![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/c_fill,f_jpg,fl_progressive,h_302,q_auto,w_1512/60f1083da93fd3001d423dbd.jpg)
Sam Eliza Green
Bio
Wayward soul, who finds belonging in the eerie and bittersweet. Poetry, short stories, and epics. Stay a while if you're struggling to feel understood. There's a place for you here.
Achievements (1)
Stories (128/0)
Untethered
She led me down strange paths, over rocky beaches, and through ruined places that never had names. She hated familiar. Sometimes, she walked barefoot to feel the new terrain. She liked the way the stones scraped against her feet—a small reminder of her mortality. She had come to terms with her mortality.
By Sam Eliza Green2 years ago in Fiction
Hold the Walls
Open your eyes. Emptiness engulfs you. A continuous plane of pale marble stretches into the distance—the flat horizon an unwanted promise of eternity. Everything else is sky, reflecting light from a nameless sun. You feel betrayed by the silence. Scream in fear. Your voice is stolen by greedy air. In the absence of echo, you fall to the stone floor, anchored by the truth of this void. There is nothing else out there.
By Sam Eliza Green2 years ago in Fiction
A Letter to Almost
Should I start with the birds? The seagulls that are really just gulls or so you’d remind me the last time we met? Or the Rufous that flitted around your yard this summer while you gardened and I played with the stray orange cat? How do you track something with so many beginnings?
By Sam Eliza Green3 years ago in Humans
Peach Daisies
He used to give me peach daisies. I told him I hated flowers, but he'd pick one for me every Monday on our walk home from school, stow it in my palm and run ahead before I could give it back. It would end up on the ground, the petals smashed by bike tracks and roller blades of the next-door neighbors. When we stood on the porch of our brick farmhouse, he’d look at my empty hand in disappointment.
By Sam Eliza Green3 years ago in Fiction
Feed the Wolves
Tonight, my heartsore sister, we must remember to feed the wolves. Bitter and sick of starvation, they will hunt us like the earth ravaged its reckless. Un-name your rabbits. Thank them for comfort in the bleak and fortune of their swift feet. Each night endured requires sacrifice—this is yours. We, the restless, must learn to release ourselves from solace. Turbulence will haunt you long after day breaks. I will be here to soothe the pain.
By Sam Eliza Green3 years ago in Fiction
Subscribe to my stories
Show your support and receive all my stories in your feed.
Send me a tip
Show your support with a small one-off tip.