The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

Now listen, I’m not saying I was the bastard love child of George Clooney and Ryan Gosling or anything like that, but when you factored in my soft features and my career, there was no denying I was a serious catch. The problem is looks meant everything to Hannah. Everything . See I’d known since early on in our relationship she sought validation through her physical appearance. Personally, I blamed her parents. In our first year of dating, while we lay side-by-side on the beach swapping stories about our crappy childhoods, she told me her dad once refused to put up her school photos. When she asked why, he patted her head and said, “Don’t take it personally honey, it’s not your fault your acnes so disgusting.” So, you can understand where her toxic obsession sprung from. Not that I’m excusing what she did, just making the point that although her skin may have cleared up, those self-esteem issues most definitely did not. It’s funn...

My wife and I are very different people. Her delicate, careful nature has always opposed my reckless and adrenaline-junky lifestyle. She’s tamed me down quite a bit, but people still comment that we are the definition of “opposites attract.” When my wife announced the pregnancy, our families placed bets on who he would take after. My wife and I prayed that he might just adopt both of our traits, because admittedly, our strong personalities had their flaws. She was a perfectionist to a fault, and I was a troublemaker at heart. When I held Hayden in my arms for the first time, I felt full in a piece of my heart I didn’t even know existed. I’ve not always been the nurturing type, but Hayden made me want to be. It didn’t take long for Hayden to grow into his personality. He was carefree, adventurous, boisterous and snarky. It was clear who he took after. Everyone called him my “mini-me.” My wife rolled her eyes every time that comment was made. I...

  Miss Elliott looked curiously at the boy seated at the table in Adult History, a large volume open before him. His tablet was next to the book, his fingers busy on the screen. Every few minutes, he would pause, and turn a page of the book. He would come in every day after school and stay there until closing time. Children weren't supposed to stay there unattended, but the library had evolved into after-school care for tweens, and the librarians knew until a child went missing there wasn't much they could do about it. This boy never went to the Children's section. Just sat at this table, turning pages and playing on his device, brushing his fair almost white hair out of his eyes. Eventually she went up to him, breaking her strict librarian code to never disturb anybody reading. "That's an impressive book you've got there- History of the Russian Empire!" she remarked. The boy looked at her. ...

My daughter is the absolute love of my life, she is my spitting image a little mini me that likes to follow me around and do all the “guy” stuff a father would do. When I work on the house she is the one that hands me my tools, though she is only 7 years old she already knows what a pair of channel locks look like, she even knows how to properly use a measuring tape; I find it to be the most adorable thing whenever her little finger counts how many 1/16's or 1/8" of an inch something is. I know most parents probably wouldn’t feel safe with their 7 year old handling tools but I’m always there to supervise her and make sure she learns how to respect said tools, me telling her as usual “These are what?” “They’re not toys” she would always respond in her cute soft voice bringing a smile to my stoic face. Whenever we do finish a project together my little helper would gather up all the tools and place them carefully into my tool box, tryin...

Kids grow like weeds. It’s hard to believe that my daughter is three now and she just loves to draw. She’s always bringing me a new scribble. A picture of the neighbor's cat, a picture of our dog, or sometimes even the playground. She’s just a kid so the drawings of me don’t really resemble anything more than a balloon with legs and as an overweight single father, I try not to take offense.   After dinner, she’ll bring out her crayons and paper. Earlier this week, while I was watching my football game, she walked up to me with her latest masterpiece.   “This is beautiful!” I said with pride and watching her smile light up her face. My heart always fluttered when she did that.   The drawing was a simple view of our front yard and house. She sketched out a simple box with a square window and an oversized triangle for our roof. The usual depiction of me, a blob with legs, holding hands with her, and another figure that seemed far more detailed than both of us. I...

My first memory is desperately trying to muffle my brother's cries. My Dad is towering over us, yelling that we should shut the fuck up. Crying always made Dad angry. Everything did, really. The old fuck died years ago, but he stays a part of me. I'm an angry girl. Not easy to love. I have never had a boyfriend. I never even had friends, really, except for my little brother. He is the functional one. Doesn't even remember half the stuff Dad did to us, just kind of... blocked it out, I guess. He is able to live. He has tons of friends. He even managed to fall in love, and they had a baby girl. I always wanted kids. I never got the chance. The jealousy was eating me up, but I wasn't really angry at my brother. I understood why everyone prefered him over me. And he is the only one who ever loved me. That is, of course, until the night he asked me to babysit his kid. I still remember his screams. The terro...

At night I have a special visitor that comes to see me. After Mommy tucks me into bed I stay up waiting for him. He knocks on my window and I let him in. He told me his name was Steve. At first I was scared because I thought he might be a monster, but he said he was a friend of Mommy's. He plays dolls and house with me, we have tea parties, and he lets me show him all my princess dresses. I'm really sad when he has to leave but he says Mommy doesn't like him there even though they are friends. I'm not supposed to tell her. Steve said he would take me on a trip one day if Mommy lets him. We will go on a road trip to Disneyland and eat all the good snacks and go on my favorite rides. I can't wait, but he says not right now because it would make Mommy mad. I really really want to go, so I asked Mommy why she doesn't like her friend Steve anymore. She acted really weird and dropped her cup on the floor. She said she didn...

