Chai Tea Latte

Chai Tea Latte

Every morning, suddenly, I am awake. My hair falls in my face as I sluggishly rise from my overly pillowed bed, the warmth leaking out from my nest as soon as my feet hit the cool wooden floor. My chest feels heavy and my eyes burn from sleep. Sometimes I have an alarm to turn off, and other days I’ve woken up on my own.

Some days, I brush my teeth and comb out my hair, styling it in the same fashion as any work day. Loose around my shoulders with a plaid or solid colored headband. I apply a brown, matte lipstick and apply just enough eye makeup to hide the bags under my eyes and make it seem as if I had a good night’s rest. My cardigans always matched my headband and my skirts always had biking shorts underneath. My socks were always white, or if I was feeling daring that day, patterned with some kind of cute animal. I have an image to keep, as any accountant would.

Other days I let my body flow freely, wearing just a loose tanktop and a pair of basketball shorts around my apartment. My tattoos are exposed and my hair goes wild and unbrushed for the sake of freedom. I might be drunk by noon, and I might stay sober until the sun goes down. If it’s a special occasion, I might even order in takeout and get high until I feel sideways and don’t know which way is up.

Between my days, there’s one thing that is always consistent. The shop around the corner from my apartment complex always calls to me at the same time each day. Thirty minutes before the coffee shop closes, I stop in, either in my perfect work attire or my messy loungewear, and I see her smile and wave to me, her smile perfect and her eyes crinkling just so.

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The most difficult thing about writing down your dreams…

…is the urge to make story out of them. I used to keep a dream journal, but kept repeatedly losing it, or the pen, or just plain forgetting to write anything down, but I still remember some of the dreams I put in there very vividly. For a while now I’ve been working on a short story that was inspired by a dream I had, and I should be able to publish it soon. I’ve just had… some difficulty in converting the dream to something a human can understand in story format, I guess.

In the dream I was at these abandoned ruins with my mother, and the entire structure was mostly in tact but with one giant television screen on one wall inside. People were gathered around it, watching a woman who was tied up and being filmed. I think it was a stream from somewhere terrible in the deep web. I wanted to save her, so I went to the basement of the ruins and had to fight a giant skeleton to release her using only the power of music. It worked, I saved the girl, and then left the monument. Outside of it was no longer lush and green, but a desert, and also I had been transported to the year 5000. I was concerned about my own disappearance, and had to use a time traveling vibrator in order to open a portal to my best friend’s bathroom mirror and tell him what happened, and that I loved him.

…It’s not an easy dream to turn into a story, that’s for sure. But I’m working on it. Unfortunately I had to cut out the my mother, the girl, the vibrator, giant skeleton, and fighting using the power of music. As awesome as it was to dream about doing that, it’s just not going to work. However, I am making a story loosely based around the ruins or whatever, and being transported so far into the future. That’s not a huge spoiler alert.

 

Always returning

Always returning

Some people have an allure to them, an absolute chemical and social attraction that draws in even the most strong willed of minds. He had a draw like that, and each time he came back to me, my life was ruined.

We dated for two years. He taught me to play chess and I showed him all the best spots to hang out. He read philosophy notes to me over the phone while I dozed off. I drew him pictures and left cute notes in his hoodie pockets while he saved up his allowances to take me to see plays and fairs. I was so in love, and he was so in love.

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For Just A Moment

For Just A Moment

This is more of just a warmup, but since it turned out so well I decided to post it here.

My heart fluttered in my chest. I hadn’t actually traveled alone before. One of my hands gripped the handle on my luggage as I carefully pulled it behind me, the wheels clicking on the cracked pavement outside of the Greyhound station. This was just a layover between busses, and somehow waiting for the next bus the most nervewracking part of the journey.

I pulled open one of the heavy doors to the building, knowing I had to wait about half an hour for my bus. The inside of the station was… seedy, at best. The middle of the room was large and empty, with stray benches along one wall. The other had the ticket takers. I saw a sign advertising a deli towards the back of the room, right above some vending machines that had scratched, cloudy glass. Pressing my lips together, I thought it might be best to skip the probably sketchy bus station deli and not even think about anything from that vending machine. I’d rather wait four more hours to eat than possibly make myself sick on questionable food.

I turned around, promptly heading back outside where everyone else waiting for their busses were. I stationed myself next to a pillar in the middle, nervously putting my hands in my hoodie pockets. A mental inventory of what I had to eat came to half of a bottle of water, one can of coconut water, some nacho cheese, and a bag of goldfish crackers. In my luggage I had 3/4ths a bottle of strong vodka and some saltwater taffy. It’ll have to do.

Remembering that I had a pack of cigarettes in my satchel, I reached in and dug one out, along with my pack of matches. I quickly lit up, taking a nervous drag as I looked around me. Everyone was grouped up with other people. I was alone, in a strange city, hundreds of miles from home.

And then someone caught my attention.

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#Katsparty

#Katsparty

Inspired by a writing prompt on Reddit.


It’s my birthday again.

My roommate, Joey, had practically assaulted me in order to put a stupid cardboard party hat on my head. I stood in front of the mirror, staring at it. The hat stuck out like a goddamn sore thumb compared to the rest of my look. My clothes are black, black, and you guessed it, black. I leaned in, examining my face in the mirror. I supposed it was about time to change my lip piercing to something less subtle. The stud always sort of got boring after a while, but for some reason, I always put that one in. Sighing, I figured it didn’t matter. I had work to do today. It was the only way that I could earn more time.

