Tag: creative writing
-
Christmas Morning Memories
VIGNETTTE December 1987 I sat on the cream-colored sofa and slowly slid my 8-year old body to the edge. Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite played in the background as the crackling fire masked the sound of my internal excitement. It was an ice-covered, Oklahoma Christmas morning, and we had opened all the usual presents. The things we…
-
A Cherished Rose
A VIGNETTE: I stepped inside the solitary room and observed her from a distance. It was just the two of us. Her make-up done the way she always wore it. Her short, soft curls cemented by Rave aerosol hairspray. I walked over with her perfume bottle and spritzed it across her neck. Wafting the sweet…
-
Conversations in the Time of Corona
A COMEDIC VIGNETTE “How ya doing, Franz?” He stared back at me in silence. “I said how are you doing?” I shook my head and made my way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I pulled out spaghetti, shoveled it onto a plate and placed it in the microwave. He doesn’t even have the decency…
-
Don’t run
VIGNETTE I backed away, slowly inching toward the river. My breathe calm and steady even as my heart raced. Thump-thump-thump; thump-thump-thump; thump-thump-thump. Doing my best to avoid direct eye contact, I froze when I heard the crackle of the branch under my foot. Time stood still for a fraction of a second that seemed to…
-
Pre-Scene: Hills Like White Elephants
The girl leaned into his back, her arms wrapped around his waist as the American slowed the motorcycle to a purr. On the southernmost tip of Gibraltar, the Europa Point Lighthouse stood in the distance, casting a light as if to direct all who needed its guidance. He turned the key, pulling it from the…
-
WP: Bedazzled
She stumbles toward me on the F-train. Her thin earlobes pulling toward her shoulders by the weight of the iridescent, glitter-sparkling, crescent-shaped moon earrings matching the bedazzled moon charms pasted on her two-inch, rainbow-painted fingernails. A cubic zirconia encrusted tiara shifting toward her gold-speckled eyes as she breathlessly plops into the hard seat next to…
-
My love life is suffering
VIGNETTE, Humor Head buried in The New Yorker is not the norm for my morning commute on the Q, but I recently subscribed and am quite enjoying my quiet time with the articles each morning. It seems more productive than staring at random people as I internally bee-bop to the Broadway tunes in my earbuds.…
Angel K Will 