Search Results for: Christina Dalcher 

Not All Points of Sail Are Equal

If you were a schooner, you would outrun the swiftest, you with your mad eyes locked on elusive prizes, trying to shoot the bar before it shoots you. Steering and trimming and trimming and steering, leaving the safety of broad reaches, risking side-swipes from the heavy boom. You would careen as you drew closer to the wind, pushing for the horizon, a-tilt, blinded by spray, moderation foreign to your one-man armada. If you were a schooner, you would forget the simple lessons of Newtonian mechanics: all with or all against the gale’s force is never as safe as a steady beam reach. Closer and closer you would haul your craft until you were, at last, in irons.
     If you were a schooner, you would end locked in a standstill, pointing toward an edge where dreams and fate coalesce, with no hope of further motion.

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Credits

fiction by
Christina Dalcher
@CVDalcher

image by
kerry rawlinson
kerryrawlinson.tumblr

©
creators 

The Definition of Us


Cast. verb
direct one’s eyes at someone
(see Object of Desire, specifically, You)
Caste. noun
class of people with exclusive privileges
(see Social Status; Father’s Business Partner)
Cast. verb
shape a substance by pouring it into a mold
(see Arranged Marriage, Heterosexuality)
Castigate. verb
punish
(see Name-Calling; Compliance by Force)
Cast. verb
shed skin in the process of maturation
(see Personal Growth; Me)
 
Castaway. noun
person rejected from society
(see Disownment; Choices)
Cast. verb
let down an anchor
(see Stand My Ground)
Castle. noun
large building fortified against assault
(see Walls I Can Build; Strength)
Cast. noun
actors in a play
(see You and Me; Two-Woman Show)
by
Christina Dalcher
@CVDalcher
Can You Illustrate This Piece?

1. Read the details here
2. Send your art to thedefinitionofus@adhocfiction.com

 Life in the No Flex Zone

Esmeralda stores her jewelry in a box on the high closet shelf, trades her paisley sundress for a brown shroud, ties the kerchief tight around illegal curls. Tuesday is shopping day.
    She could take the steps two at a time, slide down the banister into the bed where floral rainbows used to grow, but a soldier stands across the way, watching, waiting.
    Cans line the market shelves, black writing on white paper. Plain. Uniform. Esmeralda fills her basket with the week's rations, shows her card to a drab-dressed checkout girl.
    "Better tuck that back in", the girl says, points to Esmeralda's temple. She does not smile. Smiling makes you look pretty, stand out. Smiling is a flex. Smiling gets you a warning.
    Esmeralda walks back to her house, locks the door, trades the brown shroud for a bright floral, lets her curls free, pretends the soldiers aren't waiting outside. Watching.
by
Christina Dalcher
@CVDalcher
Can You Illustrate This Piece?

1. Read the details here
2. Send your art to lifeinthenoflex@adhocfiction.com