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Perfect

Perfect

“You’re so perfect.”

She sighed as she said it, her full lips parting in anticipation. She knew what I was going to do next, because I always did the same thing. My lips pressed against her warm ones, and she wrapped her arms around me and giggled, trying to contain her smile. I’m not sure how she never got tired of my predictable moves.

“I love everything you do, like you were made just for me. You’re the woman of my dreams, May.”

One of my hands ran its way through her soft, silky hair, still damp from the steaming shower that she put herself through. She thought the scalding hot water would help burn off the exposure from outside. I pulled her closer still, my free hand holding onto her tiny waist.

“You’re never going to leave me, right?” It was different from the things she usually said. She was anxious, almost as if she really was scared I would leave. Where else would I go?

“No.” My voice was softer than hers, almost scratchy, and like it shouldn’t belong to me. 

“I know. I just like to hear you say it.” She broke away from me for a second, pushing my hands away from her. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.” 

I followed, as obidient as ever. I can’t say I was in the mood for what she wanted, but it would kick in. My body always responds at a certain point, after all.

I went to bed with her, my touches as gentle or as rough as she needed them to be. I bathed afterwards, just like she liked me to, and washed off the evidence of our coupling. The scent would stick to my skin and make her sick otherwise. Sometimes, I was glad she didn’t join me, because this was my only real time of peace.

At midnight, long after she had fallen asleep, I let my hair down, and stood in front of the mirror. Dark locks rested on my shoulders and stone gray eyes stared back at me in the mirror. I opened my mouth, examining my teeth, my tongue, my throat. It was all so.. normal. 

I wish I was normal.

I knew that she would be up in a few hours and would want her breakfast in bed, just like every morning. I needed to have my strength for the next day. I tucked some hair behind my ear and pressed the small panel behind my earlobe. Pulling the charging cable out, I grabbed the wall usb plugin on the bathroom sink and connected the two together. The plugin went into the wall, and a small beep emitted that announced that the connection was successful.

Tomorrow she was taking me to a robotics convention. She wasn’t going to tell anyone what I was, but instead, to just revel in the knowledge that she’s the only person on Earth to build the perfect lover. 

If only my programming would allow me to be anything else.

Character Development

Character Development

All authors have a certain special way of developing their characters. I have no idea how exactly I’m going to develop mine. Filling out a questionnaire about them doesn’t feel right, and writing snippets of her daily life or her in unique situations doesn’t quite do it for me either. It almost feels forced, somehow. I’ve been working on fleshing out one of my characters for my book, seeing as I can’t get very far if I don’t know her very well, and things have been a little rocky.

At this point in the story, my main character is beginning to develop and her inner desires are becoming evident. I don’t know how to bring her through the first story arc, because I don’t know her as well as I’d like to. I’ll just have to spend some of my downtime, and my uptime, trying to get into my main character’s headspace.

This, readers, is the only real way I can develop my characters. It’s probably super common, but for me to write someone completely different than me, I’ll have to do some hands on field research. That’s why I’m sitting in a public place, writing things in a notebook in between tapping away on my phone, and drinking an overpriced coffee like a pretentious cliche.

That’s totally something that my character would do. Too bad I’m not dressed for the part. 

-Spencer Holly 

I Still Exist

I Still Exist

I wrote this story well over a year ago. The only other place you can find it online is on the Tumblr page of fifteenhours-creepystories. I really love that blog, and often go there to get my fix of original horror stories. This version of the story is slightly different than the original that I wrote so long ago, and I think the ending is much better and less anti-climactic. I’ve also changed the title of the story. I also originally posted this story on an old, cold, dead WordPress I used to have before I deleted the entire thing. 


If anyone is reading this, I can honestly say that I’d be surprised. Not surprised that someone was reading this, but surprised that my words managed to reach someone. It would mean that in some way, I’m still here, and I still exist. It’s the only thing that I want. It started years ago; before I was aware of it. I faded away, and I’m not sure if I’m really still here, and the world is ignoring me, or if I really don’t exist anymore. I want someone, at least one person, to know my story, and I’m scared that it’s too late for me.

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“First Blog Post”

Technically, it would have never have been my first blog post, just my first blog post on this specific blog. I have a habit of making blogs and deleting them or abandoning them, sometimes even before I get to post anything meaningful or get a single follower. It’s a bit sad for the dead, cold blogs I’ve left behind, but the same could be said for all my incomplete journals, sketchbooks, and the google docs tab I’ve had open for two months that has a half-completed story on it.

Anyway.

I hope that in the future I can keep up with this blog and help my stories reach new audiences. I’m working on a book right now, but in between rough nights staring at Zenwriter, I like to pop out short stories here and there.

I made this page on a spur of the moment decision, so maybe later I’ll update it some more and make it look like I know more about website design and WordPress than I actually do.

-Spencer Holly

My Strongest Quality 

Inspired by a writing prompt on Reddit. 

The world is a wonderfully confusing place. There was so much mystery surrounding the human race and the universe that we inhabit that sometimes, it felt as if we would never have all the answers. With every new discovery, countless questions would crop up, each with their own answer and set of follow up questions. The occurrence of familiars is quite a popular field of study, as nobody could possibly know where they came from or how exactly they manifested. Familiars tended to manifest during a persons life when they were just an inch away of finding themselves. They always took the shape of a creature that best physically represented their person’s strongest, or greatest quality, and served to fulfill a role in that person’s life that no other human being was capable of filling.

I got mine when I was 21.

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