Christy Munson
Bio
My words expose what I find real and worth exploring.
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Stories (187)
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Rack 'em up. Content Warning.
She wears her darkness on her sleeve, a supple black leather second skin. Her breathing, her movements, her being—everything she is is an extension of the night—the twinkling blue party lights, the rhythmic salsa beats, the thriving, pulsing lounge that surrounds her, even the strangers who've come for the show.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
(Unspoken)
Exactly as your father taught you, you load the dishwasher. Every piece has its place, its moment to shine. You've spent years as his understudy, practicing the fine art, tweaking the science. And now, you see to it (without being asked, because he cannot, and you can, and will, for him). His absence is a heartbreak (a newly arrived insurmountable anguish), but this one thing (this one good thing), you can do.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
The Long Con
Evening arrived on the backs of the dwarves. Those bloody dodgers came out, singing, bringing the party. Hadn't bathed in days, but they came prepared. They traveled on foot, the seven of them, carrying pickaxes, hammers, head lamps, and climbing rope. The two at the rear carried more boom sticks than anyone had dared to bring within three clips of the Queen in a stone's age. The middling two wheeled a vat of snowy white hooch they called mineshine.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
Old Fear. Content Warning.
She admonishes herself with a mumbled, "Dammit!" She inherited her grandmother’s procrastinator’s curse and her mother’s penchant for drama. During all that rushing around, she's forgotten her cell phone, again. Probably left it at the party. Room temp beers are out of her system by now, but that matters little to none, given she lacks a sense of direction.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Horror
On my way
I walked for hours. Until I couldn't feel my feet. Until I couldn't feel the blisters borne of worn-out threads that once held. I walk until my soles weep, and my soul shakes, and I shuddered to think. I walk until I convince myself I can no longer feel my heart shattering, even as the last shards of winter's light fall to the forest floor, a dizzying array of starlight pooling at my feet.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
Lab Rat
Monday | The Lab I hear the snap. Then the click. Next comes an absence of all senses. I am swallowed whole, engulfed in blinding whiteness. My gut punches me. I want to laugh, but no words come out. A high-pitched tick pulses its anger. The anger echoes in my ear drum. The beat is seething, pulsing, hungry. It does not stop.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Fiction
