Flash Fiction - Blog Posts

Eyebrows thin as wire and lips black and dotted with white latex highlights; Lottie was unmistakable.

She kept her hair short to her ears and curled like cat tails, determined to spend one of her nine lives dying fast and young. Fur cheap and puffed up over her head, she strutted down fourth avenue like fire dripped from her heels. Her eyes were naturally half shut and her neck was as thick as a wrist; she had a way of easing people into spilling all their darkest secrets to her. I was not among them. As a friend of Lottie, she switched off her siren like personality for me, to spare me I think. Maybe she felt comfortable enough to drop the act, or like I was too lowly for her to bother dawning a mask for. Either way she got me into the best dinner spots and didn’t let me spend a dime on anything. I had to appreciate her for that.

-a Friend of Lottie’s

The Other Side of Nostalgia

Emoji Summary: 💔☠️🔪🏫🍸🎭🚨

Better Summary: At a class reunion set in a hauntingly nostalgic Victorian schoolhouse, old memories and long-lost connections collide with a nightmarish turn of events. As familiar faces from the Class of 2015 reconnect, including an old flame and a loyal friend, the festive atmosphere quickly gives way to terror. When a staged party decoration turns into a gruesome reality, the night devolves into chaos and panic. The narrator, grappling with feelings of loneliness and regret, reflects on the contrast between the life they chose and the hauntingly vivid memories of what could have been. "The Other Side of Nostalgia" delves into the darker sides of nostalgia and the unsettling realization that even joyful reunions can become a harrowing journey into the past.

*TW: GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE*

Preview:

Lauren gave me a sympathetic look. "Well, his loss! From what I understand, there's a lot more in the bowl than just punch," she said, winking at me as she unlinked her arm from Will's. "Speaking of which, if you'll excuse me, I'm in need of some refreshments," she added, then withdrew from us.

The Other Side of Nostalgia has been triple edited and published to my Wattpad! Please comment and let me know what you like and what you hate about it! This is my first short horror story and I have dozens more ideas ready for my next victim, I mean, reader. 😅

The Moon Singing on Homely Nights

The moon sings softly on the nights Esther climbs in through her brother’s window. These nights turn sparser as Amador stays in his new apartment across the country. During these nights, her heart beats in a lulled pace while she sits on his empty bed. 

There’s a soft click as she unlatches the window and when she crawls in, she makes sure to land on her toes. She finds more than just her older brother. She doesn’t know what she’ll see or what she hopes to see. When she’d last seen him, he’d slammed the door, tears streaking down his face and voice hoarse from screaming. She still doesn’t have the full pieces from the fight that led to her father’s roaring voice startling their home into silence and the unusual pitch of Amador’s voice as he walked out the door. 

She opens his bedroom door to see if he is in the living room or spending his time in a library. She hopes he’s found a library he likes here despite all that has transpired. 

Amador’s head is lolled on the couch, his mouth parted and dead to the world. His body is slightly tilted with one arm around his childhood friend, Maya’s sleeping form who was hugging her brother’s waist. The ugly green blanket Esther had gifted him as a joke is bunch around their feet as if kicked. There’s Snakes n Ladders, playing cards, and Candyland strewn across the table. 

Maya had always filled Amador’s head with ideas—little fantasies that didn’t include Esther most likely that he could escape into. Frowning, she steps forward, fully planning to yank the woman out but the floor creaks loudly under her feet. They both jolt open, Amador’s shaking his head and Maya drags her hands across her face to remove her hair from her mouth, scrunching her face. 

When Amador turns around to face the source of the sound, he finds her face and gives a dopey smile. ‘Hey, you’re home. When d’you come here?’ 

This is the first time she heard him call this place home, and a little piece of Esther’s heart cracks as if he’s renouncing the family home. Something vicious crawls onto Esther’s tongue as she bites out, ‘Thought you’d know that you’ve not succeeded in getting rid of me yet.’ 

Milas flinches as hurt flashes across his face, and in an instant, Maya grips his arm. Esther can never guess how Maya knows that while still keeping her piercing gaze fixed on her.

‘I don’t want to get rid of you,’ Amador says in confusion before letting out a shaky laugh, ‘no matter how annoying you are, you little rugrat.’ 

