Jillian Spiridon
Bio
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
Stories (325/0)
The Only One Left Standing
The dead chickens in the coop should have been a sign. Gene could find no hole or crevice for a fox to have burrowed its way in, and no blood spotted the floor or the nests. It was as if someone had waved a hand over the animals and put them all to sleep.
By Jillian Spiridon3 years ago in Fiction
The Stories I Told Myself
I remember the last time my mom read me a bedtime story. I was a four-year-old nugget curled next to her on the gray fabric couch, a light illuminated behind us, as she leafed through a book of fables, myths, and legends. The one she chose to read to me was about the Great Flood that populates the backstory of some religions.
By Jillian Spiridon3 years ago in Humans
Our Secret Hideaway
Migrants came through our little town of Baroque every day. They carried with them the burdens of the places they had left, all cities that had been charred by the spread of wildfires or the complete destruction of power grids or even the rampant threat of unseasonal blizzards. Their faces were drawn and tired, shoes becoming worn from the miles-long journeys, and the children too were laden down with whole lives crammed into backpacks and sacks.
By Jillian Spiridon3 years ago in Fiction
Bury Me in the Garden Where Roses Once Bloomed
As I sit by Thaniel’s bedside, I watch the slow up-and-down rhythm of his chest. Sometimes I lose sleep just for keeping track of his breathing. Each breath is another flicker of hope that I will have him for another day.
By Jillian Spiridon3 years ago in Fiction