Blake Blossoms
Bio
(they/them) Poet, writer, artist, gardener, devout reader, former chef-wannabe, using words and paints to figure out their place in the world.
Stories (4)
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The Time I Fumigated A Hospital
As one of seven children, I developed a refined ability to divert blame. When someone spilled a bowl of cereal (milk and all) and left it puddling on the kitchen floor, my little sister did it. When I forgot to flush after a leisurely No. 2 in my kindergarten’s single toilet bathroom, I blamed the act on a ghost. In my 9th grade algebra class, while sitting in the second to last row, I cautiously attempted to release a toot I was certain would pass silently. Nope. But did I hold myself accountable? Absolutely not. With a thunderous clap, my expulsion ricocheted off of the plastic chair like a hellacious baseball, startling the otherwise soundless class. This fart was (obviously) not the variety you could blame on the chair; nothing could have made that noise apart from a human anus. As the entire class looked back, row by row, like human-sized dominoes, I followed suit and looked back with them. Daniel, the unfortunate soul occupying the very last seat, had no one to look back to. He inevitably took the fall for my acoustic mishap.
By Blake Blossoms5 years ago in Confessions
