The first breath I took when I awoke was stale; as if the air was composed completely of cobwebs. I awoke disoriented and my eyes had to adjust to the harsh light. I was sitting, strapped to a chair by one strip of material across my torso. My arms were free to move as they wished so I felt my surroundings eyes still squinting. To my right was an unoccupied armrest with a small cup holder attached to it. I felt to my left, but there was something already resting there. It was long and slender and at the end, it widened slightly. There were ridges along the end and one short nub on the inside. I looked down at the object and used my right hand to shield my eyes from the light coming from what I assumed to be the ceiling. It was an arm, and attached to the arm was a hand. The very hand I had spent the past few moments fondling with my own. I quickly retracted my hand and blushed. I could feel my face fill with immense heat. I bowed my head and apologized. Continue reading “The Plane”
I wake up to the sound of my alarm just like any other day of the year. Except today is special, today is my 17th birthday. I wake up and stare at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity. I try to picture the ridges on my ceiling as snow-capped mountains I will one day explore. Frigid ice caps that only a few are brave enough to climb for fear of freezing to death. Maybe one day I could have been a great explorer. I could have been in the history books as the youngest man to climb Mount Everest or to have discovered some unexplored island where all the dinosaurs live. And just as my daydreams start to get good my second alarm goes off, my daydream alarm, which throws me back into reality. The reality where I’m not an explorer, but instead I’m a high school recluse. Continue reading “G is for Garrison”
In the village, there was a hill. It was a rather tall hill that overlooked the entire village. And it was only considered a hill because all the mountains called it one.
On top of the hill sat a small wooden chair. And on top of the chair sat a small brownish-pink lady. The small lady had on a maroon dress covered in dust and dirt. She sat cross-legged fitting just right on the chair. And a sour expression was fixed upon her face. He lips we pursed in such a way that the wrinkles that encased her lips seemed to be pursed as well. Continue reading “Chiman and the small woman”
I’m washing my sheets for the third time this week. Tenth time this month. I don’t even want to know how many times it’s been this year. It’s 3:45 A.M. I stare blankly at the clock hanging on the wall above the dryer. Every two times that the second-hand moves you can see the minute hand move a little. The dryer gyrates and whirs in a rhythmic and entrancing fashion. Nevertheless, I will not be able to fall back asleep tonight. Continue reading “Haunt”
“You know I don’t like it when you wear those fingerless gloves, hon…”
“Mom, I’ll be fine. Plus I can’t text if I wear other gloves.”
“What about those texting gloves Aunt Paula got you for Christmas last year?”
It’s the same spiel every time. “Don’t forget to wear a hat! Are you wearing extra socks? You know it’s gonna be cold out today!” My mother exclaims throughout the house as if we had moved to North Dakota yesterday. The same warning of the dangers of the arctic wilderness of suburban North Dakota. But today I was already halfway out the door before she had reminded me to wear boots instead of high top converse. Continue reading “Frostbit”
5…4…3…2…1… Click. I exhale and look at the blank wall before me. My soon to be canvas. Five clicks to go.
I like to frequent the mirror store in town. And by mirror store I actually mean a store that sells mirrors that is ironically named Mirror Store. When I was little and we first moved here, mom would make a stop there once or twice a month. I always begged her to take me. To me, back then , the mirror store was a funhouse. All the different shapes and sizes of mirrors, none of them ever distorted what I looked like, but to me they were still fascinating. Especially when two mirrors faced each other and there were infinite copies of myself stretching on for eternity. My eyes would light up when the farthest me I could see would wave in sync with my hand. However, my favorite part of this experience was when I would find the mirrors with cracks in them. Whether they had been set down too abruptly or something bumped into them, it didn’t matter, the cracks were the most fascinating part of this store. They eventually designated a whole section to cracked or imperfect mirrors and I would find myself sneaking away from my mother in order to wonder through the hall of broken mirrors.
However, I don’t frequent the mirror store for the enjoyment I get of seeing my own reflection anymore. I go here in order to ensure myself I’m still who I am. Seeing myself wandering through the aisles of mirrors reassures me i am still who I was yesterday and the day I was born. And I smile knowing I haven’t changed much from the last time I was here. And I stay away from the cobweb covered back corner of the store where the broken mirrors are because I do not want to be reminded of how broken and different I feel.