Growing Certainty of Over

Title: Growing Certainty of Over

Word Count: 804

Rating: PG

Notes: Written to the prompt Recovery also reposted because wordpress ate my formatting and despite my best efforts, I could not fix that entry.

Her childhood bedroom is almost exactly as she remembers leaving it: pastels and stuffed animals and a shelf full of terrible body sprays painstakingly curated from over priced stores in the mall. Her bed looks too tiny – threadbare little mermaid quilt smoothed into place, beckoning her back, beckoning her home.
This is her life now. She sat her bag down, small and lonely and grown up though it was. Terribly out of place in this room of the past.

Much like her.

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You Want a Better Story

Title: You Want a Better Story 

Word Count: 1,388

Rating: PG

Notes: This piece does touch on the concept of God, and as such I have been told by a couple of people that it made them uncomfortable. So there’s that.


John finds God on a Wednesday at Starbucks. She’s there when he pulls in, standing at the door and smiling vaguely in his direction. “Right on time,” she says. Which he thinks is strange, since he only just decided coffee sounded like a good idea before turning into the parking lot. Continue reading

Where No One Can be Found

Title: Where No One Can be Found (1228 words)

Word Count: 1,228

Rating: PG-13

Notes: Trigger warning, this piece contains allusions to suicide and self harm. 

He is two eyes and a wide smile in the fuzzy semblance of a man. She is reminded of the exact nature of his condition when she goes to touch his shoulder and her hand passes through him. He offers an apologetic shrug like, what can you do, and they both move more carefully after.

He says “I almost didn’t think you would come.”

She laughs. “I almost didn’t, thought I was going crazy when I heard your voice.” They move through the forest, one whisper quiet (dead silent, haha. And she tries to punch him for that, forgets again that this isn’t how things should be) and the other alive and rustling underbrush and snapping twigs and wait, can we stop, I need to catch my breath.

Soon, all too soon, the dirty grey of pre-dawn slides into the sky and they find themselves at the bridge. She leans over the railing and looks down, down, down. The river is a thin thread far below.

“Hey,” he says. “Come with me.” She thinks about it – he smiles hopefully at her – and she says “I don’t know if I can.” He sighs, jumps, fades out of existence mid-leap and she is left alone for the moment.
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