Chris Mitchell
Bio
A novice writer who enjoys telling stories for anyone willing to listen.
Stories (11)
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Given the Chance to Change
The high-pitched tone was only overpowered by the vibrations rattling Sean’s phone off his bedside table. He shot up just in time to catch his phone from falling on the hardwood floor. Eyes still heavy, body still aching, he groaned to himself. Defeated from having only managed to fall asleep two hours prior, he slammed his eyes shut a couple times, shaking off the rust like he was trying to open the door to his grandfather’s old station wagon. He slowly rolled his head towards his phone and saw:
By Chris Mitchell3 years ago in Families
Sunk by the Moon
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But you can see one. You can almost feel one. The muscles flexing as powerfully as they ever have, desperately trying to force oxygen down their lungs, but there is none. Meanwhile you float ideally by, helpless, staring and scrabbling over to try to aid the futile. In the void of space, I’ve never heard such savage silence in all my life.
By Chris Mitchell3 years ago in Fiction
The Whistle
Trying to wipe away the sweat from his forehead, while keeping his suffocating helmet on, the boy struggled to complete his pregame ritual. However, this ritual was not one he underwent by choice. Instead, it was an inherent convulsion that forced himself to combat the biological stirrings within him, before having to face the physical battle on the football field moments later.
By Chris Mitchell4 years ago in Families
Summertime Survival
Cannonballs into pools, bats cracking and mitts receiving baseballs, fresh cut grass blowing in the wind are only a few of the many “things” we associate with Summer. Typically, they are accompanied by thoughts of relaxation and the chance to unwind with pure bliss. Similarly, the food so picturesquely associated with this time of year creates the same feelings. Foods like apple pie, hotdogs and burgers, BBQ, watermelon slices, and many more. However, when I think of Summer, and when I think of Summer food, those thoughts of relaxation and a meditated state of euphoria are not what comes to my mind. Instead, I think of sweat. Labor intensive work for a relatively small payout. Hours in the sun with, some days, very little reward. Painstaking research and experimental practice. In short, I think about my Summer days living off of bass and wild scallions in the infamous Texas heat.
By Chris Mitchell4 years ago in Feast
Through the Valley
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.” His own voice echoed methodically inside his head. The words rang and repeated. Over and over. Sometimes slowly, and then sometimes quickly as he began working himself into action. Just as he’d get ready to move, he’d need another slow repetition of the words to ready himself again.
By Chris Mitchell4 years ago in Fiction
Letter to a (*insert amazing adjective here*) Mom
Dear Mom, Even starting this letter is difficult for me. And that is exactly why I am writing it. This is meant to be a confession, but not of something I did in the past, or a singular event that needs to be explained. Instead, this proclamation isn’t one that will surprise you, but I want you to know that it is on my mind.
By Chris Mitchell4 years ago in Confessions
All That Needed to be Said
His little black tux was already neatly folded and hung back on the rental clothes hanger. Dried tears covered not only his rosy cheeks, but the hotel sheets and pillowcases as well. Silence was his only companion, while his father struggled in his own way – in and out of the room all night to talk with loved ones who had flown in to pay their respects. The only words the little boy could make out from his dad’s brief phone calls before he ran out of the door wiping at his face were “cancer” and “I know it was sudden.” It may seem easy to fixate and ponder the meaning of these words, but the boy was preoccupied with the folded, tear-soaked note in his left hand.
By Chris Mitchell4 years ago in Fiction
