Something about peaks—
about the air we draw, thin
and yet, so filling.
About the Creator
Sophia D'Urso
Unreliable narrator
Keep reading
More stories from Sophia D'Urso and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Meal In A Minute
Burned by a red bead of pasta sauce—a consequence of choosing to heat the contents of his can of Chef Boyardee in a saucepan rather than the microwave—Luca turned down the dial on the electric burner. He’d cut himself on the can’s edge a few minutes ago, and now the bleeding edge of his palm absorbed into his sweat-stained work shirt as he stirred the pot with his left hand. Steam tucked itself between his fingers, settled onto his bare shoulders, burrowed into the premature creases of his forehead, making him itch. Wiping the moisture from his eyebrows with his shirt-hand, Luca resolved to never work in an American restaurant. He was sweaty enough.
By Sophia D'Urso4 years ago in Fiction
Echoes
I stepped carefully around the corner, the familiar sights and sounds hitting me like a brick to the face. My eyes watered. I could practically see us, all of us, back then, clustered around the outdoor tables in front of the pizza shop, the bar, the coffee shop. I could smell the various stalls from the events we’d been to on this street. I could taste the churros and nachos.
By Phoenixica248 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
simply super "Wow, what an insightful article! please visit my posts and support subscribe too thank you