Rowan Vetere
Bio
Lover of poetry and art; aspiring novelist!
Achievements (1)
Stories (15/0)
An Iron Horse for an Iron Course
The soft buzzing of electricity was all the Conductor heard when he awoke. He rubbed his bleary eyes and glanced out the window, shocked to see the landscape scrolling past as though the train were in motion, but no sounds came from machinery. There was no clacking of wheels along the tracks, no belching of steam from the engine, no sound at all. The Conductor had to listen close to pick out any noise besides the quiet hum of the lamp in front of him. For a brief moment, he heard the tinkling of the overhead chandelier as it swayed in a phantom draft.
By Rowan Vetere2 years ago in Fiction
Summertime Delight
When I look back on summer days as a child, I’m immediately overwhelmed with memories of sand and sun, hamburgers and hot dogs, and ice-cold sodas from the cooler. It seems like the definitive experience of a child growing up near the Florida coast, but I want to look a little further than that. To find the most iconic summertime food, I think back on the days I spent with my grandparents at their home in The Middle of Nowhere.
By Rowan Vetere2 years ago in Feast
Corporatitis
So, the unthinkable happened. After five long years of hard work, I was let go from my job. Fired. Terminated. Whatever word or phrase you use, the ending is the same. I suddenly found myself jobless on a Wednesday afternoon. I had been anticipating this outcome; I submitted a few applications to new places here and there but I didn't look seriously because I thought "Surely they wouldn't really fire me, right?" "Years of hard work and loyalty and excellent quality would protect me, right?"
By Rowan Vetere2 years ago in Confessions
- Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
The Tale of AshikawaRunner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
Spring – Osaka, 1607 “Blossoms on the wind Dance in bright morning sunshine, Ephemeral light” Tatsumaru shifted anxiously in the shadow of the temple’s shrine. His father, Ichiro, stood nearby with eyes facing forward, his face unreadable. A small crowd of samurai were gathered around in ranks, each one alert but respectful as the temple’s kannushi continued his prayers. Tatsumaru fought the urge to fidget as the kannushi beseeched the goddess, Amaterasu. Instead, he glanced at the complex around him.
By Rowan Vetere2 years ago in Fiction
This Shrine of Mine
Preface: For as long as I have been alive, and for hundreds of years before, my body has been under attack. I have only ever known the whims and wants of man - their desires, their contempt, their insistence. This poem is about my rejection of that status quo. I refuse to accept a law upon my body that is not of my choosing; whether it be about my dress or my reproductive rights or everything in between. Men seek to control us because they are afraid of us: our wombs do not belong to the world, but the reverse is true. And for my women without wombs, I stand with you in your fight for validation and equal rights. We are all sisters in this together. Never forget how much power you truly wield. We are all warriors.
By Rowan Vetere3 years ago in Poets
The Sun Always Rises
Once upon a time, I was young and stupid. Now I’m older, and I like to think I’m a little brighter. But the jury’s still out on that one. Nevertheless, hindsight is 20/20 and looking back at myself nearly 10 years ago, I wish only that I could have warned myself about the man that would change my entire life.
By Rowan Vetere3 years ago in Confessions
A Marigold For Your Thoughts
Arturo frowned at the half-built ofrenda. At present, it was little more than a table with a white cloth covering it. Several unlit candles rested on its surface, and the house was alive with the sounds of other preparations being made.
By Rowan Vetere3 years ago in Fiction
To Love a Shadow
Maleia tucked a loose curl behind her ear. The wind seemed determined to pull all the strands free despite how tightly she tied her hair back. She shifted the basket of pineapples she carried and once again set off for home. The path took her along the beach, crowded with fisherman hauling in their day’s catch. Maleia wrinkled her nose at the smell, trying not to gag. Despite spending her entire life on Moloka’i, she had never liked fish.
By Rowan Vetere3 years ago in Fiction