Sean A.

Joined July 2022

136 stories

Bio

A happy guy that tends to write a little cynically. Just my way of dealing with the world outside my joyous little bubble.

Achievements (10)

Stories (136)

Filter by community

Sort by (Optional)

The Crush Of Dreams. Top Story - November 2025.
The weight of daydreams Crushes like stone, I’m not ready For this crucible - This is what I first felt when I finally finished a project I’d been working on for some time, a screenplay, and then sent it off, screaming into the void where it promptly disappeared. A completely expected outcome. Of course, this is how it would go. Logically, I know that completing the work is just the beginning of working to get it seen, read, and, god-willing, purchased. But oh, how the land of imagination connects two faraway points so neatly.
By Sean A.2 months ago in Writers
Song Of Frost
Night’s fire no longer crackling Morning sun on limber saplings Bows taut, snap like gingerbread Wait for the dawn to get cracking
By Sean A.2 months ago in Poets
HR Complaint
Can I come in? Of course, J.J . Whenever you need to. I’m afraid Amy and I need to file an HR complaint. It’s regarding our current temp.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Fiction
Out Of Clay. Top Story - October 2025.
From the first time we touched, I knew We were made from the same clay God shaped your perfection, filled you with a breath
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
The Virus I Carry. Runner-Up in Villanelle of Regret Challenge.
Discontent infects, a virulent flu No seeming cure for this evolving strain In your soul, my resentment breeds anew - Pure nonsense knocks my composure askew
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
How Appropriate
It’s not appropriate to accuse me of cultural appropriation. That is a denigration of my culture of appropriation. My culture is theft. As a generation whatever of American Mutt, my traditions are rooted in the things we’ve stolen. Liberating your land and freedom, to make room for our own. Pilfering your labor, so your sweat and tears can feed the leisure we planted. Hijacking your song, rinsing it clean of sorrow and blood. Running it through decades of autotune until we can dance to it without rhythm or irony.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
Poem Trapping
I read a book about how hard it is to catch a poem. I wonder if I ever have. Or have I just lunged at shadows while the real thing scampers off to eat from bushes, heavy with metaphors? What bait does a poem prefer? Dust in the morning light, dancing like angels after a storm? A case of beer shared between friends because words are too hard to pour? If you place a heart on the spring, is it better frozen or raw? Cut in half or a dozen pieces? Never whole.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
Reflections
Maddie checked the calendar and put a reserved sign on the corner booth table. She placed an oval mirror next to it and wiped it down. She’d picked it up at a thrift store so her customer, Kathryn, wouldn’t need to bring her own each time. Maddie checked the time and sat down for a minute, facing the mirror. There was no reflection. There hadn’t been since the Crack. She was looking at the split vinyl of another diner’s booth. Morgan slid into view, smiling and chatting with her fingers. Maddie motioned the young woman to slow down. Why the youth wouldn’t use text screens to talk across the divide was beyond her. Not as intimate, they said, so impersonal. Well, she thought, we’ll see what they say when arthritis gets a grip on their supple fingers.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Fiction
Surrender. Runner-Up in A Knock at the Door Challenge. Top Story - October 2025.
Gerald ignored the knock at the door at first. Thinking back on it later, he wondered how Max had knocked with such authority. Surely, if someone abandons you, their knock should have a meekness commensurate with the level of abandonment. This was no soft rapping at the door. It was strong, steady, and on the beat. After the third chorus, Gerald abandoned his soggy cereal, save the mush currently in his mouth. Making his way through the living room, Gerald’s threadbare bathrobe softly flapped from minimal effort. He opened the door and covered his eyes from the glare of the morning sun. He grumbled at the light’s intrusion. Without Max, he’d had little reason to suffer the outdoors. Now, here he was. The abandoner himself.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Fiction
Wolf In Shepherd’s Clothing . Runner-Up in The Sonnet of Shadows Challenge.
Glass saints offer fragile benediction Diffusing the son’s light in varied hues Base desires hide behind soft diction Candle bearing children feed a dark muse
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
Season’s Fashions
Death doffs her black coat Picks a red dress off the rack Dances with fire
By Sean A.4 months ago in Poets
All Falls Away
Red, gold takes the stage ‘Till Winters breath knocks them down Dreams fall to the earth
By Sean A.4 months ago in Poets