Amelia Baker_Cats!_My Sister in the Stars_Eggs
Catalog Guide:
Amelia Baker
Ever since the day I was born, my life has been scripted out for me: my relationships, actions, personality traits, my death! The people that surround me suffocate me with pressure. It’s like dozens of elephants standing on my chest or weights dragging me down deep into the ocean like I just can’t escape. The worst part is that stuff they tell me isn’t even true! There isn’t such a thing as a “prophecy,” it’s only seen in fairytales or films. It’s ridiculous what little paper can do to make everyone believe in something. I closed my journal as loud footsteps approached my door. “Amelia, honey,...
Cats!
“I know you think I’m crazy, but I’ve found myself.”He’d gone over and was in real trouble; I mean Jack Nicholson Shining trouble. And when he said crazy I heard a whisper in my ear—you are NOT a trained psychologist. Yes, beyond my capability to help, way beyond.Yet, I grew up with my kid brother; I took care of him all the way through high school. Our dad worked at the mill double time, and Mom passed when we were both kids. So it was up to me, Dad said, when he wasn’t around, which was always. It was the little things I remembered more than the bad stuff: making James pancakes with blueberr...
My Sister in the Stars
“Can you keep a secret?” The streetlight flickers. My hopes flicker. “No,” I admit. The stars urge me forward into her arms. I step back; the cold night gives me a scowl. I love you, my sister, I try to say. My tongue scraps against my teeth. Blood pools in my mouth. She grabs my wrists. Her nails dig into my skin. The scene seems to change. The streetlight stays the same, casting shadows. My dreams float around me in clouds of regret. There is a park bench. We sit. The wood pierces my back. Just like her words pierce my heart. “Why?” she asks carefully. I shake my head. I don’t know. It is o...
Eggs
My egg broke. And when I say broke, I mean all the way broke. The cracking left a jagged edge of shell, and as I poured the egg into the frying pan that edge slashed the yolk open like that scene from Titanic. I peer into the pan, knowing full well that every scrap of yolky goodness has leaked away into the white. There’s not a drop left to mix with the ketchup and form that tangy concoction that is basically the point of a fried egg sandwich. It’s actually a little impressive, how thoroughly this egg has been ruined. Still. It’s only a broken egg, and I’m determined to have a good day. It’s a...