Tag: Stories

Sunday mornings came softly in Oxford. They were so unbearably still.

Stillness didn’t relax her. Stillness didn’t calm her. It irked her: it slowly layered onto itself until it triggered the unrelenting urge to flee. Even though she felt the first pangs of that urge as she lifted herself from bed around dawn, she ignored them. Instead, she thought of the chapter drafts she needed to write, the articles she had to read, and the emails she needed to answer. No, she wouldn’t give into her desire to escape. She’d try to push through. Continue reading “Some Days” →

“How could you be so fucking stupid? Have I not been good to you? Have I not done more for you than any other man ever would have?”

Just as you open your mouth to respond, he jumps up from his seat and begins pacing from wall to wall. You take a moment to observe him, to look at his tightly clenched fists. To look at the firm scowl set into his face. To look into his eyes, empty and distant. You bite your tongue and listen as he continues.

“I’ve never raised my voice to you. I’ve never hit you. I’ve cooked for you, cleaned for you. I take you out. Hell, I eat you out whenever you want me to! How the fuck could you do me like this?!” Continue reading “A Good Man” →

“He left me. We’re over.”

The vibration of your phone against the wooden surface of the table calls your attention away from the book in your hand. It’s a beautiful day—a warm, slightly windy, infinitely sunny L.A.-kind-of-day—but those three words appear to mark the end of what you had hoped would be a relaxing and uneventful afternoon.

Continue reading “On Love” →

It’s been a while. A long while. In the five or so months that have passed since I last shared any of my work (in this space), I’ve been busy. I’ve done a great deal of thinking, observing, and reading. Empathy, forgiveness, love, frustration, depression, anger, hopelessness, patience, and a whole lot more have weighed heavily on my mind. I’ve loved on some old relationships, begun the work of healing some others, questioned the continued significance of a few, and let a couple go. I’ve managed crises, large and small, and thought deeply about the future, immediate and distant. Now, I’m finding my way (back) to writing, slowly but surely committing paper to pen and sharing a few pieces (while I hide some others). 

Here is something that I wrote months ago but only recently decided to share.  It’s a short story about fleeting encounters. Until soon… Continue reading “Fifteen Minutes” →

A “friend” wants to visit you from the States. You haven’t spoken to or seen each other in a while, but you’ve known each other since you were teenagers. You were never particularly close, but you recall enjoying her company. Back in the day, the two of you used to gossip shamelessly and watch cheesy rom-coms during the weekends. You tell your friend that she should come to England to see you. Why not? You’re looking forward to catching up.

You meet her on High Street soon after her bus arrives. You plan to spend a week together, splitting your time between  Oxford and London. Your friend marvels at Oxford’s imposing gothic architecture as you make your way down High Street towards Longwall. “What a dream. I bet living here is an absolute dream.” A dream? Not actually. A nightmare? Quite possibly. But the awe-inspired look on your friend’s face tells you she wouldn’t comprehend the weight of your answer, so you tilt your head to the side and ask her, “How was that twelve-hour flight?” Continue reading “Post-Black Encounters” →