When one of the biggest Creatives on WordPress asks you if you would like to collaborate with him, you do it. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been a fan of their unique work for years and you had a slight heart-attack watching your work come to life in his hands. Below, you’ll find the collaboration between Peter of Little Fears and me.
Karma opened the blinds to her dorm room, signaling the sun’s rays to drape her in its warmth. Classes had resumed. Summer break was now a thing of the past. She had her assignments, her books, other supplies, and her boyfriend’s heart.
What would he do without her at home now that she’s traveled back to finish her last year of college? Under his mattress was a letter. In it, she’d written:
“I told you not to fall for me. I only wanted your heart. Now, that I have it, you have nothing.”
Poor Jesse, his life was full of bad karma.
*View the piece in its entirety, including the incredible audio-visual formatting from Peter by clicking the link below.
I am posting this here as well just in case there are some young, active users on Medium who may not receive letters from A Cornered Gurlor may not know how to begin their writing journey with a publication. WordPress, you are family–I know how you are about our young ones, how we have to raise them up, give them their space, and allow them a chance to step foot into this world the way that they need to by sounding off… Here is just one opportunity. There will be more.
Young Minds of Medium
A Challenge: Let Me Hear You Roar!
This is a call for submissions. Young Minds of Medium — this is your challenge. I am looking for work from the young Writers here on Medium, ages 15–25. Submissions will be reviewed and posted on Mondays and Fridays during the month of April. This is your time to shine. I want to hear from you. I want to feel, connect with, and help you bring to light what you have held inside for so long — what you want to write about but may not know how to.
Your theme: “Let Me Hear You Roar!”
What am I asking?
Give me the anger that’s swelling deep inside you, channel it and let’s get creative with it. You think you can’t put what you’re feeling into words, try me — let’s make it happen together.
I am looking for:
Fiction (no more than 850 words)
Non-fiction (no more than 850 words)
And, your heart. ❤
•You will need to be a current user on Medium for this challenge. Request to be added as a Writer by emailing me at email@example.com with “Please Add Me” as the subject line. For the young ones, ages 15–25 already contributing to ACG, please submit your work in draft-form directly to A Cornered Gurl for review, scheduling, and/or publishing. You can submit twice per week, your works will be published on Monday and Friday of that week. Please have a suitable image for your work with notable credit to its source/artist (please include the link). You can find a host of great images via Unsplash, Pixabay, and Pexels. If you are the source for your image, please caption that.
Please subtitle your entries “Young Minds of Medium Anger Call” and tag your pieces with the following “Growth” & “Anger.” The other three tags, you can choose at your own discretion. CHALLENGE SUBMISSIONS BEGINS NOW!
The start date for publishing the YMOM pieces is Monday, April 1, 2019, and the end date is Monday, April 28, 2019. Other contributors to ACG, please do not fret. You can submit as you normally would to A Cornered Gurl and your work will be published as well, however, a total of three pieces will be published on Mondays and Fridays for all other Writers, leaving the floor wide open for our young ones. I hope you can understand and accept this.
Please remember that A Cornered Gurl is a read-for-all community and there will be no metered paywall or locked pieces published here. Thank you.
Robbie slugs away from their home, blade dripping blood, legs shiftless and without care. He will bury the child’s head in a toxic heap, far away from the townspeople. It’s where the others are. It is where he is thought to be from–garbage. The tale of his emergence is a strange, sad one. It is said among the gossipy that his Mom delivered him in an alley, tore him from her womb, and threw him in the nearest dumpster.
She was not quite human, but not quite monster, either. She was this strange in-between thing and fearful of passing down her likeness to her offspring, she rid herself of it. The city trash collectors came the next day. One, a father of two girls, heard the wails of a shivering baby. He ordered his partner to help him search through the pounds of garbage, finally landing on Robbie. They stood flabbergasted, exhausted from a day’s work, but also scared to death. What was this thing? They wrapped Robbie in a soft towel kept in the truck’s bed, and transported him to the nearest convent.
Let the nuns deal with him, they thought.
Those who truly fear God are said to have ways of exposing evil and exorcizing it. After months of exorcisms and numerous Doctor’s house-calls, the sisters believed that Robbie should be sheltered, kept away from humanity, for they knew that others would fear him. From the very first time he walked, they took him to the local park and explained to him that his place was among nature. From dirt he arose, back to dirt, he would go.
And with fresh blood on his hands, Robbie hurried to his place of safety, away from the summoning calls of the neighborhood children, away from all that was normal.
Robbie slips away from the bushes at first light, his hands are contorted and shaped into demon’s wings, he cuffs his blade tightly to his chest. In front of their door lovingly displayed is a mat that says, “Love is all you need.” He wipes the muddy gunk from the soles of his shoes on it, twists the edge of the blade into the keyhole, slides another in between the door jamb and the knob, and shifts the door silently. It opens. He listens for every breath in their home–Jaimie’s, her mom’s, her older brother’s, and her dad’s. He sniffs at the air, pulls in scents from days past, and bites down on his bottom lip.
Towards the stairs, he creeps. His not-quite-right wings are tucked in slightly behind his back as he maneuvers up each step, careful of creaking floorboards. Slowly he makes his way down the hall. Jaimie’s door is a dead giveaway–white door with pinks flowers and unicorn stickers don it from every angle. He pushes his way through the door and gently closes it behind him. His fangs protrude, salty saliva drips from the edges. Jaimie, sleeping peacefully with her teddy bear cupped tightly in her little hands, does not hear a thing.
Quickly, before anyone can wake up to Robbie’s presence, he leans closer to the sleeping girl, breathes into her ear, licks the tip of its top, and bites down hard, ripping her flesh in one, swift tug. To quiet Jaimie’s screams, his talon-like palm thrashes against her mouth. In one gulp, her head is devoured.