Palmarosa

Joined June 2021

0 stories

Bio

The great Kurt Vonnegut once said that technical writers were the freaks of the writing world, as they leave no traces of themselves behind in their writing. That may be true for my day job, but it certainly isn't true here! Hello, Vocal!

Stories (8/0)

With No Means to Return to Sender
"Oh, the packages? Yeah, I started getting those around the time Bill died. He was wrapped up in all sorts of illegal shit, so there's no telling what could be in that box. Anthrax, cocaine, meth, a bomb...just let the cops handle it, okay? And whatever you do, don't open it."
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Fiction
Leonarda, Leonarda
Leonarda, Leonarda Maker of soaps and bloody cake If the police had never caught you, How many more lives would you take?
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Poets
La Bete Noire
“…and then, in front of everyone, she opened the barrel. Do you know what she found inside?” We all gasped, holding our glasses of Cabernet a bit closer to our chests. For the past half hour, Nirali had every last one of us enraptured with the grisly details of our town's most infamous cold case. Of all the friends I made since I moved to Palmetto Town, none could hold a candle to her when it came to storytelling.
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Fiction
The Barn, the Barrel, and Mr. Hicks
My Town Palmetto Town’s not that big of a place, and most of it’s covered in swampy marshes that stink to high heaven. And if the rancid mud wasn’t enough of an assault to our tortured noses, the town’s two biggest employers are a paper mill and a chicken processing plant. Growing up there, we used to joke that someone could kill a man and dump the body in the marshes, thinking that the already stinky land would be enough to mask the smell of rotting flesh.
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Fiction
Fun Fact: Flying Rats are Delicious!
Quick! Name your favorite meat! Let me guess. It’s chicken, isn’t it? Or beef, perhaps? Or maybe you’re from the southern US like I am and discovered the Thanksgiving magic of a Bojangles Cajun-fried turkey. Whatever you answered, I hate to tell you this. You probably never ate a pigeon, so you can’t even begin to fathom how delightfully delicious those flying poop factories actually are.
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Feast
The Fir Tree, Revisited
I don’t have too many memories of my paternal grandfather. He wasn’t around as often as my other grandparents were and I didn’t know much about him until after he passed in 2002. However, there are two things about Grandpa that remain forever vivid in my mind.
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Confessions
St. Ends
Hey, babe. It’s me. The EMP from the blast fried all of my electronics, so my phone’s dead and I can’t use it. I’m going to pretend it works anyway, just so I can feel like you’re here with me as I shelter in place beneath my stairs.
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Fiction
Happy Hour Wasn't Very Happy
I love my younger sister. She’s my best friend, not to mention one of the most talented and intelligent people I’ve ever met. I’m not just saying this because we’re siblings, either. Other people tell us all the time how amazing B. is and, as a proud big sister, I can’t help but agree.
By Palmarosa3 years ago in Confessions

Palmarosa

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(8/0)

With No Means to Return to Sender

Leonarda, Leonarda

La Bete Noire

The Barn, the Barrel, and Mr. Hicks

Fun Fact: Flying Rats are Delicious!

The Fir Tree, Revisited

St. Ends

Happy Hour Wasn't Very Happy

Stories (8/0)