Emily Dickerson
Bio
Hopeful and young, full of love. From my heart high praises are sung. For this reason I am here: to love and serve and bring all souls near. <3
Stories (148)
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New Eden
Bigger than the cottage, probably three times its size, the greenhouse stands proudly over the pond and the empty rowboat. October faded, November sets in easily, and frost claims all the land. The curious growths inside the greenhouse peer out with bright faces pressed to the glass panes and the full leaves put handprints on the windows like children always do to shops and candy stores. Sickly yellow and orange poison ivy climb the greenhouse roof, blocking most of the view, though bleak sunshine still creeps through the foliage. The fountains inside gurgle and sputter with endless breath, flowing in small channels throughout the landscape, irrigating its inhabitants. The breathless air is humid and the floor is entirely dirt. A barefoot woman in sweeping lavender skirts stretches her legs, walking, ambling, wandering absentmindedly among the shrubs, trees, and vines. Everything grows wildly, entirely savage and natural. There is no organization to their plotting, the three convene together under the graceful boughs of the great willow tree in the center of the garden. Time, Death, and the Guardian Angel, familiarly called Mark, converse while quietly waiting for their guest of honor. She joins them, and they each fall silent in turn as she approaches. She seats herself on a navy blue cushion at the base of the trunk. Her abandoned journal sits beside her, a lazy page half-scrawled in permanent ink, carelessly unfinished. She heaves a deep sigh and looks at each friend in turn; Time, in a white toga, fixes his clear-gray eyes on her and smiles a bit. Death, in a white shroud, never blinks her green eyes. Mark, in a white cape and silver gladiator armor with thonged sandals and a sword at his side, gazes knowingly at the woman with deep, ebony eyes. She lowers her own eyes self-consciously and Time takes three steps toward her, leaning down to peer into her face.
By Emily Dickerson4 years ago in Fiction
Parasitic Friends Are The Only Ones Who Stick Around
Where did he go? I lost my friend in the mall, which is funny because nearly everything is closed, so there’s hardly anywhere for him to hide. He said he would meet me right here outside the old pet shop. So many great memories from here, but all that’s left is Dillard’s, Macy’s, and shells of stores I used to adore in middle school. Ya know… Hot Topic, Earthbound, Abercrombie, and Aeropostale. Happier times bygone, I really miss them now that I’m standing in the middle of it all. But look at me, reminiscing.
By Emily Dickerson4 years ago in Fiction
I've Got Daddy Issues
Maybe they aren’t like the daddy issues you’d expect because I didn’t grow up in a stereotypically ‘abusive’ home. My parents are still married, none of my five siblings do drugs, they all enjoy sleepovers with friends, and go to church every week, the works.
By Emily Dickerson4 years ago in Humans
