United States


Over the past year, I defeated a fear of other people, learned the value of clarity and brevity, fought writer's block, and developed pride in my words.

Now I am a writer with a love for onomatopoeias and an affinity for semicolons.

Message to Readers

I wrote this for a friend.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated!


May 10, 2019


    He stared at the sun as it rose. The light was becoming unbearable, the brilliance spreading and searing floating spots into his vision. He welcomed the burning sensation that covered his eyes, and closed them only when the pain threatened to give him a permanent headache. Reaching a hand out in front of him, his fingers were met with a smooth, hard surface. He sighed and opened his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass wall. Despite the glowing sensation he felt from the sun, the heat was interrupted by the cold barrier separating him from anything but the neutral safety that defined his world. Another quiet sigh, and he lifted his head to finish watching the colors shift across the sky. He wasn’t surprised, nor disappointed. Just tired, but he didn’t exactly know why.
    He lived in a glass house. It was familiar, it was predictable, and it was built high above the rest of the world. Nobody would be able to see it, even if they knew where to look. And he was okay with it. He found comfort in the monotony that ruled his life because he didn’t know anything different. Rise, eat, clean, sleep, repeat. He spent the rest of his time learning, counting clouds and reading about the world to which he did not belong. Each letter was mechanical—it served a function, a purpose. Getting attached to the story and people would bring to mind all that which he did not have, and it was simply not worth the trouble it would bring. The house gave him what he needed, and he respected that by never asking for more. That’s how he lived his life: with enough.
    Then she showed up, and his world shattered.
    He was sitting on his sofa eating his daily bagel when the house shook with a sharp clang! He looked through the wall to his kitchen, and there she was, scrutinizing the contents of his refrigerator. A girl made of glass. He could see right through her. She looked at him, and a faint orange tint in her chest slowly started spreading throughout the rest of her. A smile in her eyes, and she returned to her inspection. Her voice rang like a bell.
    “Don’t you have anything good to eat in this place?”
    He dropped his breakfast and grabbed a nearby broom, shakily wielding it as a sword. He took slow, even steps as he approached her, as if confronting a wild animal.
    “How did you get in here?”
    The orange tint got a bit brighter. It reminded him of that morning’s sunrise. She looked around for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”
    “You’re not really sure.”
    “Nope! But what does that matter now, anyways?” She walked up to him and tapped him on the nose. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He took several steps back. She matched him with each one. “What do you even do up here?” “Is there anything fun?” “Are you anything fun?”
    He stared into her accusing eyes for a long minute, a bit taken aback by the sudden confrontation. After trying and failing to think of a counter, he looked at the floor. “I don’t know.” He expected her to be disappointed, fly into another accusatory rampage, or maybe just simply disappear -- vanish in the same method that she arrived.
    Instead, she laughed. “Well, that’s changing.”
    He seemed a bit offended by her amusement. “What’s changing?”
    Her expression softened. She looked him up and down, then stared through his eyes to the contents of his being with the same ease that she had looking into his fridge.
She grinned. “You’re gonna know.”
    And just like that, she was a permanent fixture.
    He woke up the next morning to the smell of scrambled eggs. After rubbing the stubborn sleep from his eyes, they focused enough to see her sitting cross-legged on his kitchen table. Lightly tinted purple, she was happily holding a steaming plate. She noticed he was looking at her and enthusiastically waved at him. He tentatively waved back. She’s still here, he thought. Tugging a shirt over his head, he walked out to his front room, stifling a yawn as he flopped down onto his couch. A bagel sprang from the toaster. Still chewing, she made an incomprehensible series of noises and gestured to it.
    He glanced at it, then fell back and pressed a pillow into his face. His voice was muffled as he said, “I’ll get it later.” A thought crossed his mind, and he removed the pillow. “How did you get eggs?” He sat back up to look at her.
    She finished chewing. “I don’t care much for bagels.”
    He stared at her for a moment with a incredulous look in his eyes. Then he started nodding slowly. “Yeah, right. Okay.”
    He pressed the pillow back into his face.
    Her voice was smiling. “What are we gonna do today?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You seem not to know a whole lot of things.” Her words had no malintention, but they stung in a way that he didn’t quite understand. He frowned into the pillow. Before he had the chance to respond, though, she spoke again. “It’s okay. I don’t know a lot of things either.”
    He snuck another peek at her, and noticed that her color has shifted from purple to the orange that he had experienced the day before. I wonder….. , he thought. The only piece of paper nearby was a half-crumpled napkin, and he strained to grab it and a pen from the coffee table. She was staring off into the middle distance with a slight smile on her lips, the orange fading a bit. He thought for a moment, then scribbled two words on the napkin.
    Orange -- teasing?
    She snapped out of her trance and noticed him staring at her. She grinned and laid down flat on the table, head falling over the edge to look at him upside-down. The orange was vibrant.
    “Geez, I know I’m gorgeous, but you don’t have to stare.”
    He paused, then shook his head.
    Orange -- teasing


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