Parsley Rose
Bio
Just a small town girl, living in a dystopian wasteland, trying to survive the next big Feral Ghoul attack. I'm from a vault that ran questionable operations on sick and injured prewar to postnuclear apocalypse vault dwellers. I like stars.
Stories (141)
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What lives in the Spaces
Sylvie understood she was in her childhood kitchen without seeing a single tile or cabinet. The knowledge sat heavy in her chest—the weight of recognition without image. She could feel the warmth radiating from where the afternoon sun should be hitting the breakfast table, though no golden light painted her dream-vision. Then, like a camera suddenly focusing, fragments began to appear—a flash of yellow curtains swaying in peripheral vision, the gleam of chrome on the old refrigerator handle catching light that shouldn't exist.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Psyche
Her Own Terms
Nina stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Ava's contact name. They'd been texting back and forth for weeks now—ever since they'd been paired for the literature project. What started as discussions about symbolism in poetry had somehow evolved into late-night conversations about everything and nothing.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Confessions
Voices in the Void
The coffee had gone cold hours ago, but Dr. Sybil Aisling couldn't bring herself to leave the radio telescope control room. The signal had been repeating for three days now—a complex mathematical sequence that defied any natural explanation. Prime numbers, Fibonacci spirals, and something else entirely woven between them like a cosmic signature.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Chapters
The Council of Selves
Ras had always been a dreamer. At seventeen, she'd fall asleep with notebooks full of plans scattered across her bed—sketches of the art gallery she'd own, acceptance letters to prestigious universities she'd attend, wedding invitations with blanks where her future husband's name would go. She dreamed in vivid detail of the woman she'd become: successful, polished, surrounded by the life she'd carefully orchestrated.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Confessions
Haunted Hotel (2025)
Netflix's latest animated venture, "Haunted Hotel," arrives with considerable pedigree behind it—created by Matt Roller (a writer from "Rick and Morty") and executive produced by Dan Harmon himself. Yet despite its impressive creative lineage and promising premise, the series struggles to establish its own distinct identity in an increasingly crowded field of adult animated comedies.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Geeks
The Secrets My Mother Kept
The water wasn't water anymore. Alexander understood this with a clarity that felt both new and impossibly old. What surrounded him was something else entirely - a substance that moved like memory, that breathed like thought. It pulsed with its own rhythm, a heartbeat that seemed to sync with something deep in his chest - something that had been dormant until now.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Fiction
Fallout: New Division
Piper sat at her old rusty workbench table covered in old newsprint with Headlines about The Wonderer scattered through the pile slowly building around the surface of the table. Her darkened, sunkened, exhausted eyes reflected the soft glow of the candle light as it danced to its melted wax as it dripped over a few of the browning paper. The dust lay stilled and Cloudy around the room. Piper had noticed that she was out of catfood.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Geeks
Where the Paint Peels
The town clung to the rocky shore like barnacles on a ship's hull, its buildings weathered into something between architecture and driftwood. What had once been pristine white clapboard siding now bore the scars of countless storms—paint peeling in long, papery strips that curled and fluttered in the salt-heavy breeze like dying moths.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Fiction
Gate to Nowhere
Nona had always hated airports after midnight. The way the harsh lighting made everything look bleached and artificial, the way her footsteps echoed too loudly in the empty corridors, the way time seemed to stretch and distort until she couldn't tell if she'd been waiting for twenty minutes or two hours.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Journal
