Short Story
The Encounter
It was an ordinary afternoon when Ruth first saw Daniel. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the city streets. Ruth had just finished work and was making her usual walk through the park, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to fight off the crisp chill in the air. The leaves crunched under her boots, and the air smelled of cinnamon and faint traces of burning wood from nearby chimneys.
By Chiamaka Jennifer2 years ago in Fiction
SHE FOLLOWED ME HOME - ch 12
SHE FOLLOWED ME HOME – ch 12 Mo deas ^ ^ Mia’s mother, Morena, had once thought that a few weeks had gone by way too quickly. Now, as she looks at her daughter in her garden, she realizes a few weeks had been nothing. In the blink of an eye, since their move to Ireland, the years seemed to have evaporated.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
A Hazy Shade of Thin Mint. Content Warning.
Liam is afraid to drive across bridges. Which sucks for someone who lives, works, plays and learns in and around Seattle. It's close to 3 PM on a Tuesday in June and I'm driving Liam's car. He met me at the airport, gave me a handshake and a brohug, threw my bag into the back seat and then got in on the passenger side. You want me to drive? And he said Yes, Liam is afraid to drive across bridges. In third person like that.
By Jason Edwards2 years ago in Fiction
Hugh's Bris. Content Warning.
Forty-seven-year-old upper middle class lousy lover and excellent writer Hugh sits on a skinny white chair and grits his teeth and grins and bears it, pretending his skull beneath all that flesh and muscle and blood is just a skull. Can Death die? I am not dying, I am death, Hugh doesn't say out loud, so she can't kill me, skinny little hardened piece of brie that she is, Loretta, forty-six, not a day over thirty-six, babbling incessantly, as usual, ad nauseum, Hugh's personal mausoleum, his penance for half a life of selfishness, he tells himself. He knows he needs to be around people more, needs people, needs to be seen with them if he's to be accepted for who he is, forty-seven, lousy lover, excellent writer. So he sits on the skinny white chair and listens to the skinny pale Loretta and pretends not to notice that all mastication is delayed micturition. The Chablis at Chateaux Cher is awful, simply awful.
By Jason Edwards2 years ago in Fiction
Fig's 33rd Birthday Party
Before I tell you all about the birthday party, I think I should start filling in the blanks about me and Fig. I'll start by telling you the basics about myself. My name is Danielle Marie Lyons. I was born on March 15th, 1983 in Bartow, Florida. I moved to Tampa in 2003 when I was 20 years old. I got married to Kenan Rosenbaum in 2005 at the age of 22. At the age of 24, in 2007 we had a son, named Seth. Kenan and I divorced in 2011, and agreed that I would keep custody of Seth so long as I didn't request child support. I didn't want to fight about money because the year before our divorce my father had passed away and left me a trust fund to live off for the rest of my life. I guess my father knew that my little waitressing jobs were not going to be enough to raise my son with. I don't get much every month, but at least I have a stable income.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Fiction
I have a story to tell, but I might not make it out of here alive.
I have a story to tell, but I might not make it out of here alive. Everything feels very cramped. I don’t really feel like I have a ton of rights at the moment. Some days, I just listen and listen and listen… I hear the humdrum of voices and other sounds on the other sides of these walls. The conversations that people have around me don’t really make a lot of sense in my mind. They are just words, I guess. Some voices are kind of familiar. Every now and then, there are new voices that I don’t recognize.
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Fiction
His body
I watched him. I watched him take off his glasses and his watch. I watched him unbutton his shirt from the bottom up like he does every day. I watched him drop his shirt to the ground and look at me wide eyed and pick his shirt up off the floor and place it in the hamper next to the dresser. I watched him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants and pull them down. I watched him step out of his pants and lean down to pick them up and put them in the hamper. I watched him walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower and get into the shower.
By Jasmine McClain2 years ago in Fiction
