Stories (143/0)
Perfectly Natural
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Everyone in Minneapolis saw it on April 21, 2016. It would only rain purple for him on the day he died. Somehow every time someone hears 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' you know the words. It's six minutes long, has no discernable melody, no chorus, and yet I don't know a single person who doesn't like it. You go certain places and say, "You remind me of the babe," loud enough and people break into a full song and dance. Why Graceland & Neverland bring people to tears, for bad or good reasons, they have them, and those reasons are strong. We are not sure who the flash mob movement benefited, but it was a well-documented spike for someone or some thing. When some of the big ones teamed up with words, camera, voice, and charisma, you the collective effort, you think is just for money, but it's for something greater. But then again, you only think of one name when you hear, "There's no crying in baseball." The woman older than sliced bread who died three weeks before her one-hundredth birthday and we still wanted more of, that golden, first lady of television. Those were the big ones; the ones anyone could recognize, practically gods in their own rights. Those who would play to thousands at a time, entertain and endure for years, even though most of them were dead.
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Fiction
Tales of the Age Gap
I was born in the 80s, Child of the 90s. I am a Millennial. When I was growing up we were called Generation Y or the Boomer Echo. To tell if you are of this age group I was given two tests: One, you are of age with an Avenger - Captain America (Chris Evans born 6/1981) to Spiderman (Tom Holland born 6/1996). Or two, you were in school, anywhere between Kindergarten to your undergrad in college, on September 11, 2001.
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Humans
Alpha-Boring
She sat back on the lounge chair, relaxing, enjoying. Another beautiful day on the beach. Anna looked up at the umbrella covering her lounge chair, then out again to her feet. The waters were beginning to wash away her pedicure, but that was okay, she didn't mind it. The waters were still that day, quiet, they had been for so long; one long unending beach vacation. She looked good in her swimsuit and she had a great view, at least she had that going for her.
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Fiction
Metamorphosisters Redeux
Beatrix waited, trying to keep herself calm. No one would hear her scream in that small space. She tried to tell herself it wasn't a coffin because she was not dead. It's a bed, that's it, a cozy bed. She tried to slow her breathing and actually sleep, but sleep would not come. Not after the evening she had...
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Fiction
Up
. . . Observatory I can see Everything They knew I blue up
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Poets
Tales of Bette: Charlie Who?
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. 'We' it still feels weird to say think of 'us' like that. "There is no way we are not lost," Bette said. She looked at her phone again: no signal. "Do you have a map," she asked curtly, she tried her hardest to remain calm, but she was failing. Charlie had been generous to surprise her with the cabin getaway between Christmas and New Years', but it wasn't what she expected.
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Fiction
Tales of Bette: Blast From The Past
December 2024 The notification went off on Bette's phone and the she pulled up the pop up from her doorbell security ap. She had it programmed to not go off for squirrels or anything smaller, she knew the neighbors weren't home, and it couldn't capture the cars in the street. She didn't even hear any footsteps on the porch - because there weren't any. She rushed to the door, opened it, and could see the delivery drone taking off. It was unusual to say the least. On the doormat was the package, so small it was nearly an envelope. The shipping label addressed to her had wrapped all around the package, so much so that it covered up the sender's information. She hadn't ordered anything recently, it wasn't her birthday that month, nor was it her wedding anniversary with Mark. It was a literal gift from the sky and there was no way of telling from who. She brought the package inside, stared at it for a bit before deciding to open it. She pulled out the small card first, opened it; the message seemed irrelevant at first. It was the name at the bottom that caught her attention. She took a deep breath as the warm feeling crested through her body, she was transported to the memories tied to the name, and suddenly, she was 27 again.
By Tinka Boudit She/Herabout a year ago in Fiction