Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Pride.
The Start of it All
Recently I've been starting the arduous task of self repair. Over the last year, the amount of trauma and growth I've made would cause anyone to double over in a depressive gut punch. Not to toot my own horn (not that anyone would ever want to deal with this shit), but I've experience a pandemic, leaving and abusive asshole husband, became a single mom, left a cult, came out of the closet, and managed to not do the unalive thing. Yeah you read all of that right. That was my 2020-2021 in one over run sentence.
By Candace Burningham4 years ago in Pride
Turbulent Night.
Ted woke up, precisely one minute before his alarm went off, that day, like millions, of days before it. He huffed at it, when it finally went off, and turned the damn thing off. He never used his cell phone, he stuck to the old clock his mom and dad gave him. It was one of the first things they gave him, it had seen very better days. A few mornings it had gotten 'accidentally knocked off the night stand, when he was still in high school.
By Capt. Dash4 years ago in Pride
The Thin Ice
They were all silent and uneasy, Alex noted, not just him. The coarse wind blew across Schuler’s Pond, wafting the light dust of white across the icy surface. The cattails and reeds poked through the ice and stood tall, even in this time of year when the frozen surface was at its most solid. Normally the air would be filled with the clapping of sticks on the ice and the sharp cutting of skates scraping across the hard, cold surface, along with the boisterous cacophony of jests thrown about among the boys.
By Michael France4 years ago in Pride
Viridia
I didn’t normally walk on the boardwalk at night alone. Not because it was dangerous, but because being surrounded by so many jovial merchants, kids laughing, and lovers on dates typically left me feeling sad and lonely, like fulfillment was evading me and me alone. The smell of the funnel cakes always made me nauseous and it would linger in my chest, saccharine and cheap, until I felt like I couldn’t breathe, reminding me of my general aversion to joy. The radio host on the station they blare over the speakers has a voice like a dial tone and it would loop in my head like The Hum. I still know it like the back of my hand. The air smells like cotton candy and gum that’s been pressed into the pavement with sneakers and the best places to see the water are crowded with cigarette smokers and tourists. I hated the boardwalk. I really did. In my experience, it was just an exhibition of joys- a set up to remind me that my mind is a rabid fiend looking to taint everything golden. Sometimes it felt like it existed just to remind me that no joy survives in my mind, and to taunt me with the idea that I may be the only one. I never wanted to be there. Ever. But, if ever there was a time I couldn’t stand the mere idea of crossing through that godforsaken stretch, it was that night.
By Marina Arkana4 years ago in Pride
Green Light
I didn’t normally walk on the boardwalk at night alone. Not because it was dangerous, but because being surrounded by so many jovial merchants, kids laughing, and lovers on dates typically left me feeling sad and lonely, like fulfillment was evading me, and me alone. The smell of the funnel cakes always made me nauseous, and it would linger in my chest, saccharine and cheap, until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was an unwelcome reminder of my general aversion to joy. The radio host on the station they blare over the speakers has a voice like a dial tone and it would loop in my head like The Hum. I still know it like the back of my hand. The air smells like stale cotton candy and gum that’s been pressed into the pavement with sneakers and the best places to see the water are crowded with cigarette smokers and tourists. I hated the boardwalk. I really did. In my experience, it was just an exhibition of joys- a set up to remind me that my mind is a rabid fiend looking to taint everything golden. Sometimes it felt like it existed just to remind me that no joy survives my mind, and to taunt me with the idea that I may be the only one. I never wanted to be there. Ever. But if ever there was a time I couldn’t stand the mere idea of crossing through that godforsaken stretch, it was that night. I’d just been harassed by some of the regulars at the local co-ed gym who adamantly claimed to be under the influence of my attire…and they got pretty nasty. I ran off in tears. The last thing I needed that night was to enter another sadistic liminal space. Somehow, however, I knew I was meant to go there. It started with an unexplainable tingling in my bones, a hysteria in my aura; something beckoning me to walk that way. I brushed it off at first, reasoning that it was just delirium as a result of the 3 and a half hours I had just spent at the gym…but the thing about omens and inklings, I suppose, is that you can’t really ignore them.
By Marina Arkana4 years ago in Pride
WHO BEARS THE YOKE?
As he fled from [her] kitchen into [his] study, the door had banged shut behind him (like a rifle sounding a final, fatal warning shot). Escape then was the wiser choice (it was the only choice). Nearly two hours had passed since his return from Drax Doughan & Associates (DD&A) headquarters (which had deep roots in the commercial banking legacies of its two industrial age forebears, who had earned hundreds of thousands then in the San Francisco, California gold rush, but had formed in the latter half of 70s to largely sponsor penny stock and underwrite junk bonds). Although it had earned a hefty sum from the more clandestine negotiations, with forays into insider trading, dark pool investing, and high frequency trading, behind closed war/board rooms, DD&A had ascended to its present, notoriety, the envious upset that had disrupted the industry of investment banking, staking its claims to such heights on the often overlooked high yield, low investment grade bonds. He had curried the favor of a second-generation senior partner, with whom he had developed an easier, almost unprofessional, rapport. Even in either of their offices with a closed, locked door on an empty office floor in the evening hours, he would often lean into their discussions, as if he would then share some salacious gossip and/or more intimate exploit (always with a hint of sordid at least in the undertones) when discussing his growing book of business, which Sr. Partner had intended to transfer at his having achieved a few milestones.
By James Royer4 years ago in Pride
