Amaryllis Picotee (December 2012)

This was originally published in the Wolfpack Press (Woodcreek High School) newspaper.

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In the days leading up to winter, frigidness had settled over the park. Strollers would clutch their coats tighter around them or sip hot chocolate out of small, paper cups. Their breath was visible in the air as the temperatures dropped lower and lower. Children anticipated the upcoming snowfall. They gravitated towards the windows of their heated and cozy homes and peered out of them, waiting for what would truly signify the arrival of winter and the holidays that lay ahead of them. The park itself was ready for the change, as the leaves of the trees were absent. The grass lay still, stiff under the feet of the children that ran across it with merriment while their mothers chided them whenever they dropped a mitten or their hat in the hype of their games.

As the first snowflake drifted down, it happened to land on the elongated petal of a single white flower with delicate crimson tips. Only one person stood on the pathway that would be blanketed with snow in a mere hour or so. The man was tall, with a wool scarf wrapped around his neck and covering most of his face. His hair was ruffled and his shoes were only partially tied. As snow continued to drift onto the flower, the individual flakes began to swirl around almost like a twister. As the snow amassed, the swirling only intensified. While any other bystander may have gawked at the sight, the man kept his hands stuffed into his pockets casually. Memories of standing in almost the exact same spot and watching the same mystical occurrence came to the surface, and the nostalgia caused a smile to spread across his thin lips. As a small child, he had tried to explaining the happening to only get strange looks and odd whispers. As the years passed, he realized to keep the experience his own, special secret.

Shaken out of his reverie, a girl appeared as the twister settled and the snow fell to the floor gingerly. She was frail and her pallor was a very pale white. With flowing hair the color of wine and a thin, white dress, the girl’s eyes lit up upon seeing the man standing only a feet away. What was surely the happiest moment of his year to that point, the male’s arms outstretched welcomingly and the girl ran into them. She nuzzled into his familiar warmth and cooed, expressing how much she had missed him over the many, many months.


Call of the Sea (September 2016)

Laurel’s feet inched closer to the edge of the dock, bare skin scraping against rough wooden planks. She was pulled in by the rhythm of the tide brushing the shore, the night’s breeze ruffling her hair and long skirt, but most of all, the woman in the midst of dark blue waves. The stranger’s hand rose out from the surface, reaching for her, fingers curling to say, Join me. Laurel quickened with each step as her gaze grew lost in the way the moon reflected off of the swimmer’s wet skin – it begged her, Touch me, kiss me…

When she reached the end, Laurel did not hesitate to fling herself out toward the waves. Her clothes rippled around her as she dropped down. She anticipated a cold slap when she hit the water, but was caught and wrapped up in steady arms. Laurel wrapped her legs around the other woman’s torso, lightheaded as bubbles swirled around them, breathless as the beauty’s mouth pressed to her collarbone. Her heart thudded against her ears, drowned out only by the melody that hummed against her skin. Laurel stilled, aware only of the hands and lips that roamed her body as she drifted, carried away by a song.