Esther should ideally know that. She doesn’t have the full pieces of the fight he had with mom and dad, or the unfamiliar way he’s glancing at Esther, still wary but now distant. Even in the moonlight, she can see the color back on his face, the surety of his movements as he tidies up the table and the blanket to give Esther a place to sit. 

When Maya flicks on the floor lamp in the corner, his eyes crinkle at Esther and he pats the seat next to him. His cheeks are no longer sallow, his face no longer as pale as Esther, and he no longer sways in a way that makes Esther worry that a faint breeze could have knocked the husk of a rock her brother used to be. 

Her brother had been wasting away for months, and Esther had not noticed. 

From the corner of her eyes, Maya walks in with two plates balanced in a tray and slides the biggest portion of what looks like heated leftover lasagna to her brother, glancing warily, as she reminds him, ‘You’d promised you’d eat tomorrow nine hours ago. It’s 12:03. Eat up.’ 

She offers another to Esther as she leisurely nibbles on peanuts to keep her brother company. Her brother makes a little face at the size, and Maya produces a bar of chocolate in her fingers seemingly out of thin air as a bribe and chews obnoxiously loud until he drops it. He slouches to rest his head on Maya’s shoulders in acquiesce like Esther had seen him do a thousand times since she could remember, and the woefully domestic scene sours her heart. 

Her plate remains untouched and she nods her head in gratitude for the food and the company. She makes excuses poorly at best and outlandish at worst, and walks out the door. 

One day, she would know the words of the fight and Amador’s dreams if he’d let her, but for now, she takes the earliest train home. As she looks through the window, she sees her mother’s eyes with dark circles underneath. They both have her eyes, but this new Amador’s eyes gleam bright enough to quiet the moon. 

Dreamlike Laughter

Reality kisses his sleepless nights, until he dreams of her again.

“Really wish you weren’t here anymore, love,” Milas tells Zimi, sitting by the window of his apartment. When he squints outside, the moonlight gleams too sharply off of the blades of grass. 

He needs to tell her tonight. Right here in the dreamscape she made for them to meet across the mountains and rivers between. 

She barks out a short laugh, but her shoulders hunch. She begins, “I don’t know who I can trust enough to practice this type of spell. I truly didn’t know I was bothering, hones—”

‘I miss sneaking mom’s pastries to you and spending all night awake because you got a new board game and you’re a horrible, horrible cheater and.’ Words. Words tangle in his mouth, so he blurts out, ‘And, I miss all the ands.’

Quick as a wildfire, she grasps his face with both her hands. He never feels them, but he can see her dark eyes looking into his sandy ones. In these moments, he thinks her a phantom. That the sentinels who swore their loyalty to her killed her before she could cross the city’s borders. With their history, the years stretching like scars on knobby knees and dolls, he could create something real enough to fool him. 

Something creaks, like twigs snapping under a wheel. It takes Milas back to the evening before, his hand digging into Elijah’s wheelchair, light stubble not smooth skin, and soft hair brown not black under his hands. When he pulls away abruptly, she puts her hands up in surrender. 

The view outside the window fades into fog, but so do the corners of his room. He needs to tell her. 

‘I’m sorry, Kazimiera’ he chokes out. ‘I don’t deserve you.’ He slips onto his knees. Promises broken in a heartbeat, heartbeats jackrabbitting with Elijah’s laugh and the way he calls him endearments in something called French, and Milas was such a fool for the litany of mon chou, trésor, amour. 

After a pause she says, ‘You kissed someone? ’

He shakes his head vehemently, ‘I didn’t, but I wanted to. I almost did.’

The world stills, or maybe it’s too loud in his head: exile, treason, Elijah. The fog obscures his vision until he can’t see anything past the table. 

She grins up at him as if he’s the stupidest person on the planet, and asks, ‘And selfishly hoard your heart all to myself? I couldn’t fit it in the biggest rooms of the palace.’

All air rushes out of his lungs in a sharp exhale, dizzy with relief until he is gasping in short breaths—her forgiveness cooling the splinters under his skin. 

When she leans forward to speak in his ear to tell her about him, he is back at the couch with a flickering lamp’s terrible wiring. 

He is still talking about him when the fogs submerges him fully.

When he opens his eyes, Elijah’s laughter down the hallway is made of dreams. 

