Short Stories and General Musings
Janessa nudged Lou hard in the ribs, throwing off her concentration.
“J, what the hell?” Lou swore, rubbing her side and watching her avatar crumble to the ground on the screen. “Were you trying to make me lose?”
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that hard,” Janessa said, trying to stare nonchalantly at the front door and failing miserably.
continue readingMalcolm remembered the first time Death approached him. He was sitting in the dark, his body wracked with sobs, Monique lying on the floor, motionless. Something terrible had happened, but he hadn’t been able to process it. He just rocked, back and forth, back and forth, until a hand settled on his shoulder, both hot and cold, reassuring and terrifying.
And Death spoke to Malcolm, telling him that it was Monique’s time, that she had passed beyond the physical world, that she was in a better place. He tried to argue with Death; he wanted Monique here, with him, not somewhere else. Death was sympathetic, but firm. Every being had its time and place, and this was hers.
continue readingShe was a child of the gods, sworn to defeat the monstrous of the world. And yet, she could not destroy this. Her eyes raked over the beast: the writhing tentacles, the spiraling horns, the patchy fur. Its head was blunt, its eyes burned with fear and fury. And yet, she could not destroy it. She watched as it tore through cities, as it decimated civilizations. The beauty in its destruction filled her with awe. It exuded a raw, primeval energy, something that she itched to tame, but wondered if she could. She feared it, and she loved it; she could not destroy it.
Inspired by a writing prompt from Writing Prompt Generator.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020
“I swear, there’s a ghost in Principal Adams’ office! That’s why I was in there! I don’t care about answer sheets.” Victoria stood as straight as a ruler, glaring at the principal and her teacher, Mr. Travers.
“Victoria, you were riffling through my desk drawers,” Principal Adams said, trying to keep her voice smooth and even.
“Yeah, because the ghost had to be hiding somewhere. Where else would I look?”
“Victoria,” Mr. Travers said with a sigh. “This is the third time we’ve found you somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, hunting for ‘ghosts.’” He didn’t actually do air quotes, but they were heavily implied.
continue readingNate squinted at the back of the cookie box. “Have you ever read the label on these?”
“Nope,” Layla said cheerfully, pulling carrots from the shopping bag and putting them on the counter with an eye-roll.
“Seriously, you eat this? I can’t even pronounce half of the ingredients.” He sounded horrified.
“Yeah, well, you make your own green juice. No one’s perfect.”
continue reading“Blakely? Did it work? Are you still alive?” Reynolds blinked in the bright, empty lab. He heard a groan from somewhere in the room, but he couldn’t see anyone.
“Reynolds,” that same voice coughed, “when my head stops pounding, I am going to kill you.”
“Blakely!” he said, relieved. “I didn’t kill you!”
“If I’d thought you might,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have let you test your stupid machine. What the hell happened?”
continue reading“So, what are you hiding from?”
Hanna jumped. She looked up from her book, and into the gently smiling face of the bartender. The cute bartender, a traitorous voice said in the back of her mind, but she ignored it.
“Excuse me?”
His smile grew. “You’re in a dive bar, on a Tuesday night, nursing a rum and Coke and reading a book. You gotta be hiding from something.”
continue readingInspired by Famine, Custom House Quay by Rowan Gillespie in Dublin, Ireland.
—
We walk.
Our limbs quiver,
Our heads hang low,
Our hearts thud in our chests.
We walk.
We leave behind our homes.
We leave behind our land and our dreams.
We leave behind our weak and our dead.
We walk.
We walk in the morning, with the garbage and the businessmen.
We walk in the afternoon, with the families and the tourists.
We walk in the evening, with the revelers and the Liffey.
We walk.
We walk past the Dubliners. Do they see us?
We walk past the foreigners. Do they see us?
We walk past the living. Do they see us?
Do you see us?
© The Lightning Tower, 2020
Day 67
I have been stuck on this island by myself for over two months. And honestly, it’s been great. There is an abundance of food, the weather is warm but not too hot, there is clear, fresh water to drink, and I haven’t seen another person in weeks. It’s been so quiet. So relaxing. There is a small part of me that misses the rest of the world, but then I remember all the shit going on out there. Here, I am blissfully unaware. Here, I can feel the soothing breeze, bask in the sunlight, trace the clouds through the lush foliage. Here, I can be free.
Wait, is that a boat? Coming this way? Damn it.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020
Sometimes the echoes
Are all that I have. The words
Can be hard to hear.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020