Madison DeCook
Stories (3)
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Embers and Snow
Her father always said she had a heart-shaped face, elegant and pure. She stared at the reflection in the still surface of the pond. The round face of a little girl gazed back at her, a pointed chin and slanted eyes. Her fingers broke the surface of the reflection as she knelt over the water. She smoothed her hair the way her father used to, her long fingers gliding from her scalp all the way down to the tips, spinning the hair with a flick of her wrist. She deftly struck a pin through the bun.
By Madison DeCook4 years ago in Fiction
Kintsugi
Peace meant that Samurai had succeeded in their duties, but were now obsolete. Peace meant we had to conduct our warfare in the shadows, in order for the peace to remain. Whenever the letters came for an assignment, I walked through this part of the village to get to town. It was the quiet road, laid for the farmers carrying their crops to market. I made a habit of pausing to watch an old woman at work. For years, she pieced together broken things until they held a new beauty. A strange letter arrived one night. I burned it and I set out as dawn eased over the world. The dirt road crunched quietly under my feet. I was surprised to find her hut already lit by the amber glow of lanterns in the soft blue morning.
By Madison DeCook4 years ago in Humans
