Memoir
It Wasn't Me
One thing you need to know about me is this, I never lie. With me, you get the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me, well I don’t believe in God, but you get the idea. Whether you like it or not. No weaselly denials from this guy. No sugar coating or lying to save your pretty little feelings. Want someone to make you feel better? Comfort you with the lies you tell yourself so you can sleep soundly at night? Find some other sad schlep. I got integrity. I have balls. I have the right to tell this story. And this story, my story, is a story of murder.
By Rachael MacDonald2 years ago in Chapters
Hop, Skip, and Jump Away
Time passed like a flip book. I'm always on the move. The world seems wide open and full of possibilities. Exhaustion is my way of life. I'm living somewhere between a Dream and a Nightmare if you average it out. I bustle from home with my boyfriend, to school, to volunteering, work experience hours, work interviews, and jobs. I'm beginning to buy into life again. I do all the cheesy things people do. My energy can feel bigger than any room, with a smile just as big. Going out is a regular weekend activity, we have perfected. I'm like a doll that can dress up for any occasion. My clothes give me confidence in rooms I feel unprepared to be in. I hate being stared at, but the contradiction is ignored for now. I'm oblivious because for the first time I feel put together. There are so many problems, but when you're busy they are easily brushed aside for another day. After all, I have living to do. It is the modern roaring 20's. We were unapologetically uncouth by classic proprietary standards, as we would drink, dance, and socialize into the morning hours of the weekend. Then sleep in past 10am as our bodies recuperated. The times felt larger, grander in a way, than they probably should have. I'm young with an unrealistic view of the future.
By simplicity2 years ago in Chapters
The Ultimate Prank
Many years ago, when I was a girl of 18, I pulled one of the best pranks ever on my older brother, Ed. It turned out to be the ultimate sibling prank, only because of events that happened earlier in the night that, at the time, I was completely unaware of.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Chapters
What a Chapter
What a chapter, right?! Jeez, the fireball chasing the newly liberated immigrants. How the coldest of cold, bitter of long-legged licorice took Luke’s death. Her unique use of a solid body guitar as both weapon and imprisoning door stopper was ingenious. Credit where it’s due. The symbolic Mustang roar into the sunset to the tune of aspirated breaths of God would be goddamn cruel to kill us now. I mean, that show-stopper speech, when I told the sadistic addict to keep the money and the car, threw her promises and seemingly genuine mournful tears thinking of the fates she forced us all in. A senseless revolt against the cancerous wig splitting she spread and led me on for the greedy loophole in the capitalist morals that pays so handsomely it’s a wonder bounty hunting isn’t a Fortune 500 conglomerate. My triumphant walk from the delusion keeping me warm for over a year, Over A YEAR. I didn’t have to mention the doves that flocked off as I tossed the keys over my shoulder, blowing her fucking mind that I always knew her real name. There’s nothing slicker than an exit strategy with a built-in free plane ticket and tattered flag of an alibi holding just, but that sentence will never be necessary. Wanted to see how it looked.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Chapters
Strange Meetings With Birthday Greetings
It was a stunningly beautiful Autumn day, the azure blue sky acting like a blank canvas on which nature had decided to paint a masterpiece full of vibrant natural colors. A mosaic, leaf-confetti-littered pathway led off to a vanishing point far off in the distance. On both sides, lines of skeleton trees, shedding their summer foliage, stood like sentinels guarding the pathway to heaven. To each side, mid-life evergreens acted as a natural bulwark to protect the open parkland behind.
By Liam Ireland2 years ago in Chapters
The Night I Lost the Hard Salami
"I don't know what to say," I blurted nervously. "I don't know what Real People do in therapy." Hearing the echoes of my words I winced. What a stupid way to start things. I only had three sessions as part of my Employee Assistance Program and here I am wasting time already. AND revealing something that I was sure made no sense and that I didn't want to talk about: my concern that I do things 'correctly', the way Real People do them. I was here to DO Therapy correctly.
By Judey Kalchik 2 years ago in Chapters
Tales From a Dad With a Whistle
So, the Italians derived a term, the title “prima donna,” in the late 17th century. It was a term used to refer to the premier, most talented opera singer in an opera company. Typically, this was a female soprano, the best of the best. From this title, two centuries later, the term “diva” was born. Diva is an Italian term for a female deity, or a “goddess”, and the implication was that these prima donnas were so talented and so popular that they were goddesses compared to other singers in the opera company. It was a supreme compliment.
By Bryan Buffkin2 years ago in Chapters
Emily
Emily was a much-wanted child, born 9 months and 4 days after our wedding day. Starting out as a problem child, she poked her fingers through the sack and sent me into an early labor that would unfortunately be less than successful. She was now to be born through a pitocin fueled delivery on Thursday, January 12, 1984. Well, that didn’t work so onto a C-section on Friday, January 13, 1984. Note the date please.
By Barbara Gode Wiles2 years ago in Chapters
French Kiss. Top Story - August 2023.
The flight attendant dimmed the cabin lights hours ago. Only three reading lights glowed, casting an eerie pall on the few passengers under them who, like me, couldn’t sleep. The man behind me was awake and staring out the window as I stood and pirouetted toward the lavatory. He turned in his seat and looked up at me, the spitting image of William Shatner in the Twilight Zone episode “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” which I had watched two days earlier. He had the same pensive way of lifting the inner corners of his eyebrows, His hair was razor cut around the ears and nape, combed away from his face. Almost everyone else on the airplane was dressed in jeans, but he wore a charcoal suit with his tie still knotted. I hoped he wasn’t seeing little gremlins scurrying on the wings, trying to disable the plane. He smiled at me, and murmured, “Something is on the wing.” Damn, I thought. I knew it! I knew this would go badly. I must have looked like I had not understood him, because he repeated what he said: “Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle.” Relieved, I whispered, “Good night to you, too, Monsieur.” Thank God there were no hairy gremlins far above the Atlantic Ocean, only the twinkling lights that made us visible in the velvet night as we sliced through it toward Paris. My jitters were a product of my active imagination --- and what I had done.
By Lacy Loar-Gruenler2 years ago in Chapters
