Rebekah Conard
Bio
33, She/Her, a big bi nerd
How do I write a bio that doesn't look like a dating profile? Anyway, my cat is my daughter, I crochet and cross stitch, and I can't ride a bike. Come take a peek in my brain-space, please and thanks.
Stories (76)
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Blind to the Sky
(Be warned: the image at the very bottom is a tad spooky. Scroll with caution.) Mama had called for the kids to come home for lunch twice already and it was time to fetch them herself. She wasn't angry. It was no wonder they would want to soak up every moment of this fabulous summer day. The air was warmed by a gleaming sun and gently agitated by a mild breeze. That breeze carried to her ears the squeals and giggles of her three boys rolling and tussling in the field.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
I Heard a Song by The Weepies Today
Monday is a bad time to fall in love with a song. Just sitting there, doing my work, then suddenly skipping a breath. I've heard a guitar before. I've heard a voice before. I think I hear a tambourine. How can this sound feel so new?
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Poets
Plateau
Three days ago, Shari woke before dawn and looked out over the landscape. As the light bled into the sky, fires extinguished one by one atop plateaus as far as the eye could see. She looked to the north and felt dread settle in her gut. The fire on the nearest neighboring tower continued to flicker desperately, alone, inconsistently illuminating bare ground. There was no one there to cast a shadow anymore.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Art
She Stole
The frantic slapping of bare feet echoed in short bursts throughout the polished stone halls. Behind each pillar she stopped, waited, listened and looked to ensure absolute safety before the next sprint. A few times along her practiced route, she ducked into an alcove or behind a curtain. Counting the seconds as guards passed, sometimes inches from her tightly held breath, she willed her sweat to slow. Even in her cleanest rags, the smell of a servant could give her away.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Fiction
You're Doing Great. Runner-Up in Father's Footprint Challenge.
Dang it, Vocal, again with the challenges designed to pull me, specifically, out of my comfort zone. So, look, I'm an anxious, insecure crybaby who doesn't like to verbalize my feelings. I absolutely know where I get that from. The discomfort around sharing a Father's Day piece comes from the knowledge that my dad is also an anxious, insecure crybaby. I'm five sentences into writing this, and he's five sentences into reading it, and we're probably both on the verge of tears.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Men
"What Do You Listen To?"
I don't usually talk about this. I've been insecure about my musical tastes. I thought that if someone was interested in my preferences, they must've had their own favorites pinned down for some time. If someone was asking me about music, they must have had extensive knowledge about their favorite bands and genres. If I said I liked the thing they like, I would be exposed as an air-head who doesn't care enough about things I claim to enjoy. I liked a lot of different things and knew very little about any of them.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Beat
Amateur
Content Warning: Sexual themes, discussion of exploitation Skylar choked on his coffee and slammed the laptop shut. Nobody was around to look over his shoulder, but it was a reasonable response to what he'd just seen. There was, of course, the primal instinct to hide the porn when something unexpected appears. The weight of the potential shame is worth the risk of drawing attention with the frantic maneuver. Close on the heels of that instinct was a twinge of recognition swelling into a sickening sense of dread. That photo was definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, of his partner, Erin.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Fiction
Table Chicken
It's a game so ancient, everyone knows how to play. When teacher leaves the room, we take turns crawling under the tables. Two kids pull the tables apart and the "it" kid sticks their fingers up through the gap. Everyone holds their breath in anticipation. You pull your fingers out at the last possible moment before your friends slam the tables back together. Sometimes there's an "ouch", but there's always laughter. Except for that one time, when the tables slammed and there was a loud crunch, but, strangely, no "ouch." And nobody laughed.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Fiction
The Granola Bar Fairy. Runner-Up in Passing Ships Challenge.
Shopping is hard for me, and it always has been. It's a little easier these days with the advent of e-commerce, but sometimes I still have to go to a brick-and-mortar store. I get overwhelmed: sensory overload, too many options, all the walking... No thank you. It was the same when I was a kid. My mom and sister could take their time shopping for clothes or school supplies. I just wanted to grab it and go, even on a good day. If I could find somewhere to sit or something to keep my interest while they did the shopping, that was ideal.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Humans
A Night Flight
Cass opened her eyes and glanced at her watch. She had only been asleep for about 20 minutes. Cass always had a hard time sleeping in-transit. Usually that was no problem. She enjoyed the experience of traveling and keeping one eye on the window as the sights came and went. On an airplane, there were fewer sights to be seen once up in the clouds, but the novelty of being aboard an aircraft usually kept her occupied. Sometimes, though, the travel times lined up poorly or some snafu or another wore Cass down. Frequent fliers are going to have the occasional trip from hell, and that's just a fact of life. Tonight, it would have been nice to use the two and a half hours to catch some "z"s.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Fiction
Inside and Out
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. That's what I had to tell myself, sometimes aloud, every time I stopped to wash my hands and face or try to clean my teeth. Truth be told, it had been so long since I'd seen my own face looking back at me, I was starting to forget it. Time passed, likely weeks, and the gaunt visage in every reflective surface strained to convince me otherwise. It said, "Come on, what other face could you possibly have? It's you and me, like it always has been." I had to believe I had good reason to deny it the first time and continue to deny it. It was the only thing I "knew", and to lose it would mean losing myself to that... house.
By Rebekah Conard3 years ago in Horror
