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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Polished to Shine
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/10/polished-to-shine.html
I can feel the sun scorching my shoulders. I probably should have tried to find sunscreen before I left; I can hear my mother’s voice in my head. "You’re so pale, Mija. You should wear a hat, protect that lovely skin of yours. You don’t want to waste away like this old. I’m only pale compared to you, Mama, I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. An exit is coming up. I swerve into the right lane, and someone lays into their horn. I leave the interstate, one more thing behind me. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: About
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/p/about-this-blog.html
What am I doing here? For the year of 2013, I published one short story or set of three poems to this website per month. I was as transparent as possible, writing a blog about the process. And publishing the pieces whether or not I felt completely finished with them. This project was called, with all the originality I could muster up, The 2013 Project: Nine Stories and Nine Poems. You can read my thoughts about the project here, and check the 2013 tag. For the posts that were a part of that project.
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: What You Saw Here; A 2013 Post-Mortem
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/12/what-you-saw-here-2013-post-mortem.html
What You Saw Here; A 2013 Post-Mortem. I have learned a lot in the past twelve months. And I did write. I wrote Nine Stories and Nine Poems to be precise, all of which got at least one major editing pass. And I wrote around forty blog posts, many of them whining, many of them boasting. And I did something else this year, something really big:. I started calling myself a writer. But rather something that has always been a part of me. But a part that I felt shame about. But I like that. Looking back on...
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Elizabeth's Story
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/09/elizabeths-story.html
I was dreaming. I knew that much right away. I see a good number of things that don’t make sense when I’m awake, but they are at least always somewhere. We weren’t somewhere. We were suspended in dream, without even anything as comforting as a movie-style blackness to surround us. I admit it’s a lot harder to believe when I’m awake. I pulled the covers down, and sat up in my bed. My cell phone said it was 12:40. Not nearly as late as I thought it would be. My finger tapped Hop...She knew enough to not co...
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Memory and Loss in Three Poems
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/08/memory-and-loss-in-three-poems.html
Memory and Loss in Three Poems. Ken; in which the fire-child is lost. Her brother Ash a book. And held within the secret. Where no one thinks to look. For who would read a boy? He’s pale with eyes of blue. All three the witch’s children. Once standing here with you. That can’t be right. You don’t recall a third. But three there were when this began. I give you Loki’s word. The story starts as many. A knock upon my door. I believe I know them yet. I’ve not seen them before. Silent Ash and Emla. The foot o...
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Plus One
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/11/plus-one.html
I love places like this. The air is thick with the smell of beer and sweat, the best perfume. To me it smells of opportunity. You see, I am in the business of making people happy. What better place to do such business than a place of desperation? I sit in the shadow of a wilted philodendron, and watch. Her eyes linger on the man at the corner, the one who plans to come get his car tomorrow, as she chooses her seat. She rummages in her pockets counting change. I wince slightly, my human eyes adjusting to ...
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Archive
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/p/archive.html
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Growing Up in Three Poems
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/12/growing-up-in-three-poems.html
Growing Up in Three Poems. When will I be the right size. For the room that I am in? I slide into a suit. Swollen and top heavy. Words fall from its mouth. I sit and watch. It talks for me while I hide. Why are you still talking? Shouldn’t you be smaller? But where is that mouth. With its succor, success. Where is it when I am too small? Where are you when she asks. Are you trying to embarrass me? When I pull away in fear,. Why do you hide from me then? I could have used a suit. Words that play at my own.
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Fiction by Jamie Breedlove: Human Enough; an S.O.S.
http://www.jamiebreedlove.com/2013/07/human-enough-sos.html
Human Enough; an S.O.S. Pilot’s Log; 470153-1407. Those bastards left me. Fucking HRA bastards. Human enough to save their lives, aren’t I? Goddamned Rightie Tightie HRA ‐. Pilot’s Log; 470153-1653. Right Can’t get mad, ‘cause then I can’t keep the ship running. Gotta keep the ship running if I expect to be saved. They can’t save my corpse, if this relic burns out. Pilot’s Log; 470155-0100. To hear the HRA tell it, we are ten feet tall, fly, and breathe fire. Daddy ‐ if they’ve not ‐. I looked through th...