"Let me get this straight. You thought that I was just... Coincidentally avoiding your murder attempts?"

"Um. Yeah. Does this mean I'm a bad friend?"

"No! I mean, no. For a demon you're remarkably concerned about properly fulfilling the deal."

"W-well, if I don't fulfill the deal, I can't take your soul."

"..."

"..."

"Why'd you stop?"

"Huh?"

"Why'd you stop trying to kill me? One of them was bound to pan out. The sigil one was really clever."

"I just... I want to maximize the souls I damn before I go back."

"Mhm. Is that it?"

"I... I don't know, okay? I just feel weird killing you. It doesn't help that I need to fulfill the contract."

"If it helps, even with the murder attempts, you're the best friend I've ever had."

So, I did a thing. *shrugs* Call it a fever dream or whatever BUT ITS TIME FOR VENGEANCE AGAINST ALL THE FANARTISTS WHO MAKE ME FEEL THINGS.

I have returned the favor. I hope y’all cry, or I didn’t do it right. 😈🙌🏼🔥

@funneylizzie I’m starting with you.

PS it’s written low key in stage directions because I may or may not comic it. Maybe. 😅😎👉🏼👉🏼

Based off of ROTTMNT Future Apocalypse: Enjoy

A Little Ninja’s Mission

Casey, the residential and most well loved 5 year old of the entire resistance base, wakes up in the middle of the night, hearing noises down the hall.

Being the ever brave little ninja that he is, Casey sneaks into the next room with his little hockey stick, trying to see who or what exactly has broken into their little underground sanctuary.

He’s surprised to see Adult Leo running through a series of exercises, progressively getting faster and more intense as the night continues.

Casey observes silently from the shadows, watching as Leo engages in battle over an invisible enemy, over and over again. With each swing of his katanas, the pure unfiltered rage burns in Leo’s eyes, causing little Casey to step back in fear at seeing his beloved sensei so unhinged.

When suddenly Leo stops and stands shakily on his feet, sweat dripping down his forehead, staring at something unseen before him. His katanas lower and the sound of haggard breathing can be heard.

Casey looks up in concern as his sensei suddenly drops to his knees, and the sound of wrenched weeping can be heard. Adult Leo drops his katanas with a clatter and curls into himself, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, as tears drip mournfully down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry…I’m s-so sorry…too late…always too late.”

Unsure on what to do when seeing his generally composed and confident sensei so shattered, Casey retreats back to his room, and stays awake for the rest of the night, unable to get the haunted look of Leo’s broken face out of his little head.

The next couple days, Casey doesn’t necessarily avoid Leo, but he does keep a watchful distance. He doesn’t talk with Leo when Leo tries to engage him with his teasing, but rather he pulls away to hide behind his mother, still observing Leo with a troubled little pout.

Leo notices, he has to. The safety of his little band of friends and family depends on his ability to quickly read and react to situations. However in his forever mental turmoil, Leo sadly believes that he deserves Casey’s shunning. He deserves all the pain. It’s his punishment for his failures, so he gives Casey his space and retreats further into himself.

His mother, observing Casey’s abnormal behavior, pulls him to the side one day and bluntly asks, lightly rapping Casey’s forehead.

“Ok, Squirt. What’s cooking in that noggin of yours? You've been avoiding Master Leonardo all week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Cassandra widens her eyes dramatically, and wiggles her fingers spookily.

“These momma eyes see everything.”

Casey looks at the floor, and remains silent. The slightly insolent behavior causes Cassandra to frown, her brows creasing in concern.

“Casey Jones. Look at me.” Cassandra says sternly. Casey only slightly shakes his head, a mirroring frown scrunching his tiny face.

Commander April O’Neil, who has been observing this interaction silently from the corner, pulls away from the wall and walks toward the Casey’s.

She smiles at Cassandra as if to say “I got this” and kneels down in front of tiny Casey, reaching out to ruffle his mess of black hair.

“Come on, Kiddo. Spill the beans.”

Little Casey’s hands tighten into fists, his shoulders start to tremble, but still he won’t look at April or his mom in the eyes. April rests a hand on his shoulder and prods gently.

“Casey…what’s wrong?”

A small sniffing can be heard, and Casey suddenly looks up, pleading in his eyes as he stares at Commander O’Neil and his Mom.

