Short Story

after writing our first lines and choosing our favorites, we were asked to write a short story with one line. this one is kind of silly and was written very last minute but it was still fun.

Old Hazel’s illustrious beard grew thick and wild, down to the ground, and served as a storage device for baubles, knick-knacks, and afternoon snacks. He lived in quiet solitude on the outskirts of an even quieter town, detached from society yet always connected by the beard. Though the rest of his mop was a pearly white, his manly mane remained the color of his warm eyes. It was that rich hazel gaze which earned him his name.

Inexplicably, Hazel had been graced with a billowing beard his entire life. While it served many practical purposes such as warmth in the winter and everyday storage, oftentimes he found it tiresome. At a young age, Hazel had left his home village to start anew after suffering an irreparably damaged broken heart. He had fallen in love with a certain Cassidy Blair. Her strawberry locks encircled her face and she smelled of sweet honey, her favorite treat. Hazel could spend minutes, hours, and days counting the freckles that accented her ivory skin.  Cassidy too was enamored by Hazel and loved everything about him, especially his out of control beard. When Hazel asked her father for Cassidy’s hand in marriage, the stubborn old man denied each their happiness, citing the beard as the problem. Cassidy’s father did not wish for his daughter to marry such a man with freakishly voluminous facial hair.

Unable to persuade Mr. Blair, Hazel packed his most valued items in his glorious beard and fled for a new town where he might not suffer such heartbreak. Isolated from human contact and left to dwell upon the past, Hazel grew older and lonelier by the day. With each passing minute, his beard seemed to expand and continued to encompass his body. The villagers became wary of the monstrous growth his facial hair, and Hazel feared he might once more be forced to leave. Yet, Hazel realized, he didn’t really care what they thought of his beard. After spending such a long time in one attitude resentful of his own face, Hazel wanted to love once more. He wanted to finally love his beard and embrace its bounty. At that moment of realization, his beard ceased to grow at an enormous rate. He was able to trim it, shape it, and shave it without it immediately regenerating and coiling to the ground. From then on, Hazel lived in perfect harmony with his beard.

First Lines

for my fiction writing workshop we were assigned to write five first lines. five different stories with five different first lines. we passed our work around the class and voted for the favorites from each. numbers two and four tied, but my personal favorite was number three. 

1. The fluorescent light slowly blinks to life, revealing her face in a new way each time, and her eyes, flecked with gold, begin to wander.

2. “How many points for the three-legged dog?” he asked. He let go of the steering wheel, allowing it to find it’s own path that undoubtedly led toward the mangy animal limping along the road. 

3. Since I got a late start on most things in life like getting my first job, falling in love, and having kids, I figured I would live for a pretty long time to finish everything up—I was right.

4. Old Hazel’s illustrious beard grew thick and wild, down to the ground, and served as a storage device for baubles, knick-knacks, and afternoon snacks.

5. Bluegrass hymns flowed from their mouths filling the sad silence with words of hope, sorrow and praise, and each successive note served as a bittersweet reminder of why they had gathered.

To Margo:

you're so hateful

hate permeates your skin

you rub your arm 

skin flakes away

the hate falls to the wind

the wind blows it to me

i am covered in your hate

you're a devil child

the red dress gives you away

no one can see into those eyes

but i can, i read you like a book

your affinity for fire is a telltale sign

the dark lair from whence you came

calls you back to hell

you're a whore

i know what you do at night

the sparkles of your dress gleam in your eyes

they are like flashing lights to your prey

a mating call to the sordid and flea-bitten

you spread your poison like you spread your legs

infecting the earth with your sin

Standing in front of the mirror in her dorm room at 8:30 in the morning

The fluorescent light slowly blinks to life
Its synthetic illumination sluggishly brightens
The light reveals her face in a new way each time
Blemishes highlighted, freckles embellished
Her paleness is exaggerated in the harsh glow
Eyes with flecks of gold begin to wander
They search her face like a map but are left unsatisfied
There is no treasure to be found, no ‘x’ to mark the spot
Lines and veins act as roads and rivers
Her mouth is a black hole into which poor travelers fall
These travelers aren’t used to such uncharted land
Their comfort in the fabricated world has led them astray
Her untainted terrain was disorienting, and so they fell