Author Archives: zreshicaia

Marcel’s Monotonous Day Shift

Marcel squinted at the symbols scratched onto his yellow notepad. The bargain lightbulb screwed into his desk lamp was dim, even at its brightest setting. Marcel’s monitor outshined the lamp, but his colleague’s handwriting was no more legible than a five-year-old’s. His colleague inscribed the notepad with the data needed for their most recent project, but with no more dedication than minimum wage encouraged. Marcel’s eyes drifted from his colleague’s illegible notes to the document occupying the monitor. He sighed and navigated his cursor to the hyphen in the upper right corner of the screen…

The Crickets and the Cars

The crickets hummed in noonday sun. / Summer scorched the cool greens of Spring, / Dyed the pastures a warm, wheaten yellow / To match the bright, burning rays. / The frontliners of the season’s change / Signaled the crickets to emerge and sing / Their characteristic melody…

Harmony

Rokesha snuck to the far edge of a cliff. A hundred feet beneath her toes, the unforgiving sea chewed and eroded the hazardous rocks that ringed the shoreline of Greyfeather Reach. The rocks mocked the will of the sea, and the name of the town, but they balanced the elements of Rel and Quera, which protected the once flat shoreline against raiders from Ghesimbari. The Norbayahkatheermor of Ghesimbari reviled a mortal from Greyfeather, who stole and corrupted a daughter of the Mantle. By raising the rocks to block incoming ships, and to balance the elements surrounding the village, Rokesha—the corrupted daughter—bought the village time, and momentarily escaped Ghesimbari’s pursuit…

Yellow Hardhats

A withered man sat in a folding chair along the city sidewalk. He stared through the empty spaces of a chain-link fence to the construction site contained within. He wore tattered clothing, and his hair was never straight nor tidy. His ruggedness aged him. His misty eyes observed the workers’ yellow hardhats. The yellow hardhats bobbed up and down, while the workers tended to the build…

The Changeling

Crack! Thud! A branch of the apple tree broke. Something hit the ground beneath. Was it the branch? Or was there someone in the tree? The sound woke Lady Rena. The worry pulled her from her bed. She threw off the covers, stumbled to the window, and opened the shutters. She peered into the darkness, but the dim light of the stars could not overcome the shadows of the moonless night. Lady Rena saw nothing and heard nothing more. She closed the shutters and crawled back into bed. She scolded herself for letting her overactive imagination get the best of her, ignored her lingering concerns, and again, she slumbered…

Maiden Souls

A troupe of goblin merchants sat on stone benches that encircled a crackling bonfire. The party totaled six. Each was known to the others by a name that echoed his most prominent feature: Tomcat, Shrill, Rodentia, Snail, Fuzzball, and Badger. They sat together—peering at one another through the flames—reminiscing through boastful tales told of the tricks they had played on maidens unaware, each goblin gaining his turn to speak when a spark sputtered towards him…

Notorious

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” five-year-old Beth shouted.

She stormed into her grandparents’ farmhouse in muddy boots. The door to the farmhouse was rickety and ancient with gaps to the outside along the frame, making an easy entrance for flies, and the chilling breeze of early Spring. The house shook as Beth slammed the door shut…