Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Wander.
The Stranger
The Stranger The rain pounded incessantly on my windshield. The dark of night surrounded me as I struggled to concentrate on the road before me. I reached for the knob of the stereo, and increased the volume. I did this with hope that the noise would keep my heavy eyelids from closing. As I approached the hazy red light before me, I cautiously came to a stop. At first I thought the sound of the screeching brakes was coming from my blaring speakers. I did not comprehend the actuality of the sound until it was too late.
By Stephanie Hifler5 years ago in Wander
A Trip to the Beyond
The beguiling image moved towards me, as though a shadow with no grits and guts followed. In the clammy tapered alley, I could hear my heart pulsating my eardrums hurriedly. The eerie looking graffiti on the dirt-splattered walls seemed to form a nefarious canopy over my head, under the full moon night. My eyes were wide and astute, I could feel my unearthly deep breaths turning chillier as they hit the freshly wet brick walls, making my throat as dry as a bone. I took the hardest and loudest gulp I had ever taken and gathered the courage to move away from this daunting imagery. The shadow strutted closer…
By Akshita Jain5 years ago in Wander
Cahuita
Much like the rabbits pulled out of tophats, there is a magically undeniable, muscular vivacity of the mind that paints itself out of trauma. I know this modus operandi well and have perfected my stage act, and so I pertinaciously pinch my own cancerous lumps, waiting for a tufty-puss of clouds to emerge. I was always thumb-up, tirelessly caravanning from one Latin American town to the next. Even so, there comes a point for even the most resolute wanderer, the soles of whose feet have calcified densely from sharp rock and sun, when she becomes weary of new beginnings, when she craves nothing more than a pillow that bears the intimate imprint of her own settled skull. For those of us luckless, unsettled phantoms however, again, again, and again, the stag will shed his antlers.
By Jillian Newman5 years ago in Wander
Between the Signs
I used to ride public transportation in Los Angeles, in the mid 2010s. I met a wide range of people that way, encountering everything from a die-hard racist who demanded a black person ride a separate bus to a person who went off on the bus driver, screaming and attempting to grab the wheel.
By Joanna Celeste5 years ago in Wander
Witch's Sapphire
WITCH’S SAPPHIRE Late one rainy night, Elizabeth was driving home to her small town just outside of Manchester, her high beams gleaming off the dark forest around her. As she came around a curve she noticed a hooded figure standing on the side of the road. She instantly pulled to a stop.
By Jess Boccardo5 years ago in Wander
Singing in the rain
And I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more. Damn song had been stuck in my head for what seemed like hours now. Da da DAH DAH, da da DAH Dah. Even in the pouring rain I had to smile. It was such a damn catchy tune. Not sure of anything else the Proclaimers had proclaimed, but they really nailed that song. “Just to be the man that walked a 1000 miles to fall down at your doo-oo-oor” I sang aloud as I stopped under a large white pine to get a slight break from the relentless patter of rain on my hood. Was a great big tree, to see it in the daylight it probably towered over its neighbors, who were no saplings. Last week I had climbed a sizeable tree and the view was incredible, treetops as far as the eye could see, a deep green sea undulating against the blue-sky backdrop. I leaned against the tree my shoulders grateful to be relieved of the weight of my pack. Lightning flashed and with the momentary light, something about the bark caught my eye. I fumbled under my hood for the button on my headlamp, having grown accustomed to walking without it. The strong beam was bright, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust before focusing in on what I was looking for. There. Three notches. Even in the daylight they would be near impossible to see, they were old and just a few inches long, probably made with a small hatchet. What a crazy random happenstance. My thoughts flashed back to a single notch I had seen on a similar tree this morning. While both finds were intriguing and mysterious, I exhausted and not up to allowing my imagination run wild without some rest and coffee. Grabbing my sleep sack and head canopy, I cozied up under the curious tree, grateful the dense branches offered extra rain cover. Humming Dah dah dadadada da dumm de dumm until falling asleep.
By Amera Striegel5 years ago in Wander
Magnolia Tree
It was another toss and turn night. One of many. Upon waking the images go through his head. Remembering the stark sky and the dead branches with a couple of crows flying up above. “Jack!!! Jock!”His name kept repeating. A voice never heard before “Come this way!” Stepping over gnarled branches the trunk turned on its side in the last hurrah of death. Something gleams in the dirt. Getting down on hands and knees he begins to dig around the object. Alarm ringing and then wake up. The same question again. What’s the treasure under the tree?
By Laura Corriveau5 years ago in Wander
Green Tea
"What's that smell?" asked Elsa. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to." replied James. It was one of the only things left in the house. The first things to depart were the little things, the valuables, all the various this and thats that were claimed. Next went the furniture. After that, all the junk, the memorabilia, the little notepads and sentimental things that meant the world to one person and were incomprehensible to the next. What remained were squares of dust on the carpet, little knicks and scratches on the doorframes, the breeze gently rustling the curtains, the space left by a couple decades of memories.
By Ian Coleman5 years ago in Wander
