Short story: Converging on a Red Balloon

This story is told three times, each time from a different perspective. As the title suggests, the common thread between them is a little girl and a bunch of balloons.

One instant she was right beside me, her pudgy little fingers clenching my own. The next, the pressure vanished and I was left alone, staring across the sea of rapidly moving people. My heart starts pumping wildly, and I turn my head frantically in all directions, seeing everything and nothing at the same time.

“Have you seen – “ I call out, as another indifferent shopper brushes past me. They all just keep moving, without a glance edgewise. Some stop to stare at this frantic father, shake their heads, and move on with their lives.

Short Story: Hall of Mirrors

Disclaimer - this short story is the longest one I've written, clocking in at 2,952 words. It's about what happens when you are forced to live in a world of nightmares, and whether you will ever be able to wake up.

Hall of Mirrors

She has never been afraid of the dark. After all, it is all she has ever known.

For twelve of her seventeen years, she has been in this world of shadow, where her fantasies and memories swirl together until she can no longer tell what is real and what isn't. Sometimes words come to her consciousness that she doesn't quite recognize. Sunshine. Birdsong. Laughter. They brush at the edges of her memory, weave themselves into her dreams. They are words that she once knew the meaning of, but now those meanings have slipped away. These words are no longer part of her world.
 Her world is this world of shadow, the maze of her own mind.

***

Short Story: Attaining Perfection

This story is the first one I wrote as a contest entry. Attaining Perfection was for the "The List" contest on Figment, in which you were asked to write about someone who was considered "pretty" or "ugly". I chose to write about someone who could be considered both of these things. I also explored the concept of identity and how we define ourselves. Here is the story:

                “Step right this way, Natalie.”

                I follow the nurse silently into the operation room. She wears a mask over her face, so I cannot see her features, but I know they must be beautiful. After all, when you spend your days molding flesh and sculpting bone, how could you settle for anything less than perfection in your own face?

Short story: Artful Deception

This is actually a short story adapted from an exercise we did in Vertigo (Lynbrook High School's literary magazine) a few years ago. If I remember correctly, we were supposed to think of a character, then write about his/her past and then about one day in their life. There was a third part but I don't remember what it is...

My character was a con artist in Victorian Europe. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to be a convincing con artist (and consequently, can't write about a convincing con artist) so this is going to be pretty cheesy.

            My footsteps echo on the cobblestone street. With an easel tucked under one arm and a bag of paints in the other, I stride to an inconspicuous corner. Once there, I set up my painting supplies and prepare myself for the day ahead.

             I am an artist of a particular sort. I walk the streets with gusto, my artist’s eye filtering the subject from the background. With a flourish of my green cape, I invite – or rather, lure – my subject to be part of my newest masterpiece. My imagination is my paint palette, my tongue is my brush, and the stories I tell are the strokes that make my work come to life.