“Why is Master Leonardo so sad, Momma? Why does he cry by himself at night?”

April pulls her hand away in surprise and looks at Cassandra in shock. They both stare at each other for a moment, registering what that means, before Cassandra’s eyes lower and quietly says,

“So he’s doing it again...”

April pulls back slightly to massage the bridge of her nose with frustrated growl.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s been so recluse these past couple of weeks. He’s acting almost like D-“ April stops herself and mournfully clears her throat before continuing, “His insomnia hasn’t been this bad since…since the accidents.”

She says with a small sigh. Little Casey looks up tearfully between April and his mom, confused at their reactions and reaches out to plaintively pull on Cassandra’s hand.

“Why is Master Leo sad, Momma? What’s wrong?!”

Cassandra looks at April, who smiles solemnly, and let’s out a sigh herself. She lowers herself to the ground and opens her arms to Casey. He immediately runs into them and wraps his arms around her middle, sniffing. Cassandra cradles Casey, pulling him close to her chest.

She’s silent for a minute, rocking her baby slowly before taking a deep breath and saying softly,

“Hey Squirt, you remember Slash? Your one favorite stuffed tortoise that you'd carry around with you everywhere? “

Little Casey stills at the name and shakes his head yes. Cassandra pulls back a little bit and lowers her forehead to his, making eye contact with him.

“Do you remember how sad you were when we lost him during our last evacuation? You cried for a lot of nights after that because you missed him. You loved him so much that it didn’t feel like home without him right?”

Cassandra doesn’t wait for Casey’s response before pulling back so she could rest her head on top of his, stroking his hair absently as she looks somewhere far into the distance.

“Master Leonardo is very sad right now because he lost some people very close to him. They were kinda like his Slashs.”

Casey is quiet for a minute, his little hands tightly grasping the cloak at his mother’s back. He turns upward slightly while listening to his mom before whispering quietly,

“His brothers?”

Cassandra’s hand freezes right above Casey’s head and she glances at Commander O’Neil who sits next to them, with the sheen of tears in the corner of her eyes.

Cassandra lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping, and she tightens her hold on Casey ever so slightly.

“Yes, some of Master Leonardo’s brothers. They’re not coming back, and he cries because he misses them. He misses them a lot, and he doesn’t feel at home without them.”

Little Casey chews on his mom’s words for a second before suddenly pulling back to look excitedly at his Mom.

“It’s sad that Master Leo doesn’t have all his brothers anymore, but … he has us doesn’t he? He doesn’t have to be without a home; w-we could be his family!

Tears well up in Cassandra’s eyes at the innocence in her son’s eyes, and she glances over at April who leaned forward to rustle Casey’s hair again. She grins, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

“You’re right, Kiddo. He does have us.”

Cassandra sniffs, refusing to show such uncontrolled emotion in front of her child, and leans forward to smirk at Casey.

“What do you say, Squirt? Do you think you could be our little ninja and help remind Master Leonardo that he isn’t alone?”

Casey looks up at his mom with an emphatic determined nod.

“You can count on me.”

Casey, determined to fulfill his ninja mission, prepares all the rest of the day. When night time finally approaches, Casey is shaking with anticipation. He was going to remind Master Leo tonight if it was the last thing he did!

He arms himself with the biggest blanket and the biggest stuffed animal that he had claimed after searching through the random boxes they had stored at the base.

The blanket was once a dark, rich, violet color but had now turned grey with all the dust and grime from constant travel. However if one looked hard enough, they could see the slight greyed-white markings of what looked to be scientifically formulas spread all across the blanket.

The stuffed animal was a faded pink teddy bear that had obviously seen better days. One of its button eyes was missing, and it had a shredded right arm that was barely holding on. There was a little tag on it’s rump with the letters R H smeared in red marker. It was almost as big as Casey was, and he had to struggle to pull it and the enormous blanket into the next room where he sat in wait for Master Leonardo to come.

It didn’t take long. Within the next couple minutes, Leo walks into the room, his steps heavy and slow. He leans against the wall, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths. He has his eyes closed in a grimace, slowly hitting his head against the wall before schooling his face and reaching up to pull his two Katanas out of their sheathes on his back.

“Master Leo?”

Leo freezes at the sound of Casey’s little voice and whirls around brandishing his two Katanas in surprise.

