Repetition

The time on the digital clock on the computer is 2:00 a.m. I sigh and drop my head into my hands tiredly. Two o'clock in the morning, and I still haven't written my story for English class. My teacher is going to kill me. My parents had given up on me and gone to bed… Continue reading Repetition

Repetition 2

“—Son of a bitch,” I hiss, pulling the knife free of my neck and wincing at the gout of blood that follows. The sensation is like a pair of sharp fingers burying themselves in my artery then pulling. I clamp a hand down over the warm, stick stuff, trying to get a purchase on my own slippery skin.… Continue reading Repetition 2

New Moon

This story is based on a writing prompt that I found in February 2015 and have since lost and completely forgotten (I’m great like that). Please leave a comment if you liked this or if it was the worst thing you’ve ever read!  “We named you Nova for the moon,” Mother told me, but I didn’t believe… Continue reading New Moon

Thistles

The wind whistled through the trees, skipped along shutter slats, and twined itself around the strands of hair pulled loose from Enid’s hastily tied bun. She rocked back and forth, her legs passing in and out of the sun. The warmth was wonderful on her skin. Each time she pushed the glider forward into the… Continue reading Thistles

Time Travel LP

How can you think of time travel as anything less than a chance to right your deepest wrongs? It’s like getting a cheat code for impermeability, or an extra life on a level you flubbed. The most vivid dreams I’ve ever had were all about high school—my head full of the grown-up knowledge I have… Continue reading Time Travel LP

Kismet

I wrote this short in a free-writing exercise. The scenario was in my head but the title wasn’t. I asked people to read it and leave a comment suggesting a title, which I chose on Jan 31, 2019. Thanks to everyone who participated! “Babe, I’m home!” With a bang that rattled the windows, the front door slammed… Continue reading Kismet

Trousers

Clunk. Charlie clangs the metal wrench against the side of the tractor. She’s helping Dad. My hands are too small to hold the tools—or so Charlie says. I don’t believe her for a minute. I scratch the clip of one of my Sunday-best sock garters where it itches. Mama is waiting in the old Ford… Continue reading Trousers