Amelia Grace Newell
Bio
Stories order our world, soothe our pains and fight our boredom, deepen or sever relationships and dramatize mundane existence. Our stories lift us or control us. We must remember who wrote them.
*Amelia Grace Newell is a pen name.*
Stories (30)
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The Gifts of the Hordedragons
Roshelle and Phonia slid through the mist covering the forest’s mossy floor. They meandered around tree trunks and brambles, following gametrails and avoiding clearings, just like they did every morning. Most mornings, though, their excited chatter made their careful hiding useless. Most mornings, they arrived at the stream between their respective dens brimming with stories to tell, gossip to share, or theories about their Horderules and set off giggling along their usual route.
By Amelia Grace Newell3 years ago in Fiction
Surfacebreak. Runner-Up in New Worlds Challenge.
No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I wouldn’t know, yet, but I do know that not hearing anything would be a welcome blessing for my people. The screams of our brothers and sisters ripple through the depths at all hours, some shrill and desperate, others hollow and defeated, but all stretched and distorted by the vast reaches of saltwater in every direction.
By Amelia Grace Newell3 years ago in Fiction
The Lookend
No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But what humans don’t understand about sound waves is that vibrations travel through anything, not just Newtonian matter. Human stereocilia don’t interact with or detect pronomatter, so their scientists don’t investigate regular sound through vacuums – a major blind spot in their understanding of the universe.
By Amelia Grace Newell3 years ago in Fiction
The Offer
Cigar smoke and orange blossom filled my nostrils. Whiskey warmed my veins, but it was her scarlet curls on my shoulders that clouded my thoughts and blocked any memories from before that night. I could taste merlot on her lips and would gladly drink a bottle from her mouth. Her diamond earrings caught the light as she moved from my mouth to my neck. Her fingers found my necktie and I shuddered at the mere suggestion of what else they might find as the evening pressed on.
By Amelia Grace Newell3 years ago in Fiction
Lure
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The flickering orange glow lunged across the black tree trunks and darted over the forest floor like so many rodents skittering through their nightly affairs. Its foreign light could be seen all the way across the lake, singeing the crests of the rippled surface in a jagged line from the shore to the deepest point at the center of the water.
By Amelia Grace Newell4 years ago in Fiction
How Much Are Your Daisies?
“Excuse me please, mister, how much are your daisies?” I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood. I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek. The tiny voice at the front of the line was going to cost me my seven extra minutes to swing through the drive-thru before heading back to work — I guess it’s break room coffee and Altoids for lunch again. I swore under my breath.
By Amelia Grace Newell4 years ago in Fiction
