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The sleepover is an essential part of being an kid. When I was a teenager, I spent the night with friends (either my house, or theirs) nearly every weekend. When I was a young teenager, most of my Saturday nights were spent with my best friend at her dad’s apartment. She did not have a…
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I don’t really want to admit how many times I got myself into a love triangle. I think about the reasons why often. I wanted to see the best in people, even when they couldn’t or wouldn’t give me what I needed. I believed in redemption, even when there was unwillingness to change. But of…
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This is a poem I wrote when I was 18, as part of a study on sonnets. I included this piece in my final writing portfolio as a graduating senior. The words of this piece sometimes haunt me. Half my life ago, I managed to capture an image of despair that continues to be how…
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(Find the chapters and a description of the project here.) There are several ways I could have retold this story. I could have stayed true to the original narrative, and written about two people continuing their lives after facing condemnation and shame. I could have written both Jesse and Rebecca as unapologetic and shameless. I…
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(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.) It is Sunday. It is 9:32. She is visibly shaking from adrenaline. She tells herself not to let her lizard brain take over. She tells herself that she can survive the next hour. Brett takes her hand as she enters the church. Finn sticks close…
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(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.) It is Friday. She sits at her computer, staring at the screen. There is an email from Laura Miller in her inbox. Laura teaches children’s Sunday school. Brett and Finn haven’t attended regularly in two years, but Laura has kept up with them regardless. The…
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(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.) It is 5:59. She is standing outside the door of the conference room at the church, leaning against the wall. Inside, she can hear low talking. She counts four distinct voices among the chatter. She wonders how many of them there are. Her internal monologue…
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(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.) It is Thursday. She stares at the sonogram the ultrasound tech printed for her. The baby looks like a bean. She smiles at it, then takes a magnet from the fridge, uses it to stick the sonogram to the surface. It is 4:12. The boys…
The Quick and the Dead
Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.
The Quick and the Dead 