A slanted story by Brittany Cole
Most days, Rodney never thinks about the baseball hat hickory tree. When Rodney does remember that tree and that period of his boyhood, during which the hickory thrived and blossomed dozens of baseball caps overnight, he still feels somewhat bewildered by its undeniable yet utterly miraculous existence. It seems so long ago now, that he questions his memory—was it all a dream? Something he has misremembered and imagined over the years?
Continue reading “The Hat-Giving Hickory Tree”
This book review is intended for readers who have already read Carrie Pilby or for people who haven’t read Carrie Pilby but would rather just read my book review about it! Which is all to say that there are spoilers ahead!
Carrie Pilby, by Caren Lissner, is a novel about a 19-year-old young woman living in New York City. Having skipped three grades and graduated Harvard at age eighteen, she is now a lonely genius living by herself, as afforded by her father who works abroad; although she is financially well-off and intellectually gifted, Carrie has no friends and a slew of self-imposed morally rigid rules. In an attempt to improve her social capabilities, her therapist Dr. Petrov gives Carrie a list of five things to do, including go on a date and celebrate New Year’s Eve. Throughout the novel, Carrie acquires a few strange friends from her part-time legal proofreading job, and another few from local spots. Ultimately, Carrie begins to realize her own hypocrisies as life reveals its complexities, moral ambiguities, and hidden pleasures.
Continue reading “Carrie Pilby: A Book Review”
Love Letter to my Cat
To my Juliet.
With a soft paw stroking my neck,
Continue reading “Love Letterz: Poems”
you whisper your arrival,
wide-eyed and attentive to my movements
as I slowly bat my eyes open.
You are a shape so familiar to me,
a fluffy silhouette I see out of the corner of my eye
even when I don’t see it out of the corner of my eye,
a small pointed face with those two triangular ears
that perch atop your head, antennae-like;
the tail that slaps softly side-to-side,
restless unless asleep.
My thoughts meander away, dreamlike distractions,
and as my eyes close with certainty,
you brush my cheek with your paw and
sniff my face closely with your twitching nose,
whiskers tickling my nostrils.
“Things don’t just disappear; they can always be found if you know where to look,” Leslietta Bernadard had said, rather fatefully, to her boss on Monday, as he was searching the office for his car keys at the end of the workday. Perhaps the universe overheard her and fancied itself a prankster, or perhaps her coworker overheard and fancied himself a cynic, because either way, Leslietta Bernadard walked into Donald Troy Insurance on Tuesday and found herself without a chair.
Continue reading “The Missing Chair”
As cheery, holiday bells ring in the background, I welcome you into our story for today, dear reader! Happy winter solstice and the merriest of holidays to you, and I hope this sweet little tale will provide you with delight.
It was one holiday season not too long ago, when snow was gently tumbling in large, fluffy flakes upon the mountains that loomed above Spinesville, a winter flutter bestowed upon the densely forested pine trees which grew like fur from the rolling mountains—and upon one of those mountains, in his cabin, whose chimney steadily smoked, the smoke mingling with the snowfall, Ned Theodore Ed was rummaging around in his basement as the fireplace upstairs smoldered. The early evening sky was saturating into a deeper and deeper shade of blue, and N.T.’s dinner baked in the oven while he was moving armloads of cardboard boxes around.
Continue reading “N. T. Ed the Snowkid”
At the beginning of the summer, when I started writing the first part of what turned out to be an eleven-part series, I didn’t intend for it to be more than a single flash fiction piece. Inspired by Ray Bradbury and the vintage science fiction artwork from the 60’s time period, I had originally sat down to revisit an old story idea I had conceived during middle school. I remember on my parents’ computer, I had named the original Word document “Dum Hum-Drum,” and I recalled it featured an elderly couple sitting at their kitchen table, coping with the boredom of retirement after having filled their lives with productivity and work-work-work. How would they possibly be able to grapple with “free time”? Continue reading “I Fuel the Great Blog”
Return to Sender by BCole
I don’t check my mail very often. In fact, the only reason I had even checked my mail that early spring day was because I was expecting a letter from the bank with my new debit card. I had lost mine a few weeks ago at a bar in Portland, along with the bracelet I was wearing and the chapstick I had in those pesky shallow romper pockets. The debit card and chapstick I could replace, inconvenient as it was, but the bracelet I was more upset about. It was a beaded one from my days in Athens; my old friend bought it for me at a flea market, from one of those vendors that doesn’t sell vintage materials but cheap accessories like flashy purses and plastic rings. She hadn’t spent more than seven dollars on it, and I watched her buy it and hand it to me, but it had sort of worn a comfortable patch of my wrist for a couple years and came to feel like a part of me.
Continue reading “Return to Sender”