  Rain splattered against my cracked windshield. The engine of my 2004 Toyota Camry screeched, echoing in the surrounding darkness. I tried to keep a proper grip on the trembling steering wheel. The whole damn car was rumbling. I prayed I would make it home, at least. I usually don’t drive home from work without music. Tonight, however, I had to do two things: Let my thoughts settle after the outburst I had at work. And listen attentively to the engine, making sure it didn’t explode on me or whatever. I’m not a mechanic, but that sound it gave off didn’t sound normal at all. Fuck, I thought to myself, I’m gonna need a new job. As soon as possible. As if laughing at my misfortune, the engine roared and shuddered. “Ahh fuck you too,” I murmured. I was about thirty-minutes from home, driving on the back roads to avoid the highway. Being surrounded by forest on either side gave off an unsettling feeling. I...

I saw her again last night. This time, it was onstage at the campaign rally. One minute, the crowd was cheering for me, praising my every word. Banners reading: TELLER 2 SAVE AMERICA dotted a sea of faces, each of them crying out for a better future, a better America! One minute, I made my vows to them. “There is deep division in our country! A division between good and evil! Between those guided by morality and those who have forgotten it! But together, we can heal those wounds! We can fix this broken nation of ours! We can remove its flaws, cast away its broken pieces and build it back greater! We can come together as one people, under one God, as one America!” I heard them cheer for me. I looked out at the crowd… and there she was. Her head tilted to the side. Her short blonde hair hanging limp from her head and her pure blue eyes fixated on me. The moment I saw...

The first thing you have to understand is that my brother was not born a killer. He wasn't raised a killer, either. He didn't skin cats, he didn't throw rocks. The only person he ever threatened with violence was me, and I knew he didn’t mean it. They say it must have been our father’s fault, that he must have been a horribly cruel man, to make John turn out so wrong. True, our dad was a raging alcoholic who burned himself to ashes while trying to make dinner, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. It hurts, when my neighbors give each other conspiratorial looks, or hint about how hard it must have been to be John’s sister, or wonder obliquely why no one noticed his sadism. Y’all had better be kind, because I'm not going to let some strangers on Reddit bad-mouth him, no matter what awful things you think he did. That’s the point of this post. To tell all of you the truth. He was John Edward McDonald, and he hated his name with a burnin...

While sitting on my bed last night, I looked up and saw a pale, grinning face peeking at me from the closet.  Every ounce of my blood turned to ice, and chills seized my whole body, freezing me in place. The face quickly retreated, ducking behind the door. I stared at the place where it had been for a moment, then screamed at the top of my lungs and leaped up from the bed. The world blurred around me as I hurled myself out into the hallway, crashing hard into the wall and then righting myself and sprinting to the top of the stairs, where I paused, turning back to stare at my bedroom door. My mind raced. What should I do? Call 911. Yes. Of course. There was somebody in my house. Of course I should call 911. Oh, shit! My phone. I had left my phone on my bed. I stood there trembling for a moment, the sound of my heart thundering in my ears. My mind and body were both on fire as I tried to figure out what I should do. My instincts were screaming at me...

I have always prided myself on being a good chess player. When I was a little younger, in my early teens, I gained quite a bit of notoriety as a "wunderkind" reaching masters and punching well above my weight class in Chess circles. I moved away from Chess in my late teens, and just like every other muscle, if you do not stretch and flex it, you lose it. I might not be the master I once was, I still play blitz and rapid, and enjoy the casual match. Definitely no tournaments for me though. Speed chess in the park is arguably one of the most fantastic experiences one can experience. You never know who you meet, what sort of playstyle you will be going against, what experience level the player across from you has, if they are classically trained or not. The possibilities are endless. On top of this, you get to have a genuine human connection without technology which in this day and age is such a rarity. I have made it a habit of at least once a wee...

You think you know your family. What they look like, how they speak, how it feels when they pat you on the back and say ‘welcome home’. None of us truly know any other person; not completely, often not in the ways that matter. I thought I knew my family, but I didn’t. I was a fool with wool over my eyes. I’d been living in a fantasy which was seconds away from crumbling down around me at every turn throughout my falsehood of a childhood. This is the story of how I learned what my family really was. What we really are. Maybe it can help you, too, or maybe I’m just looking to vent to the only corner of the internet who’ll really understand. Believe it or not, I don’t really care, I just need you to read. I need this after the weekend I just had. It was this past Saturday that it started. The air was cold as I walked up the drive leading to my childhood home. I hadn’t visited in years; work in the city had kept me too busy. We lived out in the country, so I ...