Bex Jordan
Bio
They/She. Writer. Gardener. Cat-Lover. Nerd. Always looking up at the sky or down at the ground.
Profile photo by Román Anaya.
Bluesky: @umasabirah.bsky.social
Stories (89)
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Words & Pictures
I bite my plastic straw as I suck overly-sweet iced vanilla latte into my mouth, unreasonably nervous and hyper-caffeinated (not the best combination). I’m trying to draw the ‘50s-style stool at the counter, but my sketch looks more like a weird robot with wonky legs. I am a terrible artist, and this person is going to see right through me immediately; there’s no way they’re going to want to work with me. My leg bobs up and down, which is not helping my jittering hands or pounding heart. I shouldn’t be here–it’s Wednesday! I should be at my comic shop picking up new releases. I’m just about to get up and run for the door when the person I’m meeting walks in. I recognize them from their profile pic–they have straight, shoulder-length brown hair, round glasses, and a curvy figure. They’re wearing a green shirt under denim overalls. Their gray eyes are piercing. They spot me immediately and make a bee-line for my table and I somehow manage not to curse out loud.
By Bex Jordan3 years ago in Art
Clockwork World
She watches with eyes wide as the gears turn, their teeth slotting slowly together in mechanical precision (delighting in how perfectly each notch fits). The clockwork worlds spin in their predetermined orbits, a blissful ballet of planetary alignment. She reaches for the pretty blue and green one, gently pinching it between her fingers to pull it closer to her face, fascinated.
By Bex Jordan3 years ago in Fiction
Our Little Life
I saw you last night. I rested my head on your bare chest as we relaxed against each other, taking in the simple, exhilarant silence of skin upon skin. We kissed, but not deeply–softly and oh-so-sweetly did our lips brush. A voice inside reminded me to savor this touch, that it would not last, that our time was limited, that this contact was precious.
By Bex Jordan3 years ago in Fiction
The Necklace
It sparkles as I turn it in my hand, the scarlet jewel coming to life in its bright silver setting. The pendant burns from within, and I find myself unable to pull away. My face falls slack as I draw it closer, studying the glittering facets of the fist-sized stone. I know I shouldn't put it on--I'd heard all of the warnings. Unthinking, I slip the heavy chain over my head, feeling the weight of it settle against my chest.
By Bex Jordan3 years ago in Fiction
The Alley
Jana had taken this alleyway hundreds of times. She knew every trash can and twisted fence. The shortcut would save time, leading her far from the street (where she faced cat-calls and inappropriate offers that made her shoulders shrink). The alley was her ally, her quick path to sanctuary.
By Bex Jordan3 years ago in Fiction
