from a work in progress Melanie is the product of somebody's imagination, a character in a story still being written. As she develops – as she is being developed – she begins to question her existence in between her maker's writing sessions. Why can't she remember her childhood? What do the blank spaces mean? Who put her in this scenario, … Continue reading On Fire, But Not Burning
for Letters of Love Dear lucky one, I hope this letter finds you alive – all senses and engines burnings – and well. It might find you waiting in line at the Christmas market. It might find you taking a break from sitting in the sun. It might find you doing research for a paper. It … Continue reading To the Lucky Ones
Every second of the day is a question that only I can answer – and, because it keeps asking, I am no longer giving it the truth. None of it is true. I say this, but it could have easily been something else, and the best part is that no lighting strikes me down when … Continue reading I Am a Work of Fiction
This is for you who wanted to die last night. I'm so glad that you are still alive. It was around the age when people start to become interesting that she discovered how interesting she had grown up to be herself. There was, of course, still plenty left to figure out — what truly made her happy, … Continue reading There’s Nowhere To Go
I write because nobody listens was the first thing I noticed about her. She had scribbled this phrase on the first page of a notebook left open on the table. She had fiery red hair, wore little make up and a loose black dress. There was a homemade sign up on the wall saying We serve … Continue reading No Matter How Many of My Cells are Replaced
“The world is not made up of atoms; it’s made up of stories.” — Muriel Rukeyser ‘A week? A whole damn week?’ she complained. That wasn’t what she had planned for. Then again, it wasn’t her who planned it in the first place. Rolling her eyes at the sudden, unpleasant thought, she walked slowly across the room, towards the window. [...]
His name was S. Was, and sometimes I’m not sure it even was at all. This is the story I thought I’d never tell. It’s also my favourite story of all. There are nights when I’m still burning with passion for all the things we did and all the more we could have done. These … Continue reading In the Midst of Fresh Ruins
