Sydney Bulthuis
Bio
Recent college graduate. BA in English and Philosophy.
Stories (4)
Filter by community
Flint
Flint I, Flynn Mawr pronounced maw-er but called Flint because they find it real lenun and laugh away at it, I found the little puella the same day I burned down the poor-people project. I couldn’t soph if she had lived there or not. Either way, I was real shocked to vid her nudging the rubble with her right foot while that stinking pile was still smoldering away. The air was so thick and smelled so deus-awful that I thought the gasoline smoke was just clogging up my mind and making me see fax that wasn’t there; but there she stood, small puella-hands all gray with soot and her eyes all solemn-like and dark as two pebbles. I swore, snatched her filthy hand, and dragged her to Martin Hazard’s house because I was supposed to be there ages ago, hoping all the while he wouldn’t be too bothered to vid me no longer in-soul like I was supposed to be.
By Sydney Bulthuis4 years ago in Fiction
Digging Up the Dead
Digging Up the Dead My sister has always been afraid of her dead cat. The cat visited in her dreams, beginning as a prickling sensation beneath her skin before stalking into the room with his shiny black fur and unblinking green eyes; and my sister would shudder because, like Stephen King said, sometimes dead is better. There was nothing frightening about the cat while he was alive, but upon his death his soul seemed to morph and manifest into something inexplicably different. At least, that’s what my sister told me, and I laughed in her face.
By Sydney Bulthuis4 years ago in Fiction
Flint
I, Flynn Mawr pronounced maw-er but called Flint, I found the little puella the same day I burned down the poor-people project. I was real shocked to vid her gaping at the building while the stinking pile was still smoldering away. The air was so thick and smelled so deus-awful that I thought the smoke was just clogging up my mind and making me see fax that wasn’t there, but she stood, small puella-hands all gray with soot and her eyes all solemn-like and dark as two pebbles. I swore, snatched her filthy hand, and dragged her to Martin Hazard’s house because I was supposed to be there ages ago, hoping all the while he wouldn’t be too bothered to vid me no longer in-soul like I was supposed to be.
By Sydney Bulthuis4 years ago in Fiction
Something Alive at the Bottom of the Dead Sea
Something Alive at the Bottom of the Dead Sea Magnesium, sodium, calcium, potassium; silicon dioxide, aluminum oxide, magnesium oxide, iron (III) oxide, sodium oxide, potassium oxide, titanium (IV) oxide, sulfur trioxide, phosphorous pentoxide; chloride, bromide: the composition of one of earth’s largest and most potent mineral cocktails. Such a spontaneous organic phenomenon as that occurring within the Dead Sea has been scrutinized, questioned, and observed, as well as—something we humans excel at—commodified, extracted and diluted from the poisonous to the palatable in the form of rows upon rows of high-end beauty supplies. And, though I shake my head in retrospective shame, in this despicable custom I gleefully took part.
By Sydney Bulthuis4 years ago in Fiction
