Emily Aslin
Bio
Chai. Black cats. Travel. And, oh yeah, writing :)
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mandofando6
Stories (7)
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The Vanishing Art
When my youth arrived, or finished, depending on the men you ask, I was unwilling to accept it. I knew the years before me would be transitory before I entered them. Marked like a smear of gore on the timeline of my life, filled with painful chemicals that snuffed out rational thought and turned my armpits and crotch into animals. Everyone tells you that it’s all normal, a laughing matter. Isn’t it funny, our bodies? As if we aren’t trapped inside them. Caged with literally no other option. I think they leave out the real details of this transition for one of two reasons: one, they forget how painful it is, like babies. Or two, it only gets worse from here on out – the sting of existence wears out on you, chafes your soul little by little. And you grow a certain tolerance for the misery like a drug.
By Emily Aslin4 years ago in Fiction
How I Find the Will to Believe in My Creative Self Even Though I am Trapped in this Hell-scape We Call Reality.
I just went to Kathryn Milewski's Vocal page and.....damn. Kathryn Milewski is incredibly talented. She's won many challenges, and for good reason: her prose is honest, relatable, and vocal enough - if you will - to earn its place on this platform. I subscribed right away.
By Emily Aslin4 years ago in Journal
Octavia and the Winter Beast: Part II
It was covered in feathers and horns and stood at least ten feet tall. The music came to a wobbly, discordant halt as the thing shuffled, stretching its neck to the gilded ceiling. With a gape of its jaws, the white beast let out a roar and the ballroom exploded into motion.
By Emily Aslin4 years ago in Fiction
Winmor.
I am convinced that it is impossible for humans to truly love anything. That sounds horrible. Let me rephrase: I believe that we are capable of loving the ideas of things. We fall in love with the versions of people in our heads. We fall in love with the image of a vacation, the concept of a certain occupation or place or, clothing item, or whatever. We fall and fall and fall into that perfect, magical feeling until reality smacks the notion clean out of our heads. And it dissipates. What it leaves behind is surely not something I can call love anymore.
By Emily Aslin4 years ago in Fiction
Octavia and the Winter Beast: Part I
From the window in the hallway of the second landing, Octavia Garlet looked past her reflection at the snow. It drifted down in gentle, fat clumps from a velveteen sky, kissing the faces of the late arrivals as they stepped from their coaches. It was a sight that had once sent Tavy's heart fluttering with anticipation when she was a child. Now that it was her own Ordainment Ball, she was rather nervous. She would be expected to make an impression upon future employers. A good impression. She could no longer only seek her dances with the handsomest court boys, who would wriggle with discomfort when she loudly threatened to set a curse upon them if they didn’t take her hand. Tavy smiled sadly to herself at that thought. She’d gotten a good smack from Darcianne for that.
By Emily Aslin4 years ago in Fiction
Julie in July
It’s exactly eleven thirty when I fall asleep. I recognize the blackness of my mind easily, the familiar sounds of war greeting me like they always do on nights like this. I ignore them and go in search for an entrance, careful not to lose my focus. It appears before me readily, a great slab of oak with iron handles. An invitation. It’s the only thing I ask for in my dreams, since my subconscious tends to fall on the stubborn side. It’s unfortunate, how easily I can slip into the thralls of unconsciousness. How quickly I forget almost everything except for her.
By Emily Aslin4 years ago in Fiction
