Michaela Delaney
Bio
Writing helps me express things I don’t know how to rid my brain of otherwise.
Stories (34)
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Chasing Butterflies. Content Warning.
I wake up every day and follow the sunbeams spilling into my room like rivers of light. They guide me to the bathroom mirror, where I see a face that belongs to someone I don’t quite recognize. Is that me? I have suspiciously texturized skin, like a raisin left too long in the sun. My hair is white, but I like to think it’s just a shade of platinum, like the stars in my favorite song.
By Michaela Delaney about a year ago in Fiction
Ration
Hugh Bradford stood at the edge of the sailboat, the gentle rocking of the ocean beneath him and the horizon sprawling out into infinity. The sun hung low in the sky, casting shimmering patches of gold on the water’s surface. A group of excited tourists laughed and chatted behind him, pointing at the distant spouts of whales surfacing for air. To them, this was a perfect day—a celebration of life and nature.
By Michaela Delaney about a year ago in Fiction
Hop
T'was a stormy hour of darkness on Easter Eve, and the small town of Wallow Creek was fused by an uncanny sense of unease. The local townspeople had recently spoken through hushed tones about strange occurrences enclosed by the woods the town bordered. Rumors of an odd statured shadow at roam on the streets at late phases of the moon had spread much of a muchness to a seasonal cold, followed by goosebumps down the arms of the locals.
By Michaela Delaney about a year ago in Fiction
