Dean & Lily – Episode 3

379 words
Dystopia, YA
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Photo Art by Plaidbowties


DEAN & LILY
Episode 3


 

Downtown Water Level Now 16 Centimeters

 

The headline illuminates the screenwall of my room, waking me up. I grunt when I see the time on the corner of the screen. 8:05.

I’m late. Continue reading “Dean & Lily – Episode 3”

Looking For a Fellow Writer (or Two)

You like to write?

You want to try writing in a group?

I’m planning on writing a paranormal Short Story for Halloween but I’d like to try something different and write it with one or even two other writers. 

If such a collaboration might interest you, just email me at audreywritesabroad@gmail.com and we can form a writing group and start brainstorming! Continue reading “Looking For a Fellow Writer (or Two)”

Pink Hair, Red Blood

This is an excerpt of a short story I’ve been working on lately, and I’d really like to know what you guys think of it!

370 words
Excerpt
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante

ONE

I didn’t want to believe it was true, but my brothers insisted it had worked on them so I had to see for myself.

Following their directions, I crossed the forest, made a left at the scarecrow, and spotted the cabin made of bones. They said to knock four times, once at each corner of the blue wooden door, so I did.

Continue reading “Pink Hair, Red Blood”

The Lying Lesson

96 words
Fiction
Written by: Audrey Francis-Plante

“I would like to apply for the job,” I said with a smile.

The girl popped the chewing gum balloon in her big mouth. “How old are you?”

“Fifty-two.”

She laughed. “How old are you really?”

“Seventy-nine,” I lied again.

My mother taught me some lies are polite, meant to keep people comfortable.

She leaned on the counter. “And what makes you want to work in a fast-food restaurant?”

“Well, I don’t have enough time left for slow food.”

She smiled, then said, “Sorry. We just hired someone.”

Apparently, her mother taught her the same lesson.

Fears

109 words
Fiction
Written by: Audrey Francis-Plante

I pulled the dusty typewriter—your most cherished possession—from under the bed. You had left a note on the sheet of yellowed paper: Write about your fears.

So I took a deep breath and wrote about you.

There was a lot to fear. Your crazy eyes. The crazier thoughts behind them. Every morning when I didn’t know what mood you’d be in.

After, I feared your ghost. The persistent spirit of your anger. Of your power.

I feared never being able to tell you this. Ironically, you helped me tell you through that typewriter and yellowed paper. Was it your way to apologize?

I like to think so.