The interstellar cowgirl had traveled across the galaxy for what felt like an eternity, but meeting her fellow adventurer had made her heart race like never before. Their time together was brief, but it felt timeless. As their journey neared its end, with a trembling hand, the cowgirl reached out to take the adventurer's hand, and was surprised to feel her grasp it in return. Under the milky way, they made a pact to meet again the following year at the same spot. After parting ways, the cowgirl switched on the song "Texas Sun" and rode towards the blazing sun.
About the Creator
Arsal Asal
Emerging screenwriter and director, dog lover, immigrant in the US. Loves creative writing, terrified of birds.
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Now We Are Free
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. As new immigrants in the United States of America from a small island where the season is always spring, we were eager to experience snow for the first time. Our introduction to snow was about an hour before we made it to the cabin as we started to climb the mountain with our rental car. The terrain was not new as we searched for images of such terrains on the internet and also obsessively looked at the photos of the Airbnb link the host uploaded. We pulled to the side of the road, excitedly ran out of the car. I wanted to touch the snow but he wanted to taste it. So he let his tongue out with his head held high up towards the sky waiting for a snowflake to drop as I went straight into the ground and in a rush grabbed some snow. Of course it was cold, and he said the snow was tasteless, but we still wanted to live our movie magic moment. It was magical at first, but then it was cold and all bubbly and giggly we ran back to our car. We were surprised that none of us slipped as we ran in the mush and the snow.
By Arsal Asal3 years ago in Fiction
Becca
"Everything is so... flat." Denille said stupidly as she looked around her new neighborhood. She looked around at the muted desert where even the smallest sign of life seemed to have given up. The plant life was shrubs that were half cooked by the heat and where there should have been a lawn, a mess of white rocks laid glistening in the sun. Even the sky looked stretched thin, like the sun had ironed it smooth. She’d moved from Riverside, where at least there were hills, but here in Barstow, everything felt baked and brittle.
By Sara Wilson4 days ago in Fiction
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