Jennisea Redfield
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Stories (96)
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The Interstice
Four years ago, my brother was taken from me. Right in front of me. I still remember that very day. ~~~~o0o0o0o0~~~~ It was cold, just entering the end of autumn. We were both just walking together, sharing each other’s company while walking our dogs. We were silent. I don’t know what he was thinking about, but I was envisioning drinking green apple cider, eating cheese-flavored popcorn, and watching a horror movie.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years ago in Horror
Want of a man
Don’t think of it as having high standards. But I have ideas on what I want in a partner. ~~~~~><~~><~~><~~~~~ For a man, I want him to be tall. I want a man who glances down at me and sees someone who is worthy of receiving love. When he peers into my hazel eyes, he sees a woman who will stay by his side, no matter the toils and issues. He looks down, and he sees a woman who will never stray, never tries and make him feel worthless, and loves him for his being.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years ago in Confessions
Married Senses
Scent. To me, smells have a certain color. Some of them a wonderful blend of colors, others singular. Each smell has a different shade: chocolate, black, white, red, and green. And these wonderful smells, these descriptive smells, they make sense to me.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years ago in Humans
Zenith. Content Warning.
It was a tiring and rigorous day. I was drained out of my much needed energy, and a bit pissed off. My book bag weighed down on my right shoulder like a carcass of an un-gutted doe. I got an hour until my brothers come home, so that enough time to figure out dinner. Mom was gone, she said work, but I’m pretty sure she was on a bender with her lover Critter. All we had in the fridge was ground meat graying from pre-rot, I hope it was beef, stiffening cheese, and tortillas. Tacos it is.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years ago in Psyche
Mushrooms
It’s funny when you think about it. The world relies on the manipulation of things that grow from rot: Fungus. Fungi. For bread, it’s yeast. For the tallest trees, it is strands of mycorrhizal. It gives some of the various cheeses it richness and funk. It is a delicacy in the form of virgin oil and steamed truffles. Soy sauce gives thanks to the strain more commonly known as koji mold. We praise the fungus for giving humans beer and wine. It’s Huitlacoche. Even the protective powder on Italian meats is fungus. But beware, there are more to these unreliable bodies. Some are sweet, like the gentleness of a kiss, or the tenderness of a mother's touch. Or as potent as a poison too delicious to ignore. There are mushroom with evil twins, fungi with vibrant colors. Even psychedelic treats that warp the mind for a period of time.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years ago in Earth
Oil
Frybread had a sorrowful origin. Mealy flour, and rancid lard were the only rations our “beloved” government gave my aunts, uncles, grandparents of the past. Mixing a spoonful of the rotting fat into the mealy flour, along with water and scavenged salt to form a fluffy dough. Using the rest of the fat, they melted it down, rendering out some of the rot, dropping in neat little slabs that puff and fill. Despite being made of mealy flour, hazardously laced with weevil larvae and rancid lard, gritty from forming mold and a slippery cloy, it was food. It was something to stave off the pinch of a begging stomach. It filled my aunts and uncles' bellies, soothe the twisting ache of hunger in the babies before being abducted and “civilized” by missionaries and nuns. It was a staple. A trademark that had a disgusting, horrid history. But today, it brings stability, union, and joy.
By Jennisea Redfield2 years ago in Families
