Jillian Spiridon
Bio
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
to further support my creative endeavors: https://ko-fi.com/jillianspiridon
Stories (325)
Filter by community
The Last Ferry Home
"Last call for the seven o'clock ferry! Last call!" Harriet tried not to feel too discombobulated as she attempted to juggle her wheeled suitcase, her carry-on bag, her purse, and a windbreaker. Now she remembered why she didn't like traveling alone: there was never anyone else around to help with the luggage. The extra hands would have been nice right about then. And then, just as she managed to get up the ramp and past the ferry's threshold, her jacket escaped the crook of her elbow and fell to the ground. She offered an apologetic smile to the ferry worker waiting to collect her ticket, but he didn't even move an inch to help her retrieve her wayward windbreaker.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
The Remnants
Elliot Gardner was a reversion expert: all his days in university on the space station Homeward had been leading up to the moment when he could begin recreating the past through the means of simulation and tech advances. His graduate project had been to provide a believable recreation of the 1920's prohibition era in America. Months of research, through all the databases available to him for study, culminated in a speak-easy environment with an added performance by one of the jazz singers of the time. The professors had given him high marks, nearly a perfect score, for all his attention to detail. It didn't matter that it wasn't exactly real; what counted was the atmosphere he was able to bring forth from archival materials ranging from photographs to videos.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
Back to the Days When You Still Loved Me
You cast long shadows when you walk, each footstep taking you farther away even as I try to catch your hand in mine. The cobblestones beneath my feet make me stumble, and the way you smile makes me feel breathless. Like I'm flying, like a balloon has caught in my throat, like you're keeping me on the end of a line and leading me along to anywhere you please. Temptress, another age might have called you. Jezebel. You little minx.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
To All the Friends We've Lost Before
Paolo watched the gondolas pass by in the canal, the sun beaming off the water's surface. On top of a wooden cane perched his gnarled hands, spotted from age and life and probably a bit too much drink. Laughter flitted over to him from the cafes, the people's version of birdsong making music for his ears. How he wished Henrietta could have sat with him here, the brisk spring day allowing them to soak up the sights and the warm sunlight. But it had already been four long years since his wife had breathed her last in a county hospital.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
A Change of Scenery
The beach house was the last place I wanted to be. Mom's friend Marcia Grayson had offered over the timeshare residence for a long weekend so that I could "get away from it all." And, of course, Mother dearest had pounced on the opportunity, citing a need for a vacation for herself as well as a reprieve for me after being released from the hospital. I know I probably sounded like an elitist little brat who spat out the distaste of silver spoons feeding me peeled grapes, but after a mental breakdown your priorities ran a bit different. No matter what my psychiatrist might have told you, I probably could have survived with just Netflix and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Psyche
The Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter
Grizzly-haired Tomas Pader had lived alone in the lighthouse, barely a soul to keep company, and he never tread on the mainland if he could avoid it. His only companions had been the rush and tumble of the ocean waves, the scant tang of a sea breeze, and the ships passing by day or by nightfall under the watch of his keen eyes.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Families
There Is Truth in Wine
The Merlot is tart, a tang on my tongue, as I sit and wait for the cinema's latest showing to begin. The plush recliner of a seat nearly envelops me because I'm so tiny, and even my high-heeled feet barely touch the floor. I'm sure I look like a right sight in this dinner theater as people still shuffle in before the previews start.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
Interstellar Romance
The space station was a cold, drifting piece in the expanse of the stars. Renee observed the monitors that measured the outside elements and anything of note—though watching became a tedium after 141 days of the same slow-moving realm stretching out to infinity. As a former civilian, she had been trained on a mostly need-to-know basis; the different space missions that had erupted after the third world war had no lack of volunteers and field experts alike, but the lottery system at her tech company had been on her side in the end.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
