Destiny D Mitchell
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Stories (3)
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The Brocket
The door to Brock’s bedroom opened at 3:30am. He could hear the creak of a footstep just inside his room. His eyes were wide open already, not being able to get much sleep the night before, but he couldn’t see who was there in the darkness. A soft voice cooed out to him, “Time to get up Brock, it’s the big day,” his mother whispered into the stillness of the pitch-black room where 9-year-old Brock Boone lay rigid under his blankets, flags dancing on the backs of his eyelids, the smell of coconut and chlorine still lingering about him, and a pounding in his heart that only he could feel.
By Destiny D Mitchell4 years ago in Fiction
The Bearing
She sat huddled in a pile of straw atop the old barn loft that was strewn with hay. She gently braided the strands together forming long ropes of parched silk like other girls braided their dolls' hair. She would have loved to own a doll. She would have been overly excited to get one for her 9th birthday, last week, if anyone had even known it was her birthday. But “Ma” and “Pa” never even knew it had come and passed. They never asked, and she never told.
By Destiny D Mitchell5 years ago in Fiction
2024
She scratched a line on the wooden fence with a sharp piece of quartz. It was the 17th mark she had made since her first day arriving here at the ranch. She traced her fingers over the remaining marks, ticking them off like the days til Christmas only backwards towards the last moment of normalcy. Or at least, her own normalcy, the rest of the world was in chaos with no virtual peace in sight.
By Destiny D Mitchell5 years ago in Futurism
