy of seeing your family together for the first time. I'm just a wall, but I shared in the feeling of responsibility that came over the house as it was cleaned, child-proofed and decorated for your arrival. I listened and I learned every one of your mother's lullabies. If walls could talk, I would have sang you a lullaby of my own about how I would protect you from the elements, from noise, from harm, and how happy I was with my duty.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Why People Are Mad About "Hogwarts Legacy"
In this piece I'm going to touch on the topics of transphobia, racism and racial bias, and antisemitism. Hello! Do you want to play "Hogwarts Legacy" or know someone who does? Did you see some headlines about boycotting it? Is this the first you're hearing of it? Cool. One more question, and it's an important one: Are you here because you genuinely want to understand perspectives that may clash with your own? I'm not trying to rage-bait here; if you're here to get mad at people like me, feel free to click away. No hard feelings.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Gamers
And, Breathe
Despite her best efforts, Celia was miserable. To most people the conditions would have been ideal: comfortable heat, cheery sun, a delicious salty breeze, and everything she could want was within arm's reach. Celia didn't know how to relax. She came to this island resort thinking she could force relaxation upon herself. So far, no matter how good the food, the drinks and the spa treatments were, she was still a sourpuss.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Revenge Is a Deep Dish
There was a burning sensation lingering in the back of his nose and throat. As Jesse opened his eyes he saw mostly darkness. The eyes adjusted, but still didn't see much. Everything was a dull gray, most things were concrete. Shifting his weight, Jesse understood he was seated on a bare floor with his hands tied behind him. His back rested against something. It took his groggy mind a whole minute to work it out; the back of a wooden chair had been separated from the rest of the chair and cemented directly into the floor. The floor was now a chair, he supposed.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Vivian
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She could never look for long; Vivian was only occasionally invited to play in the Architect's apartment. Such performances were intimate and she had to throw all focus into her craft to keep from melting beneath the scrutinous gaze of her audience. The only glances she could spare to the window came as Vivian prepared to play or prepared to leave.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Happier Than Ever
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. Have you ever seen the snow fall without any wind? I'm talking zero wind. Not even a whistle. The snowflakes are almost too light to make it to the ground without help. They sort of flounder about en route like they're seeking clearance to land, spending so much time aloft you get dizzy trying to follow any one flake. The air is so still, yet their journey is so frantic. Didn't anyone teach them that gravity is constant?
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
Box Spirals
Today it's one month since I started journaling to cope with my thought spirals. Have I gotten any better at identifying my triggers? Maybe. Have I gotten any better in a general sense? Doesn't feel like it. As if to celebrate the milestone, something phenominally-fucking-freaky just happened. So, here I vent.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
- First Place in Holiday Hijinks Challenge
Sleeping Through ThanksgivingFirst Place in Holiday Hijinks Challenge
The prompt reads: "Write a personal narrative story about a holiday gathering gone wrong." I don't have a story that fits the prompt exactly, but the prompt got me thinking. (And that's great! That's what prompts are for. It's just weird that "non-fiction family gathering" inspires me more than "a story at an aquarium".) I don't have a unified narrative for you with a beginning, middle, end and a life lesson. I'm not thinking about hijinks and silver linings. I'm just thinking about me.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Psyche