Break From Reality. Daily.
Everyone always said Grandma was a serial killer.
So naturally, I’m standing at her door with the rain stabbing me in the back like tiny knives. The brandy from the reception burns through my blood, keeping me warm in this raging storm. I take out the key to my late Grandma Lettie’s house and stumble in.
Smells assault me. Not the fresh-baked cookie scent of old-lady houses—but of Pine-Sol, bleach, and something new yet familiar. Acrid. Metallic.
This story is by Jewel Eliese and was part of our 2022 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Olives. Strangely enough, that’s what I think of as I sit on the hotel bathroom floor by myself. Well, not entirely alone. Penny, my pug, looks up at me with her big,…
This story is by Jewel Eliese and was part of our 2020 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Brush. Waiting isn’t a problem for me — normally. I’ve waited for the sun to rise, watching it creep behind the same tree for the past 16 years. I’ve waited for days to…
This story is by Jewel Eliese and was part of our 2018 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. It’s supposed to be my favorite, this meal. The creamy sauce lays over noodles that were delicately made by professional hands. It’s technically perfect but, honestly, I think dad made it…
This story is by Jewel Eliese and was part of our 2018 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. A phantom string pulled me home, a warning that something was wrong. I’d washed my hands and checked the locks before we left the house for our night out, three times….
This story is by Jewel Eliese and was part of our 2017 Winter Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. I sit on the floor and hug my knees, heart aching. I’m going to die here. Soon. For days there has been only darkness and the long wait for death. In…
This story is by Jewel Eliese and was part of our 2017 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the Spring Writing Contest stories here. My husband sits on the floor playing the stupid game I bought for his 30th birthday. I smack him over the head. He doesn’t move. I’m leaving.” I say. “Yeah.”…