“C-Casey? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?! Is everything alright?!”

Leo’s words slur together as his eyes frantically search for danger in the room, his katanas weaving to and fro with each jilted movement.

Casey flinches back at having Leo’s frenzied actions pointed at him. His feet stumble back, as he trips over the massive blanket that was pooled on the floor. He lands on his bum and looks up at Leo with wide eyes.

Leo pulls back sharply with an ache in his heart as he sees the slight fear in Casey’s eyes. He lets out a disheartened sigh and sheathes his katanas. Leo drops to one knee with a little side smile, and holds out his one normal hand in what he hopes is a nonthreatening manner.

“Hey there, Bud. What are you doing up so late? Did you have a bad dream?”

Casey just stares at Leo for a minute before remembering his purpose and quickly shakes his head. He scrambles to his feet and folds his arms with a stubborn frown, trying to look serious. Which honestly backfired because it makes his bottom lip stick out making him look unfairly adorable.

“Nuh uh. I’m here on a mission.”

Leo blinks in surprise, titling his head with a confused smile on his face.

“A…mission?”

Casey nods emphatically, and reaches down to pull the giant teddy bear and blanket into his arms. He staggers forward, straining with all his little might to try and reach Leo.

Leo watches with an amused smirk at Casey’s attempt to carry the heavy load for only a moment before deciding to take pity on him. He reaches forward to pluck the blanket and teddy bear from Casey’s arms and sits down with his back against the wall to place them in his lap.

Casey isn’t too far behind them. He immediately crawls onto Leo’s lap and flops heavily against him as only small dramatic children can do. The toll of staying up and dragging his weight causing Casey to get sleepy.

Leo chuckles and wraps one arm around Casey, lifting the stuffed animal to shake it him.

“And what little mission is that, Bud? To bring me this-“

Leo freezes as he gets a real good look at the stuffed animal, his eyes widening as he glances at the shredded arm, the one button eye and the all too familiar scrawl on tag. He recognizes this bear. Leo’s breath hitches. This…this was Raph’s teddy bear!

Leo stares at the teddy bear, not sure if he was seeing things clearly and then slowly back at Casey who watches him with concerned eyes.

“Casey…where did you get this?” Leo asks with a strangled voice.

Casey’s brows pull in worry at Leo’s pained voice. He starts hiccuping and leans forward to wrap his arms tightly around Leo’s middle.

“I don’t want you to be sad, Master Leo. I thought a stuffed animal would help you feel less lonely. I know my stuffies do. ”

Leo looks down at Casey in shock, trying to figure out if Casey knows what this teddy bear means. Who’s teddy bear this is, but his focus was elsewhere as Casey’s little body trembles slightly as he hugs Leo, tears slowly running down his face and onto Leo’s war dirty plastaron.

“You’re not alone, Master Leo. You never have been.”

Leo bites his lip at the words, and feels the all too familiar pain within his heart roar to life. He closes his eyes against the ache in his eyes that always precedes the tears.

Leo reaches down to pull the giant blanket around himself and little Casey’s shoulders to help ground himself. He stops only for a moment, glancing at the dusty violet fabric in his hand when he recognizes the markings on the blanket.

Donnie.

Leo has to bite back a broken laugh. Even with his brothers gone, they once again left physical reminders of their presence, reminding him that they were never really gone.

He curls protectively around Casey, hugging him closely to himself as he haggardly whispers the words,

“You’re right, Bud. Anatawa hitorijanai. I-…I’m not alone. We’re never alone. ”

They stay that way together for the rest of the night. Casey slowly relaxing as he falls asleep in the safety of the arms of his sensei, his lazy measured little breaths matching Leo’s slow drumming heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, Leo sleeps soundly through the whole night. His little guardian angel, his twin’s blanket and his big brother’s teddy bear, all tightly, tenderly wrapped up by his side.

Hope, as fragile and yet steadfast as she was, had been reignited.

Looks like the little ninja fulfilled his mission after all.

Very thankful to @unstamatic for featuring my photo “Downtown Door” 💖

Oct. 2018

Flash fiction by Beatriz Worthy Beatriz is an undergraduate student at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, where she lives with her soul mate, a border collie named Chuck.

