Aubree Unruh
Bio
Writing again feels like stepping out an SR-71 at 90,000 ft. The last level of the atmoshpere before space. I'm having a vertiginous view of the world. Here we go, I'm jumping. Pray my parachute works and I see you all again at the bottom.
Stories (2)
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An Ode to a Woman
When I became a mother and started to love my son, I became painfully aware of all the ways that my own mother did not love me. I became painfully aware of a truth that at the core of my being I have felt since I was very young but have allocated an immeasurable amount of defense to protecting; my mother never loved me.
By Aubree Unruh 5 years ago in Psyche
For Oliver
I am going to die today, and I have made my peace with that. Before me stretched out, miles and miles of repulsively barren desert. Not a tree, not a cactus or shrub, not even a couple measly blades of desert grass; just a glaze on the horizon and the treacherous majesty of the sun. I shield my eyes and with a discernible amount of effort I look at that treacherous, disloyal, scathing, bastard sun; I thought you were the giver of life, I yell in my mind, my mouth too dry to speak, how can you betray us like this with death? It was getting hard to pick up my feet from the sand. Why are you forcing yourself to suffer? The Voice said. Shut up. I respond. Remember Oliver? The Voice whispers sinisterly, are you punishing yourself? My heart starts to race. I was nearly frothing from the mouth now. I stopped and flung my pack off my back. “Shut UP” I yell, swerving around and around, raising my fists. My ankle buckles beneath me and I can’t catch myself in time. I take a mouth full of sand and don’t have enough saliva to spit it out. I don’t have strength to rise. Panic bubbles in my throat for a minute then dissipates. This is how it’s going to end? The Voice taunts, how many cannibals and bandits have you fought off to die of thirst in the desert? Enough, now. I plead.
By Aubree Unruh 5 years ago in Families
