Tiara Morris
Bio
Well hello there!
Glad you could stop by.
Dreamer by day.
Manifestor by night.
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Stories (5)
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The Seven in the Trees
I was never good at stopping to smell the roses. My mother used to say that I should have been born a 30-year-old since even as a kid I was always on the go for the next big thing. I was a thrill-seeking goal-getter from the start, boring quickly of my accomplishments before racing off for the next shiny thing. It was the pursuits and the challenges that fed me. You could tell me there was a toenail that everyone wanted at the top of a mountain, and I’d leap for the chance to claim it if it meant being the first to do so. I always had a squad of friends because of how sociable my addiction for quests allowed me to be. They all described me as the “bright and fearless conqueror” that they aspired to be like and the “life of the party.”
By Tiara Morris4 years ago in Fiction
You Again
My aunt had my mother cremated into several pieces of jewelry that she shared amongst her closest relatives. I say her closest relatives because I was never close with anyone from my mother’s side of the family. I screamed my 15-year-old lungs out at my aunt when I found out. I absolutely hated the idea of my mother being made into flashy things when she had never been a flashy person and worse – never even liked most of the people that were now wearing her about. I had vowed never to wear the ring my aunt had designed “especially” for me as a protest to properly honor my mother.
By Tiara Morris4 years ago in Fiction
Thursdays
I always hated Thursdays more than any day of the week. Most people hate Mondays the most, but Mondays were at least miserable for reasons you would expect. Thursdays were just the crack on the sidewalk that tripped you before Friday. I never complained though. I was always the type to smile when I didn’t feel like smiling, small talk when I didn’t feel like small talking, and to “pull up my bootstraps” even when the straps were broken.
By Tiara Morris4 years ago in Fiction
Misery At Cocoa Chalet
It had been that dazzling smile with the twinkling dimples that did me in. She had that kind of smile that demanded your attention no matter who you were or what you were doing. It mesmerized you into believing that she was purely perfect and perfectly pure without knowing a damn thing about her. It’s awful how we can allow something as trivial as beauty guide our actions without any further consideration. It’s not like such a thing tells you anything about a person; not about their life history, morals, or least of all – their sanity. Yet, as soon as we see a pretty thing we want to be it, be like it, be a part of it – and we’re willing ignore any red flags that come with it all because the pretty thing is a pretty thing.
By Tiara Morris5 years ago in Fiction
