literature

Feast or Famine

Maybelline strut down the center aisle, unaffected by the various calls of the onlookers. She had done this before and her mission was of no less import than any other time. The air grew in fresh fragrance as the light drew nearer with every purposeful step. The commotion behind her continued and seemed to swell as the distance to her goal shrank away. The next few steps were always the most fearful and yet exciting as she was about to be overcome by the sheer brightness of the light. Her desire for what came after drove her forward unfalteringly. Bursting through the stale darkness and emerging gloriously into the brilliant atmosphere proved to much to contain,  and Maybelline allowed her electric joy to shoot from her limbs as she took two playful hops. Turning about, she stared into the darkness she had just escaped and let out a bleat to allow her comrades the hope that it was indeed a beautiful day outside. A second bleat was offered as thanks to the good Farmer Brown for relieving the building pressure in her udder with his skillful hands. Having offered her encouragement and gratitude, it was time to go and rediscover the delights of this world, mainly in finding that elusive patch of clover.

The Secret to Success

Twenty-one years old. I watch her tirelessly from the dusty floorboards beneath her bed. I hear her vacant cries about the unknown; will she find love, will her poetry ever take off, will she graduate and find a job in a city far away, will all of her twenties be spent in a global pandemic? She sits in the mirror every morning, painting her face with makeup to mask the natural beauty that beams from her aura alone. She gives herself pep-talks that she finishes with a smile at herself, but as soon as that bit is over, the emotion on her face tells you all you need to know. Life is hard and some days our mental health struggles win the battle, but I wish she knew how easily I could help her find the peace of herself she’s been lacking- confidence.

A Book For November

“I can’t believe I married someone so useless!” The screaming had started again, but, for once, Gabriel barely heard it. His mahogany eyes were fixed on the letter in his shaking hand. His heart was on the floor and he felt as though he could step on it if he moved.

Silent Partner

“Order for Willow!” That’s not my real name, but it’s my name today. I’ll try anything to spark inspiration lately, including paper cup aliases. The barista flashes me a smirk and raises a knowing eyebrow.

The Gift

“Get out of the bed! It’s 2 in the afternoon!” Mom yells. She is always doing that. She can’t let me sleep and enjoy my college break.

Prattle and Titter

When you think of Hollywood in the 1930’s, one of the first things that comes to mind is “fashion revolution”. Gone were the flappers and Jazz Age looks of the 20s; this new era brought sleek, form-fitting, full-length and bias-cut skirts into style. Suddenly everyone seemed to shimmer, in silks and velvets decorated with beads and diamante stones. One or the other of the girls turned out in a glittering backless sequin-covered gown, and the others quickly followed suit. Fashion historians credit the bigger names with all things innovation, but it was more home-grown than that, at least at first. Word was, a shop opened right between Hollywood and Beverly Hills, where a talented dressmaker with a penchant for sparkle took up residence in the early 30s. Someone said she came in one day on a train from the mid-west, with nothing but a suitcase and a little black book. Now SHE would have been someone worth interviewing.

Striking Resemblance

“How do you think it’s gonna feel being home for the first time?” said the counselor with a look of sincerity that puzzled Jacob. “What do you mean?” Jacob replied, with a raised eyebrow. Gary had never shown any interest in Jacob’s life outside of reminding him of how insignificant it was, so why was he suddenly so interested in his departure from the orphanage. “Well, we received a letter from an estate attorney addressed to you and thought you might've been aware of it.” Aha! Jacob thought to himself. His intuition was once again, right on point, but he was admittedly caught off-guard with this letter.

Everything But What You Need

Her fingers slinked across the row of books, tapping her chewed nails against each one as she walked down the narrowing aisle. The dried skin of her fingertips dragging along the leather until she spotted a little black book and paused over the spine where the title should have been. The pandemic had really lightened her wallet, but the smell of old books and sting-your-nose-strong black coffee made her feel like things were returning to normal.

Dreaming Miracles

It was another day for Luis. Luckily the sun was shining, rain wasn't in the forecast, and nothing crawled, slithered, or walked into his sleeping bag that night. For once it didn't feel like a burden waking up, it was actually enjoyable. He slept under a Pine tree somewhere in the nature park, off of the trail. Unsure of when or how he even got there but it didn't matter, it was another day and he was alive. After a few minutes he got up, rolled his sleeping bag, secured it to his backpack, and traced the foot steps he made the night before. He wasn't trying to escape the city, now he was going to it.

Fielding's Choice

Adam's Magic Notebook

Adam wakes from a very strange dream with another hangover. Pulling soft blankets around him, rolling himself into a protective burrito, he buries his face remembering how much he drank last night. "Drink some water, you dehydrated cucumber" — the meme flashes through his head. He wants to obey, but that means getting up, and he doesn't want to do that. He doesn't want to do anything, if he's being honest.

Little Black Book

Peter finished up with the last coat of paint, looks at the city skyline from the living room bay windows. ‘Worked on this job for a few weeks gonna miss that view. Must be nice to come home to view like this.” He thought. Peter has been working on this job for over a month. Finally putting the finishing touches. The apartment once belonged to a spiritualist/ Archeologist. He died, leaving most of his things to the nearby museum. The rest went to goodwill or the dump. He cleaned up and got ready to go home. His boss asked “ Hey Peter could you do one more thing for me before you go?” Peter hesitant but nodded yes. “Thanks bud, there’s a box of old books that needs to go down to the basement, set that to the side near the compacter” Peter gathers his things and picks up the fairly heavy box. Says good night and heads to the elevator. He gets to the basement places the box down next to a few other boxes that look like its from the same apartment. “Wonder why they’re getting rid of these books. Seems like a waste.” Peter shrugs and starts to walk toward the door. But he stops. Something grabs his attention. In one of the other boxes he notices a little black book. He picks it up flips through the pages, Blank. He looks around and thinks “well I mean they are just going to destroy it anyway”, places the book in his bag and heads out of the dank basement.