Shea Dunlop
Bio
Short stories, anecdotes, and niche interests.
Searching for the meaning of life or maybe just $4 to get an everything bagel with cream cheese.
Stories (10/0)
Bubbles & Dust: A Multiverse Theory
To discuss the creation of everything, we must pick a Beginning. This is tricky, as we were not in the picture for some time. Yet, we exist, have existed, and will exist in more frames than the most prestigious gallery could house. Humanity wasn’t here for the Beginning, that much most can agree on. You and I were certainly not here for the Beginning, that is indisputable.
By Shea Dunlop11 months ago in Humans
Of Nostalgia & Pixie Dust
“Princess Pixie’s Pocket Pen Pal Pad,” I spat. “Bleh! That’s a mouthful.” “One more time?” Rocket smirked from where they sat on my bed, the old fuchsia comforter clashing horribly with their bright orange running shorts (thrifted, as usual).
By Shea Dunlop11 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - January 2023
Oral Tradition: The Artistry Missing from English 101Top Story - January 2023
In days past, much of a child's ethos development began with the bedtime stories told by their mother and father or other community members. However, most of our modern exposure to stories comes not from our elders but from media such as movies and television. In-person storytelling mostly only happens at the theater (with an honorable mention for those times when Mom has an extra glass of wine and starts talking about her college days).
By Shea Dunlop11 months ago in Education
FNL: The Last Interface
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Jackie’s friends take turns crossing her perfectly programmed lawn to sit on her auto-generated front porch and gaze out at the wall of pixels. All of their interfaces have gone dark by now, shutting down one by one until Jackie’s view was the only one left in the neighborhood.
By Shea Dunlop11 months ago in Fiction
Thru-hiking didn't change my life
I’m staring up the rocky slope of Jay Peak, adjacent pines dotted with the occasional white brush stroke. The soles of my feet are numb from incessant pounding despite my shoes long since assuming a loving mold to my feet. My pack straps dig into my shoulders and hips, a constant reminder of the necessary 25 pounds on my back. A Canadian hiker greets me as he descends, “Bonjour — are you called Legacy?”
By Shea Dunlopabout a year ago in Poets
Anomie Amalgam
The snowdrift twitched. Kiri kept perfectly still, from the tip of her mottled snout to the end of her barbed tail. She could tell the vole wasn’t large, but it was something. A snack to keep her stomach from rumbling and alerting the larger game.
By Shea Dunlopabout a year ago in Fiction
