M.J. Weisen

Joined January 2021

16 stories

Stories (16)

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At Least the Reception Was Decent
Strings of vintage bulbs shined warm light into the old barn's rafters as rain battered the holey roof. Water steadily leaked downward into the barn, where it filled and flooded periwinkle and pink floral arrangements atop pedestals. Already, the roses seemed to droop and drown.
By M.J. Weisen5 years ago in Fiction
You Have a Bright Future Here
The furious sun is starting to rise again over your horizon, and soon enough, the cold rocks where you slept will become like hot coals, untouchable and unforgiving. It's been like this every day since you've been here, and the heat and its effect on your callused and charred body are only getting worse. Soon enough, you'll end up like Cheryl. You all know what happened to Cheryl, even if you don't. One day her skin went from beet red to a prune-like purple, and then she started screaming, laughing, and then she disappeared. When he was still around, Greg proposed to have a ceremonial funeral, but there was always just so much work to do that soon it was just understood as canceled. Life is just too busy, between keeping the signal fire up for outside help and keeping watch that the others don't go mad and, of course, looking out for the Masked Ones – you don't care what Tyler said, they are as bad as they seem. You've seen them prowling around, murmuring amongst each other in the forest, way too much. Liz and Cheryl had agreed before they left you for God knows where.
By M.J. Weisen5 years ago in Humans
Cursive Capital I
Even in the evenings, April in Florida was as hot as July anywhere else Eddie had lived. The bistro down the road always had its windows wide open instead of using air conditioning, which really only made the place hotter.
By M.J. Weisen5 years ago in Humans
A Prayer for Sorrow
Her husband died in his sleep on the hottest day of the summer. He spent the day before out on the job, some building on the good side of town, and returned home with a large jar of red peppers. Lucia didn’t like red peppers, neither did their grown sons. Yet Gio bought them anyway for when his brothers would come in from Philly that Saturday. He snuck a few from a jar that night as Lucia cleaned the dishes from dinner. He sat at the yellow kitchen table and stared out the window out into the yard where dandelions were taking over. The record player was playing Vieni Sul Mar from a scratchy 45 rpm record, but neither of them paid it any mind. Lucia’s back pulsed in pain as she bent over the scalding sink, scrubbing in silence.
By M.J. Weisen5 years ago in Families