Alice

lizbadiz

United States

See that girl kneeling next to the bookshelf in the library? She's whispering the book titles to herself. That's me. Back away slowly, and then run.

Published Work

Fantasy Writing Competition

All May Park

    Pull into the parking space. Stop the car. Take out the keys. Her keychain-no. Don't think about her now. Open the door, and walk over to the parking meter.
    Insert credit card, press the buttons, and wait.
    His eyes glance down-
    All May Park, and All Must Pay.
    -reads the sign, and he smiles at that, just a little.
    The slip prints out. Take it, glance at the tiny letters.
    "All may park," says a voice.
    He turns around. "Excuse me?"
    It's a girl-no, a woman. She flickers between forms, a little girl, a teenager, a woman, and an aged crone. "And all must pay." The flickering of forms stops, and she is an old woman. "What will you pay?"
    Gesture at the machine. "I already paid."
    "What will you pay?" She is very close. He can see the hairs on her upper lip, thin and wispy and grey. "Your firstborn?"
    “Who are you?”
    “Your lover?”
    He takes...

Fantasy Writing Competition

All May Park

    Pull into the parking space. Stop the car. Take out the keys. Her keychain-don’t think about her now. Open the door, and walk over to the parking meter.
    Insert credit card, press the buttons, and wait.
    His eyes glance down-
    All May Park, and All Must Pay.
    -reads the sign, and he smiles at that, just a little.
    The slip prints out. Take it, glance at the tiny letters.
    "All may park," says a voice.
    He turns around. "Excuse me?"
    It's a girl-no, a woman. She flickers between being, a little girl, a teenager, a woman, and an aged crone. "And all must pay." The flickering of forms stops, and she is an old woman. "What will you pay?"
    Gesture at the machine. "I already paid."
    "What will you pay?" She is very close. He can see the hairs on her upper lip, thin and wispy and grey. "Your firstborn?"
    “Who are you?”
    “Your lover?”
    He takes a step...

Cat Lady (part 3)

    Sylvia unlocked the door. Almost immediately, a black cat darted forward. Lightning-quick, she reached out and grabbed Link before he could escape. “Silly cat,” she said, thanking her good reflexes. “Why’re you trying to escape?” He hissed as she closed the door, leaping down from her arms and dashing out of sight.
    She put down her keys and strode into the kitchen, where the big bag of cat food was right where it had been previously. Reaching for the stack of bowls, she lined them up in a neat line and poured a cup of food in all but Richard’s, which received about half a cup.
    The rattle of bowls brought most of the cats into the kitchen. She stepped back as they rushed towards the food, feeling a little overwhelmed. They mewed at each other in a way she’d never seen in cats. Almost, she thought, as if they were talking to each other.
    In her mind, she began...

Cat Lady (part 2)

Sylvia looked at the cat, and caught her breath.
“His eyes…” One bright blue, one amber, Link squinted at her from his resting place. Sylvia noticed how tense he appeared to be, even in his relaxed position.
The old woman’s mouth twitched upwards. “Handsome, isn’t he?”
Sylvia nodded. “Yeah, he’s cute.” She looked at the woman and realized something. “Wait-what did you say your name was?”
“Imogene.” She brushed cat hair off the lavender pantsuit. “Imogene Hanks-Smith. Would you like some tea, then?” With a speed and agility not often seen in octogenarians, she hurdled another cat, this one grey, and sped into the kitchen.
Sylvia followed her, calling “Sure.” She entered the kitchen and leaned against the red-and-yellow tiled counters. Feeling around for some subject of conversation, she landed on the pictures. “You’ve got a lot of pictures in there.” Imogene dropped a tea bag into the kettle and nodded imperceptibly. “You a photographer or something?”
“I have many...

The Cat Lady (Part One)

    It was a cat who answered the doorbell. Long, orange, with white whiskers imitating a mustache over its mouth, it slunk around Sylvia’s legs.
    “Is that the girl, Mikey?”
    Sylvia leaned forward, glancing around. The house, small and squat from the exterior, was a chaos of cat condos, ragged toys, and scratching posts on the inside. “It’s me! Can I come in?”
    An old woman in a lavender pantsuit appeared around the corner. “Aah-Sylvia, yes? Yes!” She pumped Sylvia’s hand up and down. For a woman approaching eighty, she had a terrifyingly strong grip. Reaching back, she adjusted her glasses, and Sylvia caught sight of a pair of watery blue eyes.
    “So...is this the cat, then?” Sylvia knelt down and reached her hand out towards the orange cat. He pawed forward and wrapped himself around her legs.
    “Michael!” The old woman swatted the cat. “Don’t do that!”
    “Oh, it’s fine.” She began to pet the cat. “He’s cute.” He purred. ...

Notice: Peer Review

I'm doing peer reviews this week, so if you want me to review your piece, comment down below and I'll review it. 
No poetry or non-fiction, please! 

