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

Just any criticism, please. I can handle hard truth, so please don't sugarcoat anything. Thank you!


July 31, 2017

PROMPT: Other Worlds

    I sat at the end of the bed, inches away from a large, blanket covered foot. It moved slightly, almost taunting me to touch it, but I couldn't. The person attached to it was too fragile.
​    My dad's face was covered in sweat, an outward sign of the pain that none of us could see. My nervous, ten year old self didn't know what to do. His kind words and hugs had cured any sickness that I had gone through, but I wasn't naïve enough to think that would work this time.
    So I read.
​    In a bust of manic spontaneity, I had run up to the attic and looked through box after moth eaten box, half-choking on the dusty air in my excitement. I found what I was looking for, and carried it gingerly in my arms as I bounced down the stairs. It was a large, awkward treasure; light but bulky, all unforgiving sharp corners and hard lines. It crinkled a bit to the touch.
​    It rested in my lap now, sitting there like a grenade. My hand was hovering over it; now that my rush of adrenaline was gone, I was left empty and unsure of what to do. I pulled the pin.
​    I crawled up next to him, timidly poking him in the arm. His eyes opened slightly, sleep still clinging to his lashes. A hard blink, and he was sitting up, visibly trying to fight away the drowsiness that still hovered around him. "Hey, girlie. What's going on?"
​    "I wanted to read you a story, since you aren't feeling good. You used to read me this when I was sick, remember?"
​    He smiled, small wrinkles appearing under his sleep-ridden eyes. "Of course I remember. Did you get this all the way down from the attic for me?"
​    I nodded, getting more confident with every word that came from his mouth. "Yeah. It's kind of dusty, but I think the pop-ups still work."
​    "Well, it would be a shame if they didn't. Let's find out, yeah?"
​    I grinned, and opened the cover. It crackled, like one's spine does after laying down for a long time "In his tiny bedroom, high above the city..."
​    The book was called Nova's Ark, and was about a little robot who went on a space adventure to find his father. The book was filled with colorful spaceships and little cutouts of rockets and strange animals. The book, though battered from years of use, was still filled with life. It called us to the world inside, full of danger and beauty.
​    And we let ourselves be whisked away.


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