Lydia Nickleberry
Bio
I am a lover of discovery and many genres. I am a certified teacher who has stepped away from the classroom to explore a wider range to educate others. I have loved writing since the first grade and my love for it only continues to grow.
Stories (13)
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Elephant Ears are Summer
Hot sunny days walking along the riverwalk are some of the best days of Summer. I get to breathe in clarity and breathe out uncertainty. Summer is family reunions, barbecues, weddings, and graduations. It is the season my brown skin becomes more richly dressed in brown even when I use my sunscreen. It is the voices of friends conversing “I can’t wait to see you.” “Let’s go to the pool.” “How bout Playa del Carmen instead of Cancun?” “I think I’ll just sit on the porch and apricate all morning.” Summer is the best time to grill, find the freshest fruit, and eat multiple servings of ice cream all day long. I can sip lemonade and read a book or simply do nothing. When I think of summer, I think of quality time sitting around eating and laughing with family and friends. The emphasis is on the eating my dear friend, ‘wink’.
By Lydia Nickleberry4 years ago in Feast
Rehema and the Dragons
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Fire-breathing, scaly, long clawed, winged protectors, my grandparents used to call them. From far above the clouds in mountainous caves they kept guard for five generations. Before they befriended us, the reptile-like beings maintained their own society. Apart from the kingdom of the Flushlands, dragons flourished as a collective. Silvery, purple, green, and blue scales could be seen flying above our ancestors brown and grey stoned homes. They screeched with every new morning and the bellows of their voices echoed off of the walls of the caves, waking villagers with each new day. It was normal. Dragons were not to be feared. They lived tending to their loved ones and we tended to ours. Our kingdom was merely beneath theirs and being separate was how they thrived for nearly a millennium. At the turn of last century that all changed.
By Lydia Nickleberry4 years ago in Fiction
Rest, Peace, Words
Pillows are my lovers, they seduce me every night, massaging my head when the world has turned its back. I curl in the warmth and find new understanding of why it’s called a comforter. I play a game of tug of war with my husband and our bed. Our bed makes us vie for its affection and tenderness but somehow it gives us both free rein to be enticed by its textured firm yet gentleness. A sweet lullaby encases us until we awake refreshed and anew. I will prioritize this relationship because of the goodness and peace it brings. I will surrender to what heals me. I will sleep because sleep loves me.
By Lydia Nickleberry4 years ago in Humans
The Lake Sings
“Sing me a song mommy.” “Sweet dreams are made of love. You and I were made for love. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think of holding you tight. Sweet dreams are made of love. You and I were made for love. All of my wildest dreams are waking up to you, it’s true.” Regina kissed her daughter on the forehead and dimmed the light. “A beautiful song for my beautiful girl. Goodnight dove, love you”. “Goodnight mommy, love you too.”
By Lydia Nickleberry4 years ago in Horror
Dancing For Life
I am more of myself when I am dancing. Liturgical, contemporary, Latin, ballet, jazz, hip hop, Soca, modern, African flare mixes together and causes me to be free. As a child my parents couldn’t afford the professional dance lessons I dreamed about daily. Shelter, food, and clothing were more pressing matters and rightfully so. However, I didn’t let that stop me from twirling and leaping around the house in my slippers. Any style of song would do, no matter how upbeat or gloomy the notes played. When the music hit my ears, I hit the floor. It always brought me peace and merriment. It has always healed me.
By Lydia Nickleberry4 years ago in Motivation
The Cleanse Initiative
Danny was five years old when the Vagrant wars started. He doesn’t really remember life before the “cleanse”. There was rain in spring, food that we didn’t have to fight for, a house that was full of love. We had a home. Now we just have each other.
By Lydia Nickleberry5 years ago in Fiction
