Posted in Stories, Writing

Leaving What We Knew

Papa burst into the kitchen, out of breath and jacket askew. He immediately grabbed an empty potato sack and started snatching items off the counter.

“What are you doing?” said Mama, rising to her feet from her place at the kitchen table, the fabric she’d been basting together left forgotten. Papa didn’t answer. Mama placed her hands on her hips and stared at him, her eyes commanding him to stop and look at her. Finally, he did.

“We have to leave now,” he said, tying the bag and giving it to Mama. “They’re coming.” Continue reading “Leaving What We Knew”

Posted in Stories, Writing

My Own Yellow Walls

Author’s note: My homage to The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Her writing is what I aspire to.

Dear Tom,

I got to go for a walk this morning. It was beautifully serene. The gardens here are lovely. I saw others, weaving through the carved paths, like me. It was nice not to feel alone. I wish I could come out here every morning, but they say that’s too much excitement. Continue reading “My Own Yellow Walls”

Posted in Stories, Writing

When Shadows Cry (Part 2 of 3)

Read Part 1.

I left Mme. Moreau’s School for Unwanted and Undervalued Children on the eve of my eighteenth birthday. I was done; they had nothing left to teach me, not that I feel I ever really learned anything in the first place. Obviously, our correspondence could no longer continue, and I lost touch with Brigitte for several years. I can only assume that she too left when she turned eighteen and went on to far grander and greater things than I could ever imagine for myself. I would have liked to have gone looking for her, but it was impossible; we were of two different worlds: she was Gifted, and I was still unwanted and undervalued. Continue reading “When Shadows Cry (Part 2 of 3)”

Posted in Stories, Writing

When Shadows Cry (Part 1 of 3)

They say she was a monster, an unkindness left by God. People say a lot of things when they don’t get their way. I knew her to be more. She was ill-used, ill-treated, and I should have done more to stop them. But I didn’t. Because unlike her, I was selfish. I am what killed her. I am writing this today, before I run out of my God-given time, as a sort of penance – not that I think the act of writing this will earn me forgiveness but I feel I must explain myself regardless. I must explain to others what it is to entangle oneself with the Gifted, and the dangers that inevitably flow from doing so. Continue reading “When Shadows Cry (Part 1 of 3)”

Posted in Stories, Writing

Breaking Waters (Part 3 of 3)

Read parts 1 and 2

• •

Gwen heard the footsteps every night. They made her queasy. They paced in an unsettled pattern across the floorboards. Sometimes the faucet was turned on. There had come to be an unhealthy obsession with the flow of water. It made her shiver. She would pull the blankets high above her head, in hopes of blocking it all out, but she had never been good at make-believe, not even as a child. When other little girls were off gallivanting with knights in shining armour, she stayed behind painting pictures of what she saw before her. Even on canvas, nothing was created that wasn’t already there. Continue reading “Breaking Waters (Part 3 of 3)”

Posted in Stories, Writing

Breaking Waters (Part 2 of 3)

Read part 1

• •

They wouldn’t even let her hold a funeral for him. They weren’t classifying him as dead; they wouldn’t release the body to her. She couldn’t even hold a memorial service for him because that would be illegal. He wasn’t dead to them, but he was gone from her, and no matter what they said she knew she’d never truly get him back. People kept giving her skeptical looks, sneering at her and asking what made Calix so special. Why should he be classified as one of the wanted? What was he to the world? Why not their loved ones who had passed? She always answered that she didn’t want this, but that only seemed to make them hate her more. She stopped leaving the house altogether. August came to see her, to tell her how the progress was going, but she never let him in. Continue reading “Breaking Waters (Part 2 of 3)”

Posted in Stories, Writing

Breaking Waters (Part 1 of 3)

She sat in the living room waiting for him to come home. She could hear the clock ticking but she refused to look at it. The party would be starting in an hour. She was ready, her dress freshly dry cleaned and her hair done up in a French twist. She had been waiting all year for this party; it was the first event they were going to attend as a married couple, and now they were going to be late. He was supposed to be back fifteen minutes ago. She took a deep breath and dialed his number again, glancing nervously out the window. The phone answered, but she saw nothing but black on the hologram screen. She tapped the device, wondering idly if it had broken. She hated all this new technology; it never seemed to work for her. The disembodied voice of the dialing operator told her to please leave a message at the light. The screen flashed, and she repeated her previous messages. “Calix…” Continue reading “Breaking Waters (Part 1 of 3)”

Posted in Stories, Writing

The Masks of Misfortune (Part 4 of 4)

Read Parts 1, 2, and 3.

Daisy soon began to cough as smoke filled the room.  Her eyes stung and she staggered forward.  She fell, and her hands and knees hit cold stone instead of the wooden floorboards she had been expecting.  She began to crawl, and immediately bumped into something.  It looked like a pile of clothing, but when she bumped it, it moaned and began to uncurl itself.  Daisy saw a girl with long black hair seated before a roaring fire.  She seemed undeterred by the smoke that was billowing forth from the pit.  The girl was crying.  She held something in her hands, and was poking with a stick at something else in the fire. Continue reading “The Masks of Misfortune (Part 4 of 4)”

Posted in Stories, Writing

The Masks of Misfortune (Part 3 of 4)

Read Parts 1 and 2.

Daisy felt herself being grabbed from behind, and the scream caught in her throat.  She was lifted off the ground and spun around.  She choked out a loud shriek.

“Boo!”

“Harry!”  Daisy smacked him and he put her back on the floor, laughing.  “Not funny, not funny!”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”  Harry shrugged, still grinning.

“Hmph!”  Daisy marched to the other side of the room. Continue reading “The Masks of Misfortune (Part 3 of 4)”