Courtney Bartz
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Stories (2)
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The Monster Called Anxiety
I know what’s coming. Sitting on the couch struggling with my shoes, I feel him creep up behind me, his cold and clammy fingers trailing up my arms and wrapping around my throat. I start to choke on the lump that forms there, and ice suddenly seizes in my lungs, turning them into the heaviest of bricks. Slowly he pushes up against me, melting into my skin and looking up at me with bewildered eyes. It’s a ritual, really. I can’t leave the house without him. Standing up, I exhale and try to suck air in again because, to be honest, he’s heavy. I practically have to drag him as he clings to my back, his damp breath puffing against my neck. I wrap a jacket tightly around us, and I shiver under the pressure despite the extra weight. I can’t do this, I think to myself. They’ll see him, or worse, they’ll see me. Everyone’s gonna stare. I knew that because of my disability, I wouldn’t be able to escape prying eyes. I would be the main attraction in this grand circus of life, even if only for the moment. Attempting another deep breath, I hesitate at the threshold, momentarily considering kicking off my shoes and crawling back into bed. I know I can’t as I need to go grocery shopping, but the thought is nice. Sighing, I make sure he is hidden well before opening my door and stepping out into the blinding sunlight.
By Courtney Bartz4 years ago in Psyche
The Guardian
Asher felt the blood running down his face as his feet pounded the sunbaked pavement: he needed a way out. Just up ahead, he noticed a small opening in the barbed wire fence to his left. He looked quickly behind him before tossing his hiking bag over and attempting to squeeze through, the group of men chasing him close behind. He could hear them hooting and hollering as they closed in on him. He realized he could smell whiskey; it permeated the air as they came closer. Panicking, he tried to push through the fence, but his shirt caught on a rogue wire. No, please no. He thrashed desperately to free himself, but it was already too late. The biggest grabbed his foot and yanked Asher across the sharp gravel. “Got you now!” he hissed, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth, yellow teeth bared. The other three men formed a half-circle around Asher’s crumpled figure. “You think you’re better than us, huh? You don't gotta work for your money?” he mocked, disdain in his voice.
By Courtney Bartz4 years ago in Fiction
