Sam Rogers
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Stories (13)
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Red
I was well past the reasonable age for a child to know her parents' names when I learned that my father's name was, in fact, Jeffrey and not Red, a moniker coined in his childhood. The nick-name had stuck throughout his life, unlike the vibrant color of his hair from which the name originated. In my lifetime I have only known his dusty no-longer-even-strawberry blonde hair, that fades further with each year.
By Sam Rogers2 years ago in Chapters
Unravel
The world is ending and they don’t even notice. How can they not notice? They sit here on this bus, some with their eyes closed, or smiling towards the sun, laughs that reverberate against the window where my cheek rests. I consider, for a moment, telling everyone of their fate; I feel bitter that I have to carry this burden alone. Each row of seats sat in pairs. At least they won’t die alone. The cacophony of chatter grows as the bus pulls to its stop, and I decide against telling them. It won’t matter anyways. Perhaps they deserve to go peacefully, even if I’m not afforded that luxury. The sky may be clear, the weather temperate, but the world is ending. I’m the only one who knows it.
By Sam Rogers3 years ago in Fiction
Home
“I got a new job!” Mom chirps through the phone. This is the first thing she says to me each time we speak. When we speak. She leaves for weeks, months, years at a time. Like a stray cat, she comes and goes as she sees fit. Sure to let us know that this is not her home. We are not her home. Though, it’s nice of her to call once in a while, if just to let us know that she’s not dead and that she has a new job.
By Sam Rogers3 years ago in Poets