Photography by Jonathan May Jonathan May grew up in Zimbabwe as the child of missionaries. He lives and teaches in Memphis, TN, where he served as the inaugural Artist in Residence at the Memphis Brooks Museum of Art. In addition, May has taught writing as therapy for people with eating disorders. Read more at https://memphisjon.wordpress.com/ 

There's Still Lettuce - A Short Story

Short fiction is something I don't play around with as often as the novel writing, but there are times when a phrase or story idea gets its hooks into me and demands expansion and exploration. The above flash fiction is one of those stories.

Been working to figure out how to format this kind of story for posting online, without it being a PDF download or anything. Pretty pleased with this final layout, as it breaks up the text a little while hearkening back to newspapers and print media publications. (And it translates well to reading on mobile, which is great!)

Hope you enjoy There's Still Lettuce, just a little something from beyond the universe of COLOR OF A MIRROR that shares a similar view of the shadows that lurk in the future.

A tiny piece up on Moonsick Magazine

in a bite of lamplight, he stands up to say I love you. he says it slow so he can feel it in his mouth, rolling like a marble with no glass to put its body in. no one is there to take it, but it is still true. It is snow falling, looking for concrete. 

              - c. essington

Writing game: How about a phone number scribbled on a bit of paper, two dollars in change, a pen, a receipt for a restaurant, and a pack of cigarettes?

Sure thing, thank you. 

Inventory:1. A phone number scribbled on bit of paper2. Two dollars in change3. A pen4. A receipt for a restaurant 5. A pack of cigarettes

There is a piece of paper in my pocket, folded twice over, like pigeon’s wings, or my tongue in a fight, or how I sleep when I’m sad. It’s white with black print and it says that I should be full by now. There’s also receipt from my dinner. After eating through six truffle mushrooms curled in oil and laid over pasta, I left with some coins in my pocket and not much else, my mouth ringing with salt and linguini and fungi I can’t afford but swallowed anyway. 

I’m not full yet despite the seven digits that sit like a brand by my left thigh, so I take out ink and cross them into black hashes. There is being bloated and there is being starving and I’d rather fit in one of those places than be left alone in the middle, a stranger’s affection listed to me in numbers. 

I light something and watch it dwindle, a white column of paper singing in orange and going grey. I think that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing too. It’s not great, I’m still hungry and aching and made of willow leaves and molars, but I can stand upright in my name and store my grievances on the dark sides of my quarters and breathe like I love it, but don’t really have a reason for it all the time.  

           - C. Essington

Thank you for this and your support,

If you want to play this writing game, send me a theoretical inventory of five items in an ask and I’ll try to write a person for it. 

are you for real about the writing game? If so I'm carrying; A small browning pocket knife A compass + whistle Allergy medicine Water bottle Extra battery charge for my phone

I am for real. Thank you for your contribution and interest. 

Inventory: 1. A small browning pocket knife 2. A compass + whistle 3. Allergy medicine 4. Water bottle 5.Extra battery charge for my phone

Cleo had been painting when the first bout of thunder came up her shoulders. The tip of her brush, which was dappled with a carefully mixed hazle, spasmed across the canvas with her seizure. The cornea of her subject’s eye blurred out of his head and spilled down his coat. When the clouds stopped ricocheting through her, Cleo had gotten up and walked away from what she’d done to the acrylics. 

She stayed far away from precision after she learned that the storms had taken up a residence in her brain. Moving towards broader strokes of being, Cleo made abstractions where her seizures looked just the same as something she might have done on purpose. She carried abstractions with her and started walking through the birch woods as another form of smearing. She brought a compass but left intentions of reading it at home where the cat slept. She brought a knife to convince herself that, in a case of emergency, and even mid-seizure, the blade could convulse a mess into any sort of aggressor.

Cleo would walk and fall and shake to stillness on the forest floor, shivering like a dropped cornea. She’d call her mother after, but only after. She would get up once she was alone and unmarried from the movement, drink water, and make call on her cell phone, which she kept well-charged for accident. Sometimes, as the oceans of it leaked out of her and left their salts behind on her nerves, she’d take a dose of allergy medicine to keep the cottonwood from bothering her. 

               - C. Essington

Thank you for the opportunity, I hope it’s alright. 

If you want to play this writing game, send me a theoretical inventory of five items and I’ll try to write a person for it.