Published Short Story!

It’s official now! I now have my short story “The Piece of Mail” published in The Daily Flash Anthology.

It is a run-on sentence story about a girl who doesn’t want to check the mailbox for her older sister.

The Piece of Mail

During the summer of 1970, checking the mailbox was the most difficult task I was told to do, because Sara said she couldn’t do it; she said waiting was enough and that if she saw a letter – a letter telling her that he had died – she would die a little inside, too, or rather, a half, but that was her trying to seem strong, because I knew she would crumble, but not like how old, crusty bread crumbles, but like how the ruins of Grecian architecture crumbled, over time, elegantly, so I didn’t want to check the mailbox every day; but also, I didn’t want to put on shoes because it was summer and my flip flops broke (the straps snapped because the rubber was so cheap) and I had to go out running on the hot black asphalt, let it singe the soles of my feet, and it hurt and stung as if it was a lead-up-to-the-big-pain pain, and Mom would yell at me from the window, saying it wasn’t proper for me to go out running like that with only shorts and a skimpy tank and no shoes, and then the whole situation made me angry because Sara could check the damn mailbox herself, because she didn’t understand that Michael meant as much to me as he did to her, so when I finally saw that letter from the army, I died inside, completely, because I was the one who had to check the mailbox every day, and I crumbled, but horribly, like a girl who had just lost her brother.


One Sentence Stories

Very short short-shorts, I discovered, can be loaded with meaning and emotion. Here are some that I wrote in class:

Sitting Alone in a Throw Blanket on the Sofa
I watch reruns of Will and Grace while eating a microwave dinner on a Saturday night because my boyfriend dumped me. I fork at the soggy peas and reflect on how many calories this pseudo-Indian tofu paneer has. Maybe I should go on a diet.

Waiting at a T-stop
The subway cars screech as they turn the corner to where I am. I hope that I don’t go hard of hearing early in life. I’m only thirty.

Natural Pillow
“I have a fat stomach.” She exclaimed. “So don’t tickle me.”
“I like your stomach.” He replied with a smile. “I like laying my head on it. It’s soft, comfortable, and has in-built temperature control.”

Five calories in black coffee equals five minutes of kissing equals ten hugs. I wonder how much we burn in a lifetime in kisses and hugs.

I was never great at playing that card game. I was never good at lying, especially to you. So maybe that’s how you found out. Or did you always know?

About Me

Escapist, nerd, fantasy/sci-fi fan. Academically inclined. Writer in training. Also, Writing, Publishing, and Literature undergraduate at Emerson College.



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