Latest Fiction Post
- Alice in the Wrong Land June 19, 2018
Green and brown smudges zip by the train windows, but Alice can’t relax. She’s been running for months, avoiding contact with people. She actually can’t remember the last time she had a conversation that moved beyond ordering food or buying a ticket. Most people would’ve gone crazy by now, but once she stops talking it’s difficult to start again.
Alice leans her head against the window, her platinum blonde hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. She turns a rusty key over in her hands. She needs it to open a portal home. The world she’s trapped in is identical to her own, but the other Alice died two years ago. Two years ago, this Alice crashed her car on purpose and lived. The other Alice succeeded.
Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, so people say. Alice didn’t come through a mirror or step through a wardrobe; she visited a fortune teller.
“Pick a card. Any card.” The woman said. Bangles jangled on the woman’s wrists. Beads hung from her neck. The incense made Alice’s head throb.
Alice’s father had suggested the trip. He believed in aura, tarot, and spiritual healing. He thought that Alice needed to lighten up. Alice figured it couldn’t hurt.
She tried to pull a card from the deck, but it resisted. “Does this usually happen?”
The fortune teller’s eyes sparkled. “The cards know you don’t believe. They’re testing you.”
Alice doubted that. She wiggled a card free. Then two ...
Latest Poetry Post
- Can’t Accept June 11, 2018
The memories hurt my stomach.
The future is fear.
The past is pain.
The present slowly ticks away
as I fight between the two realities:
walk away and forward
or stay and let it consume me.
The past is safe.
Will I ever relax again
if I leave?
Will I ever be calm?
How can I be?
I can’t pretend that nothing’s
We’re not the same people
despite how badly I want everything
to be frozen in time.
I’m living a dream, a memory.
I’m afraid to be put under
There’s that small panic
that I might never wake up.
We know the ending of our stories.
But we panic, refuse to accept.
The same way I refuse to accept
that the people from my memories