Love
The Marigold Relationship
Last summer I met this really wonderful person name Melissa Marigold. O I forgot to tell you my name, i'm Alex Windfield. I'm 19 and I love music and dance. They are my whole life. Well they were until I met Melissa Marigold. That's when my whole life had changed
By Shannon Sherer4 years ago in Fiction
A Bouquet of Zachigolds
It feels like everyone is staring at me. God, I don’t look weird, do I? I showered and put some gel in my hair and everything for tonight. Was it too much gel? Does my hair look greasy? Jesus, maybe I should have ducked into the barber I saw down the street earlier.
By Eloise Robertson 4 years ago in Fiction
Just Another Day in Paradise
I reached over and slapped the snooze button on the alarm next to the bed. Squeezing my eyes shut, I curled into a ball momentarily before stretching straight out. My bones and muscles were stiff and I let out a quiet grunt as I relaxed again. Next to me, my husband rolled over to face me and pulled me close. His arm stayed around my waist as I slowly sat up and rubbed my eyes. I gently held his hand and rubbed my thumb over his knuckles while my eyes adjusted to the dark room. Once I could see the dark outlines of the furniture in the bedroom, I squeezed his hand and let go as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
By Jessica Sawyer4 years ago in Fiction
WHAT A MUSKY SCENT!
July 10th, 2021 - The alarm clock was ringing again. I had pushed the snooze button repeatedly until daylight was beaming through my window. I grabbed my specks from the night stand and peeked at the time. "Oh, my goodness it was 6:45 a.m. - A hour later than I wanted to sleep." I yawned, sadly realizing the man holding me was only in my dream - I paused for a moment and said, "Oh God, not again."
By Dr. Totziette Slater4 years ago in Fiction
South of France in a Town Called La Trèpas
The daises shook their white manes in the windy dew sprinkled morning. Father’s chateau gleamed brilliantly in the soft sunlight. I felt the shivers trickle down my spine as the wind picked up and, like it always did, wisp my long brunette hair against my tan freckled cheeks. The gardener had always done an amazing job, but this summer he had outdone himself. The flowers were arranged in neat little rows which intertwined as they worked their way down to the antique fountain that rested at the bottom of the small hill. There were daises, roses, petunias, and marigolds, all mixed together in beautiful patterns and colorful designs. Four slender marble statues stood closer to the fountain all facing different directions. My favorite was the beautiful one-armed woman who looked outwards into the mountains that surrounded La Trèpas. Her smile reminded me of my mother.
By terryamerican4 years ago in Fiction
Garden of Secrets
“Do you have the flowers ready?” I had been lost in thought staring at the woven basket full of vibrant yellow orange marigolds. The flower of the dead. My sister and I were going to our parents' gravesite to offer these flowers in honoring their passing. I trailed a finger gently over the soft petals remembering how much my mother loved them.
By Karissa King4 years ago in Fiction
The Statistician
I met Azza Amzellaoui at an abridged screening of Star Wars: A New Hope. I was assistant teaching an introductory class on desert ecosystems at McGill University and the cult classic, with its sandstorms and moisture farms, was a first year tradition for students of ecology.
By Anissa Bejaoui4 years ago in Fiction
Eyes Towards the Horizon
For Beth, the water had always been a place of healing. After a particularly nasty divorce, she had thought about taking up permanent residence under the covers of her big, lonely king-sized bed. (Why “King” exactly? And why “Master” bedroom? Did everything have to be engendered and patriarchal?)
By Allison Rice4 years ago in Fiction
Shark Man
In the center of a large event tent, they were gathered around a plastic table covered in drugs. There was almost every flavour ready and available. A mirrored plate with white powder, decades before it would presumably be cocaine, but in that modern world of narcotics the choices were almost endless. The number of analog stimulants and concoctions were staggering, pun intended. Letting one's gaze wander the length of the table, the various piles of white, off white, yellow, and brown, were intimidating to say the least. Ketamine, 2-CB, speed, molly, sassafras. Pills, halves and crushed pieces littered the surface of the table everywhere, with no sense of organization. Glass pipes of all shapes and sizes, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, and little trays of marijuana and rolling papers. A vial of a sparkling liquid sat in the center, beside a small baggie of strangely curled fungus.
By Yess Bryce4 years ago in Fiction
