Written by: Audrey Francis-Plante
They say the twin gene skips a generation, but in my family, it’s everywhere. My grandmother had a twin sister. My mother has a twin brother. I have a twin sister. And I’m pregnant of triplets.
“You’re not ready to be a mother,” my mom gently said when I announced it on Sunday brunch. “Especially not of three at once.”
I glanced at Sam for support; he’d just told me that morning I’d be the greatest mother, but then something weird happened. He wouldn’t look at me. He fixed my sister’s shoes. “Three’s a little overwhelming,” he mumbled.
“Very overwhelming,” my mother chimed in.
“Pardon me?” A silence followed my words.
I turned to my sister for help, but she was quiet too, holding a cushion to her belly.
The way Sam avoided my gaze hinted that he was ashamed. “Who is she?” Something broke inside of me when he didn’t defend himself.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “But she’s pregnant too. Twins.”
Who is she? I suddenly hated our genes for making the answer so obvious.
184 words Short Story Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
I opened my locker to an abundance of heart-shaped chocolates and pink ribbons. My eyes were melting with anger. How dared he?
“Looks like Olivia’s got a Valentine,” my locker neighbour immediately teased as he saw the festive decoration. “Let me guess. Your cousin?” Patrick and his friends burst out laughing.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“Or what? You’ll attack me with cinnamon hearts?” More laughs.
Before I knew it, my fist connected with Patrick’s jaw. He twirled around, hitting the trash full force. Specks of blood mottled the gray lockers. Girls yelped. Boys laughed that a girl—me of them all—had so easily knocked down the school’s biggest jerk.
I wasn’t allowed a second of satisfaction that the principal zoomed through the crowd, a beeline toward me. Great.
“My office, now,” he said, grabbing my arm to make sure I followed. “Did he hurt you?” he asked once in the office.
I lowered my eyes. “Not physically. Though he could’ve played like hell on the emotional level if he’d known whom the gifts were from.”
He cupped my cheek, smiling sheepishly. “Forgive me?”
Day 107. I don’t remember much about what I did in Barcelona, not even the travel fails. I remember a sun rather bright for the end of November.
I remember Park Güell.
I remember eating the best veggie burger ever, but I don’t remember where.
I remember a lot of pickpockets.
And the realization that my backpack didn’t seem heavy at all compared to Day 1, four months before.
But through these snippets of memories, I know I didn’t notice as much as I usually do, because I was too conscious of these travel days being my last. Continue reading “Barcelona – My Old Self”→
98 words Short Story Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
I had been told to shut my eyes. In the dark, I listened to the noises they made. Whispering, breathing, rustling, dragging. I grew curious. When I heard a little gasp, I couldn’t help it. I split two fingers and slightly opened an eye.
A body lied awkwardly in a puddle of blood. The couple who’d brought me here worked on rolling the corpse inside a large bag. My eye must have glinted in the dark. “I gave you a chance,” the man told me.