Myrna Collins
Bio
I have a million characters trapped inside of me, just screaming to have their stories told.
Stories (18/0)
The Goddess Who Turned into a Cow
Picture it: seventh grade hallways smelling of a mixture of old book pages, coffee lingering on sleepy adults' breath, and the mix of Victoria Secret body mist and Axe body spray. The walls lined with blue lockers, a young girl, feeling frumpy in her Aéropostale jeans and sweater, clutching a stack of books against her chest. She avoids her locker due to the unseemly crush she has on the boy who lives on the other side of the tracks.
By Myrna Collins11 months ago in Writers
Lost Lake
"You're gonna burn." Aaron didn’t respond, just sat slumped at the end of the floating dock with a piece of paper in his hands. He was dressed in his Class A uniform, as if he was on his way to dinner, so why was he here? Three weeks into summer and I hadn't seen him at the waterfront once.
By Myrna Collins2 years ago in Fiction
Counting Memories
3 I remember being excited at the sight of the vast sandbox, as he scooted me through the gate and closed it swiftly. As if he didn't trust me not to try and dart through before he could get it latched, which was a fair suspicion. But for the time being, I was completely enthralled with my buckets, plastic shovel, and endless amounts of sand.
By Myrna Collins2 years ago in Families
Sleepless Dream
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. I opened my eyes. Was that the last thing Geoff had said to me? But that wasn’t the question I should have been asking myself, as I turned my head slowly, cradled by lush, green grass. I appeared to be laying in the center of a mushroom circle. I reached my hand out cautiously to touch the white-gray mushroom head, only to find my arm covered in a thin layer of baby-blue mesh. I sat up, looking down at myself. I was wearing an evening gown? I surveyed the area around me, finding an open field of grass, with small bushels of wild flowers every few yards.
By Myrna Collins2 years ago in Fiction
Killing Butterflies
I have an odd relationship with death. When I lose a family member, or if a friend passes away, I do not automatically feel sadness, like most. Perhaps that has something to do with my beliefs. I believe when someone dies, there is always talk of a light at the end of the tunnel. What if that light is the hospital room where that person is being reborn into their new body, all their old memories wiped.
By Myrna Collins3 years ago in Fiction
Death Ceremony
It was a bright, warm day as I made my way through Nana’s woods. I hugged my mom’s urn closer to me with one arm as I climbed the hill leading to the place I would lay her to rest. In my other arm was a pear tree sapling. Behind me was Aunt Leslie, who carried my dad’s urn, and his sapling. The funeral procession consisted of Aunt Leslie, her girlfriend Lucy, Wyatt and Mabel, my only friends, along with neighbors, followed slowly behind us.
By Myrna Collins3 years ago in Fiction
Unbroken
I close my eyes as tightly as I can, seeing purple and blue splotches dance across the darkness. I press myself as hard against the wall as I can, listening closely to my surroundings. I'm about twelve steps from the staircase, hoping with every ounce of my being that I can make it down those old wooden steps without a sound.
By Myrna Collins3 years ago in Fiction