Skyler Saunders
Bio
I will be publishing a story every Tuesday. Make sure you read the exclusive content each week to further understand the stories.
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Stories (2939)
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The Homes of the Drones
Chairs remained empty. They represented the absence of the other branches of the United States Armed Forces. Who remained from that country sat fifty-six-year-old Air Force Chief of Staff General Lumia Stockley. Skin the color of the oak desk at which she sat and braids covering her hair, her uniform looked immaculate. Each of the four silver stars on her shoulders and the collar of her shirt spoke of her care and exactitude in presenting herself and reflecting the traditions and customs of the United States Air Force.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
Cappuccino Calculus
This Sunday at the end of September, a line of mostly caffeine enthusiasts snaked about seventy feet. Halley displayed its color, goldenrod, which adorned the aprons of the workers. Zamona Mince whipped out her marker and inscribed the name of the macchiato recipient. She stood at five feet four inches and possessed the skin color of a black panther’s fur. She was twenty-four. Her hair was coiffed and looked like a frozen fountain of jet black. Her face look small and angular with enough regality to mistake her for the Crown. As a student of First State Community College, she studied therapy and fitness classes.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
And Another One
“The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own,” Forty-year-old Lawson Briggs announced to his wife in the kitchen. His words dripped with anxiety and urgency but he somehow remained relatively calm. He was black as the Labrea Tar Pits. But he and his wife were thousands of miles away in Hockessin, Delaware. He just peered at an image in the mirror. It was of a middle aged Chinese woman. His wife, thirty-two-year-old Vienna looked up from her salad. She finished chewing.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
The Earthling's Dare
Blades of grass issued into the air. The droning noise of the mowers was like the constant hum of gigantic gas-powered cicadae. Sequan Vast, six feet tall, nineteen years of age, turned his mower on a dime. His cherrywood colored skin turned darker and his short Afro sparkled with drops of water. He perfected the simple art of ensuring the blades didn’t fly in his face. A sweat stained t-shirt and gaiter, muddy boots and dirty blue jeans all showed a man bent on the execution of excellent work.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Earth
Arcane
The crowd swarmed outside of the Diamante Bank in Wilmington, Delaware. A woman with a red down coat circled holding a sign reading, “I WANT MY MONEY.” She shouted the phrase that became a raucous refrain. As the people stomped outside the windows of the sixty story building, the executives looked both rested and pensive.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Trader
Go, Child
Shimmers of light from the camera played with the just appearing evening stars. The aura around Stefonia Fadden propelled Tyrisk Gloucester to study digital prints. He was seventeen and the color of amber. Deep purple and blue with above orange haze surrounded the image of Stefonia. She was the color of cocoa butter and showed tiny brown freckles on the bridge of her nose and forehead.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
With Force
Her skin color resembled Texas tea, but she was Newark, Delaware born. Her hair was short to her head and could be brushed easily. She stood at about five feet nine inches tall. Her dimpled cheeks belied the fact that she could take down any enemy with force. She was forty-seven.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
Schools Will Sell
Brochures often depicted days like this. Students shuffling about to get to class as leaves gently fall in what looks like a light autumn breeze. On this Monday, for the president of New Sweden University in Wilmington, Delaware, Octavia Finnson, she looked outside her gorgeous office window with despondence and contempt. She was five seven inches, some gray gathered at the temples of her low ‘Fro. She was sixty two and featured bronze skin softened by cocoa butter. Too smooth, almost nickel slick, her skin seemed greasy. But bitterness layered her tongue. She took another look at the electronic communique in her inbox.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Education
Set Foot
Tailored down to the socks, Terry Northing sipped gin. He looked over at his friend, Fredro Blankfield at the Mercier Hotel bar in downtown Wilmington, Delaware. He also sported a three thousand dollar suit. Northing wore a dark blue suit and cognac shoes. Blankfield captivated with his charcoal and scarlet striped suit complete with a silk Windsor tie knot. He sipped red wine. The two men laughed.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
