Psychological
In a Yellow Wood
It’s 3:15 in the afternoon, you check the clock again. Wondering if he’s alright. A gnaw in the pit of your stomach like every weekday afternoon. What if she’s trying to get back in his life again? Would she do that behind your back? You don’t trust her not to, so you set out the pizza rolls on a pan and stick them in the oven. 3:16, he’s late. Then you go to the living room and peek out through the curtains. There he is, standing there talking to the girl from down the street. She’s a cute girl and you notice the way Michael blushes as she twirls her hair around her finger. He’s not on his bike; he’s holding the handles as if he walked it home instead of riding it. Probably to walk alongside her. You look down the sidewalk and see another kid, head down, hands in his hoodie pockets. A loner. You can relate; you didn’t have many friends growing up either. That’s probably what made you so easy for your ex. She wrapped you around all five fingers and some toes. Someone, especially someone that beautiful gave you attention. That was all it took. The kid with the hoodie looks up, directly at you, making eye contact. You duck back inside. But not before you saw little Suzie or whatever her name is down the street give your son Michael a peck on the cheek. He was bright red. You rush back to the kitchen.
By Raine Fielder5 days ago in Fiction
The Unexpected Guest
You step off the train into the damp evening air, the collar of your coat pulled high against the chill. The platform is empty, save for a single flickering streetlamp that casts long, warped shadows across the concrete. You check your watch, realizing with a sudden spike of adrenaline that you are exactly an hour late. You curse under your breath. A slip of paper flutters out of your pocket, and as you reach down to grab it, you link you hear footsteps echoing right behind you. You whip your head around to see the branches of a small tree tapping on a nearby station window. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes from your lips. You’ve never been to this part of town before, and you pull your coat tighter against yourself as you examine the slip of paper under the street light that is fluttering in time with your nerves.
By Ellie Hoovs6 days ago in Fiction
The Stroke of Midnight 10
Again, I looked around the room and yes, no masks, but did notice on the art book now there was a lock on it but no key. In leaving that room I wondered i they were really all gone so I searched each room and not a sign of any masks. The doorbell rang for it startled me. I answered and what did I hear. You guessed it "Trick or treat!" I did have a bowl of candy set out I doled it out to whomever came by and luckily no child had on a mask of any kind either.
By Mark Graham7 days ago in Fiction
The Stroke of Midnight 9
There we were me and 'Queen Mask' just like those old cowboy westerns standing facing each other ready to draw. The art book was open and "Queen Mask' approaching slowly. Oh, masks of the sky hear me now for the book is open so let all your friends come join you so Mote it be. The room seemed to grow thick for masks and going towards the book just like a whirlwind. As events began to settle, I took a deep breath. I looked around and everything was quiet but not like before. There were no masks anywhere. Praise be.
By Mark Graham7 days ago in Fiction
London aquarium, part 2.
Catch up on part 1: “Who are you?” - Sophie asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognise the woman in front of her any longer. Physically she was more or less the same, except the circles under her eyes looked more noticeable than usual. But her energy felt alien - who was this person, capable of lying not only to herself, but also to others? She was always better than that, genuine and truthful. “What has this city done to your heart?” - she looked into her reflection’s eyes. The girl in the mirror was staring back, not even blinking. There was sadness in her eyes, and Sophie felt a hint of compassion, self-compassion to be precise. She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a subtle black mascara trail behind it. Sophie looked down at her hands, and realised that she doesn’t remember when she last painted her nails, one of the most colourful things about her look. She was blessed with natural beauty, which had already attracted a considerable amount of attention, so she was never big on make up, not even on the nights out. A bit of mascara and a lip gloss was all that was needed - something that frequently annoyed her girlfriends, who needed hours to get ready. Her nails however, told a different story. Since it was always easy to look at her hands, Sophie had decided a long time ago that they shall be her canvas for the colour therapy of all sorts. And now all these colours were suddenly gone, mirroring her internal state all too well.
By Eva Smitte7 days ago in Fiction
I Began Leaving a Chair Facing the Forest
I put the chair at the edge of the clearing because there was nowhere else to put it. That was what I told people. It was an old kitchen chair, oak, heavy enough that the wind couldn't move it. I placed it twenty yards behind the house where the grass ended and the timber began, facing north into the trees.
By Jesse L Shelley7 days ago in Fiction
