Published short stories (updated 3+ years ago)
Graves
I constantly check behind my back to make sure I’m alone. "I told you not to do this." I direct towards him. I pick the shovel I brought with me off the rain soaked grass. Since it’s so late at night, the cemetery is closed. I hope to be the only one here. My hands drive the tool into the ground and begin digging on top and around of his grave "You shouldn't have gone there alone!”
While I'm busy removing the earth, he hails, "I won't do it ever again, I promise."
As I hear his words, my pace heightens.
“There's not much air down here. Hurry!" The panic in his voice causes me to feel weak.
"I'm trying as fast as I can!" I yell through the loud descending water.
"You're not going to make it..."
I smile at the sound and feeling of the shovel head scraping against his casket. I jump down and clear fresh dirt off its surface. Through strangled breaths, all I can say is, "I-I'm, I am here."
"Get me out now."
I examine the large rectangle and decide to crack it open with my shovel. "Why do these people seal it so tight?" I put all my strength in until I see the lid budging
"I'm not sure." His voice is close.
Once last force sends the top open, exposing nothing but emptiness. I sink to my knees from bewilderment. Moments later, I crawl out the hole I've dug. My pants and shoes have seethed mud from the time I took idling. I watch it run from my clothes as the rain showers above me. I retrieve my shovel once more and start walking away. "Don't leave me here!” He calls out.
Ayler, Jasmine.
Graves.
DMACC: Expressions, 2013.
Print.
Mirror
Standing before me is something unknown, aberrant in fact. My mind races through phases of disgust as I stare into the figure's eyes. I flicker my attention onto something else, but it pins right back. Tears begin to accumulate and lick down my face, as the way rain droplets do upon a sloped surface during a cool stormy evening-the air I’m enveloped in freezes their tracks. I glare at the ground I’m beneath, keeping record of all the tiny salty parcels coming from me.
Pressing my palm into a tightened fist, I focus back onto being's guise. I strike the mirror once, nothing occurs-striking again, it fractures. Each blow sends excruciating ache up my arm, which makes me whimper softly. Blood trickles down my hand, but I don't stop, I can't stop.
I hit the glass once more and study it. Intricate cracks have exploded throughout, yet stays in its rectangular form. A fragile, but beautiful motif is left behind-something I haven't seen in perpetuum. My limp throbs from my most recent wound; I bite my lip hoping to distract the pain.
I pull back and bash into my distorted reflection. Bits descend to the ground, leaving the blaring sound echo in my ears.
I kneel down on the floor and see myself anew, except this time, I'm in pieces.
Ayler, Jasmine.
Mirror.
DMACC: Expressions, 2014.
Print.