Washed Overboard

“Jesus Christ, Anna, get your nose out of the book, we’re about to go snorkeling!”

I responded how I normally did to my sister- I raised my middle finger without tearing my eyes from the pages. I heard Rose gasp before she ran back to mom, whining about how I flipped her the bird and was being antisocial again.

Hey. My family dragged me away from my weekend of reading in my room where it was quiet and peaceful. My plans hadn’t changed even if the location had. On the ocean. Where my brother and his girlfriend were constantly making out below deck and you couldn’t get my older sister out of the water for more than ten minutes.

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The Walls Sweat

I think I need to move again.

The doctor called it agoraphobia. I call it a rational reaction after being stalked for two years by an ex boyfriend. The moment he was finally jailed, I picked up everything and got out of there. Mom said I could move in with her, but I didn’t want her to see what I’d become.

The new apartment was across the state, cheap, and had plenty of delivery services. Once I entered that building, I resolved the closest I’d get to leaving it was to get the mail every other day. I worked from home, freelance writing. Unpredictable, at best, but I’d managed to get it to work for me.

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Video Game Addict

I think we’ve all gone a little crazy over a video game. We’d say we would play a game for maybe an hour or two and before you know it you’ve not only missed lunch, you’ve also missed dinner and there’s a Cheeto stain around your mouth and it’s past midnight.

That was probably a little real for some of you, it’s okay, we’ve all done it. I mean, not me, not anymore. I learned my lesson the hard way. I don’t let myself play more than thirty minutes a day for any video game, I don’t snack, and I definitely do not play close to bedtime.

It’s all because of The Morning Court.

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Under the Bed


I chewed my bottom lip nervously as I stood by my father’s desk, twisting Cookie the Bear nervously in my hands. With a sigh, my father took off his reading glasses and looked up, clearly annoyed by my presence.

“Nikki, it’s ten thirty, you should’ve been in bed over an hour ago,” He said in an exasperated tone.

I looked away, now a bit embarrassed. “Um…”

“Well, spit it out. What do you want?”

I gulped.

“Dad I… I think there’s something under my bed.”

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Under the Back Porch

As a kid I lived with neglectful parents at best. At worst dad would turn his screams and fists on me but I learned quickly how to dodge the worst of it. Mom wasn’t much help, she’d just smoke in the kitchen and bitch at him for staying out so late.

At the time we lived basically in the middle of nowhere, our nearest neighbors were a long walk away for a six year old and we had trees between us. No one to run to for help. But I was pretty small for a kid my age. I learned I could fit pretty much anywhere. The closet. Dryer. I think even once I tucked myself under my futon in such a way I could still get some air but no one could see me.

I was a master at hiding. But it wasn’t for a good reason.

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I suppose it all started with my mother, although it wasn’t entirely her fault. But I can truthfully say it started with her.

She wasn’t a good mother. Perhaps not the worst, she didn’t leave me to die on the side of the road or attempted to drown me in the bathtub, but she was not a good mother. My self esteem was shattered the moment I showed her a picture I drew of her while at kindergarten. She took one look at it and sneered.

‘You made me fat!’

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Training the New Act

June 16

It’s been two days since I went to the circus.

I have not left.

Finally managed to get my goddamn phone back from those three hooligans. Screen’s cracked in the corner but it’s still usable. I still don’t know how they got the drop on me.

I don’t have any signal but I know they still have my charger somewhere, and there’s an outlet in the corner of their trailer. If I can get even a bar I can call 911 and I’ll have a SWAT team here to save me. In case I die before help is found, my name is Evan Randall. I’m a doctor. The clowns kidnapped me, the act with the three teenagers, the juggler, the crying girl, and the acrobat. Show these bastards the full extent of the law.

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Ten to Twenty Five Years

I’m writing this in case something happens to me. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe this is all for nothing, and he’ll not come after me. But I’m not taking any chances.

During the seventies, my grandfather took part in the arrest of a man named Horace Bell. The guy was an actual monster. He was a charming guy apparently, with a nice jaw, great hair, and a voice that made  you believe he could be trusted. Spoiler alert: He wasn’t.

He kidnapped a teenage girl, kept her in a secret room in his house, and called her Vanessa and said they wouldn’t be parted any longer. I won’t go into the details as to what Horace did to her, but I’m pretty sure you can put the pieces together yourself. This girl suffered for three months before she managed to escape.

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Guess who’s going on a cruise in December? This bitch right here! 😀

Finally, all these years of entering contests and putting my name into prize draws has paid off! I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise guys. A whole two weeks out on the beautiful blue sea. Away from stupid work, away from all my responsibilities, and more importantly- away from freaking winter.

I’ll make a special tag for my cruise album so you all can keep up on it. Hearts!

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Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

A flawless saying used against bullies to defend yourself from teasing… according to parents and teachers.

Her name was Bessie. Bessie moved here during fifth grade right before Christmas. By that time all of us had our groups set. Our own friends. We weren’t quite willing to move over to make room for someone new. Especially ‘Moo Cow Bessie’.

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