L.C. Schäfer

Joined May 2020

925 stories

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Summer Leaves (grab it while it's gorgeous)

Never so naked as I am on a page

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I'm not a writer! I've just had too much coffee!

Sometimes writes under S.E.Holz

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Stories (925)

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Flesh & Bone. Content Warning.
Night after night, it's always the same. I drag myself to the kitchen in a haze, and make myself a hot drink. Coffee, usually. I don't love coffee, but I do like the smell. And it's meant to be good for waking you up, right? That's what I need after such restless, stressful sleep.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Like a Surgeon
I like my job. That's a safe, acceptable thing to say, like a normal person. What you can't say is, "I quite like sticking knives in people".
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
True Love
The first time he came into the cafe, I was lost. Found. Whatever. Something changed. There was a queue, so I didn't see him at first. He was just there, stood in front of me. Took the wind right out those sails, toiling away in my chest.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Fixer Upper, Fully Furnished
Lacey stood up from unpacking another box, brushing sweat from her forehead and pushing her neglected red frizz back from her flushed face in one motion. I forgot how stressful this was!
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Procrastinating Never Pays
I always meant to go back. Like I promised. I never intended to abandon her. But I should never have put myself in her life to begin with.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
For Crows - mini micro
"They're clever," Ma said, gesturing at the old tree out back, festooned with crows. "Bright enough to forge friendships, hold grudges. Bring gifts."
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Snow
The scent of apple pie wafted up from the bakery below the poky flat. Snow gagged. She hadn't been able to bear the smell or taste since her father died.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Write Equipment. Top Story - May 2024.
So many wannabe writers these days. I mean, yes, they write. So that makes them writers on some level, sure. But they aren't content just to pick up a pen, or sit down at a keyboard. Oh, no. They want recognition. Payment.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Stranger
The oak door swung open on to a silent courtyard. A novelty for Amelia, whose life had been a cacophony of other people's thoughts.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
My Stupid Cat
I shouldn't of done it, but I was mad. Stupid cat. Here's what happened, ok: I caught her sleeping on the back of the sofa and I got an idea. I tiptoed round so so quiet. That's hard you know. And I lay down, real careful, so she wouldn't wake up. I shutted my eyes tight, and I tried to go to sleep. But it wouldn't and it wouldn't and it wouldn't.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Migraine
Every time I get a migraine, I know someone is going to die. I know how that sounds, but I swear to you, it's true.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
For Your Protection
I squint at the flaming sky, trying not to drown in the chasm opening under my diaphragm. Sunset, and they're not back. I pace. Chew my lip. Glance at the clock. None of it brings them to the door, nor slows the seconds.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction