stacyt
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I have 13 stories published in
4 collections on the site.
My stories have been read 11206 times
and 3 of my stories have been cherry picked.
Stacy Taylor
My collections
My stories
A Novel: Signs Following (Chapter One)
Darrel walked Midway Lane with Lynette and Jeanette, often turning around and walking backwards in order to see them better. Their odd staggered shuffle, which propelled them forward almost spitefully, was unpleasant to watch at first. Only after a long moment of observation could one see the grace with which they moved despite the thick band of flesh that connected them, preventing independent movement. One girl side-stepped forward, a small hitch in stance, almost a jump; the other girl side-stepped forward, a small hitch in stance, almost a jump, and thus the twins gained forward momentum. They rolled together, exhibiting patience and grace and undulating dance-like steps. A show: lovely, bizarre, arresting.
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- 1472 reads
Inspiration Point: Busy Gnomes
Today, the lake sparkles as it always does, fairies of light dancing across its surface to blind us from time to time. Levi is scratching his head, a small frown turning perfection to flaw. He doesn't wear frowns well and therefore tries to stifle them, but perhaps he feels the foreshadowing as I do. Or maybe he was just upset because he lost his place as the center of attention.
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- 770 reads
A Novel: Signs Following (Prologue)
A mere dot on the state map, Dearing was more a religious cult with a sizable tract of cooperatively owned land than a community. Although it contained a bank, a general store, and a doctor's office, Dearing's population consisted of retired carnival freaks and their offspring for the most part. The good doctor, Rudolph Morton, had traveled with, practiced medicine on, the occupants of Dearing for many years, and had delivered most of the babies.
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- 871 reads
The Now, The Next
The depressor plunged; the tube crimsoned; the world bolted in moving color like a swarm of mad-crazy jesters knocking down my door. The arrow sharp, pierced the flesh pliant. The vessel widened, swallowing shots of liquid escape in no-remorse-gimme-more-I can-take-it gulps.
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- 669 reads
Microsecond
On Thursday, she's gone, but I know where to look, and ivy isn't her kind of green. She falls apart slowly, each breath a punctuation of her pain. No one reaches for her and with an angry toss of cropped blonde hair, determination slips into place.
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- 680 reads