He came to me on a day like any other. My brothers were causing mischief in the sleepy town below the hill, while I spent my endless hours chanting through empty, cobwebbed corridors and doing pirouettes across the mahogany floors of the abandoned ballroom in the manor, overgrown with moss and vines.
The only people I ever saw were those that came at my Uncle’s command, and they were often too bereaved to sing and dance with me. All they wanted was a drink, and so I dutifully walked them to the flowing river that cut through our grounds and let them gorge themselves with water until their memories washed away with the currents of the smoky Lethe. Then, and only then, would my darling twin brother appear, in all of his somber glory, to walk them back through the land from which they came, back to my Uncle. Continue reading
When we were seven, it was the names of boys we thought were cute. We pinky swore to take the names of each others’ would-be future husbands to our graves.
When we were ten, it was words we weren’t supposed to know. After we got to the worst ones, you started making them up.
When we were fourteen, it was the worst things we knew about every other girl in our grade. We didn’t keep those secrets—we filtered them into the student body and made sure they couldn’t be traced back to us.
Here’s the truth. I’m a mistake. An accident.
A girl like me should not exist. Not because it’s impossible, (although let’s face it, it is) but because I’m just not cut out for the job.
I had a crappy childhood, like most of those nobody girls in fairytales who end up marrying princes. But I didn’t get a prince. I just became a freak. Continue reading
This is a short I wrote for a bloghop last Valentine’s Day. The prompt was “love at first sight.” This is just a photo, a moment.
It was a hot day for February. A Saturday, too. A million people or more littered the beaches of Southern California, which was usually enough reason for me to stay away—I liked my beaches better quiet, something akin to private. It was the first day in months that my friends Wes, Ky and I all had off work the same weekend, too, so we did the same as everyone else, and took advantage of the heatwave. We were seventeen and after graduation we’d all split ways, it seemed natural to hang out as much as we could.
The funny thing is, at first I didn’t even see her. There was a whole gaggle of girls playing volleyball, a couple of whom I’d seen before from school. I noticed because Katie Huxley was there. I’d always had a thing for Katie. We sort of grew up together, and she was nice. She reached “out of my league” status around freshman year though, and I’d always been content to admire from afar.
The three of us were walking down to the water, but we slowed to watch the game a bit. We weren’t the only ones—it’s not everyday you see the volley nets used at all, much less by a group of teenage girls. Katie was serving the ball, and it went high over the net. Some girl on the other side lobbed it back, and it went out of bounds—knocking the girl on my left right into me.
Happy 2012 everybody! Hope this is a great year for all! We’re getting back into the swing of things, and we’ll have a fresh new story for you on Friday!