Thief

    She clutched at the absence of the mica necklace as they threw her in. Her fingers grasped nothing but air, and she landed hard on the cold ground. The door slammed shut with a clang, and she was lost in the darkness. Were her eyes closed or open? She made an attempt at both but could tell no difference.
    “Who’s there?” A hoarse voice cried out. It had come from her right.
    She began to crawl towards the voice, calling back, “Just a thief!” Her hand touched cold, solid wall. Putting her hands out, she felt a corner of wall and turned herself around.
    “A Thief? Not The Thief? Is this a celebrity prison?” The voice laughed before dying off into a hacking cough. She crawled toward the sound of the voice, an itch of familiarity nagging at her all the while. Somewhere, somehow, she had heard this voice before. Male, hoarse, much deeper than the...

The Violinist

Every day, Paganini’s mother would repeat it. “Nicoló,” she said, handing him his very first violin, “You will be the greatest violinist in the world.”
           “Nicoló!” She screeched when he forgot to practice, “How is it you are to be the greatest violinist in the world with this indulgence!”
           “Nicoló…” she sighed when he came home drunk. The party he'd been at was the first and only one he attended as a guest. “You will be the greatest violinist the world has ever seen. This is disgraceful.” And then she made him practice for five hours straight.
           After that party, Paganini vowed to devote himself to the violin. it became his life, music coming out of his hands, ears, mouth. He put away all other pursuits of happiness or love. All he did was stand in his room, sawing away at his violin. Concertos, sonatas, caprices, he played through it all. And when there was nothing left to play, he...

Rosaline's Story

    Romeo. Egad, what a fool. He comes round my house sighing and begging for my hand, and when I sent a servant out to tell him to go away, what does he do? Come back the next day, of course, and every day afterwards. I couldn’t turn around without him standing there.
    “Mistress Rosaline, you do wrong in denying me this,” he’d whine. “Without a smile from you I shall surely perish.”
“And I would gladly help you,” I would respond before slamming my window shut. Of course, he refused to leave even after that, and so I was forced to sit in the house until he went on his way.
    My mind was set. What I had seen of marriage had set me against the very thought. My parents argued sunrise to sunset. My sisters had both been handed over to the first man who asked. The day that Livia died in labor was the day that I decided ...

Rosaline's Story

Romeo. Egad, what a fool. He comes round my house sighing and begging for my hand, and when I sent a servant out to tell him to go away, what does he do? Come back the next day, of course, and every day afterwards. I couldn’t turn around without him standing there.
“Mistress Rosaline, you do wrong in denying me this,” he’d whine. “Without a smile from you I shall surely perish.”
“And I would gladly help you,” I would respond before slamming my window shut. Of course, he refused to leave even after that, and so I was forced to sit in the house until he went on his way.
My mind was set. What I had seen of marriage had set me against the very thought. My parents argued sunrise to sunset. My sisters had both been handed over to the first man who asked. The day that Livia died in labor was the day that I decided ...

Rosaline's Story

What had I just seen? Did this mean that Romeo had moved on to another? I’d have not chosen Juliet, but my relief at my release from him was too overwhelming to do anything but offer up a prayer of thanks.
    And to me that seemed to be that. I did wonder how it would turn out, the only children of two brawling houses falling in love. I didn’t spare it much thought until the hot afternoon when word came that Tybalt had been killed by Romeo. The fight had gotten out of hand this time, they said. Romeo himself was nowhere to be seen, and the Prince was rumored to have banished him. God’s teeth, I thought. What has he done?
    At Tybalt’s funeral, I made my way over to Juliet. She gripped my hands and we both wept for some time. After a while, I wiped my eyes and braced myself to whisper, “Where...

That Boy

 Almost every day he walks past my house, this boy. He wears dark clothing, but his hair looks like it's making some attempt to be cheerful, the only part of him that is. His face is permanently set in a grim expression.
      He's nearly always alone. The one exception is when I saw him with another boy-this one all gangly and tall-both with unhappy faces, neither one talking to the other.
     I didn't pay any attention to him-he was just there, like the constant ticking of my clock or the feel of the braided rug turning into hardwood floor under my feet-until my mom remarked, “I don't know about that boy. I wonder if he comes from an unhappy home. He's always walking around by himself.”
      And just like that, I couldn't not notice him. I longed to talk to him, ask him where he was going. He was so close-only a glass window and a screen kept me from...

Tiny Love Story

The Haiku Love Society

1
Boy, that smile of yours
Thrills me right down to my bones
Can you feel it too?

2
Blue sky set against
(My heart plays hallelujah)
The cherry blossoms

3
Stars shine from the
Ceiling. Sister, tell to me
All your secrets

4
Bus rattles along
You turn wondering to us
About aliens

5
A dab of paint in
Your hair. Same nineties music
Forever playing

6
Up at dawn, scarcely
Returns at dusk. Who is he?
I watch him go by-

7
Can you smell the salt?
We just got here, but I don’t
Ever want to leave








Library Magic

Presenting: Life within the Library

    I have two homes. One is my house. The other is the library. 
    Somewhere in my head there is a memory of going to the library when I was about six years old. In one of the Raleigh libraries, an enormous cupcake sat in alone in room at the very center. I would walk around the thing silently, clutching my books and wondering if I was allowed to climb on it. I also remember seeing a poster of Roald Dahl's characters and wondering who they were. I would not meet most of them for about another year, beginning with Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But for the next few years, I read my way through many books, especially The Chronicles of Narnia.
    When we moved to Minnesota, the dark, dungeon-like library became a hideaway. I would scan the books, trying to guess which ones my parents would allow me to check out....