Abigail Dorothy
Bio
Welcome to my rollercoaster of writing,
I strive to create pieces that are vulnerable, transparent and raw. I enjoy a type of writing where the endings have a turn of events, are pleasant and on occasion are disappointing.
Stories (12)
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Persistence
An old man sat alone on the eroded wood stairs of his back porch every evening. He brought with him a glass bottle of cheap liquor and a new drinking cup each time. Decades of life showed on his face and hands. The cottage they once shared their dreams and aspirations, has turned into a prison of neglect and regret. Had he been more diligent in her treatment, more understanding of her passions, he could’ve seen her smile more beyond his dreams.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
Danielle Fairchild
Jotting down the next things on her list, she put her pencil on the desk and looked at her expanding responsibilities. The list of “To Do’s” seemed to grow with the morning sun, inching through the windows of her apartment. The warmth cascading freckles of glistening light across her complexion. She sits amongst the wooden desk chair painted blue, tapping her finger nails against the side of her tea cup. Tilting her head, she takes a deep breath as the corners of her mouth move up with her arms, in a refreshing stretch.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Families
Living in a Colorless 1950's Fantasy
Opening her closet door, Kate was distraught, she didn’t have anything remotely perfect for the kite viewing for later that evening. Rows and rows of day dresses, night, and party gowns stair back at her wishing they could take another stroll outside with Kate. But alas she made a pact within herself to only wear something once.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
That girl is dead
One second the sky is filled with a cotton candy swirl of pinks and blues, and in the next second, the colors are gone. There are several things I want to tell you, and so many more that will never make sense. Because in the long run, they never mattered. But still, I will tell them, because when I was hurting and sunken in my loneliness, I learned strange things about myself.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
The Green Match
The swipe of a green match. The hiss of its green flame. The same light illuminating the space before me. “Finally.” I whispered. After going through almost half the box, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to strike any and I’d have to go back to the farm and get another box of matches.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
The Life of a Messenger
I gaze down the cliff, still three hundred feet below us. I can’t tell if there’s anyone down there, or if there’s water or spiked rocks awaiting our fall. A gust of wind blows out of the desert, knocking us hard against the edge, and I almost lose control of the ropes again.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
"One Act" to save a life
In the Glass Palace where nothing stops growing, the halls overfilled with vines covered in different hues of purples and blues, Rheya was always stuck in the library, surrounded by the clearest air in the entire castle. A pot of crimson Mandeville hangs at her side and she reaches out to touch the soil, causing a surge in the plant and growing another foot of red flowers, that spill out around her feet. She looks down at the many beautifully written words scribbled on the page but gazing out the countless windows and walls of Glass, only make her ache for the breeze the wind admits.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
Melting away my past
Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary friends, I’d like to introduce myself to you, as a woman who deals with devastating nightmares and alluring dreams. I long for a version of myself that is embarrassingly happy, fighting for those I love and forcing conversation where it intentionally disregards me. I’m so incredibly embarrassed of my past and the life I existed in, which merely used up space. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of the bad parts, I won’t even tell you what happened near the end, though I’m sure you can guess.
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Psyche
Paper Room
“What makes us human?” Luna offered to Edsel. Edsel, who was feeling around the dark room, trying to decipher where they were or what was happening to them, sighed. She had already asked, what seemed like, hundreds of questions since the two of them had woken up only moments before. At this point it was almost more painful to hear she talking to herself than it was to just answer her, “Probably what makes us smart enough to understand our limitations.”
By Abigail Dorothy4 years ago in Fiction
The Cauldron
Sliding into the apothecary, my mother laughed as my socks sailed on the waxed wood, I held out my arms, as if to present myself for the very first time. Unfortunately, the flooring was out to get me it seemed, my momentum landing me on my bum. I gasp but mostly laugh at myself, standing to face her.
By Abigail Dorothy5 years ago in Fiction
