All posts by Rosie Gonce

Queztalcoatl

They had first met at a coffee shop on a Tuesday morning. Sam was sitting at the table in the corner looking at her phone and sipping a latte when she suddenly felt eyes on her. She looked up slowly and saw a handsome man with slicked-back hair, his hands in his pockets, his eyes smiling, and his mouth with a barely visible smirk.

Sam adjusted her ponytail, even though she didn’t really need to. She pretended like she wasn’t noticing him walking toward her. He stopped next to her table and took a hand out of his pocket and gestured at the empty chair across from her, keeping one hand in the pocket of his black slacks.

“May I join you?” Sam then realized that it was Stephan Miles. His family practically owned the city. His father was the Mayor, so he worked with him. She wasn’t sure what his title was, but he had that look that emanated importance.  She wondered why he wanted to sit with her.

Sam nodded and smiled weakly, trying to not blush, even though she knew there was really no way to prevent it. He pulled out the chair and sat down gracefully, unbuttoning his suit jacket with the flick of his fingers. He stretched his hand across the table, offering a handshake.

“Hello, I am Stephan Miles.” His white teeth glowed as he grinned with his mouth slightly open. Sam had seen him on the local news before, in a fourth of July parade, and around town. He was known as the handsome son of the mayor. Sam had thought that Stephan Miles had a fake kind of politician-style handsome. But in person she saw that what she thought was a fake tan, was actually smooth, olive-colored skin. The grease in his hair slightly failed to keep the waves straight and she could see tiny curls at the nape of his neck. His long eyelashes nearly touched his thick eyebrows, framing his dark round eyes. His sharp jawbone and dramatic angular nose balanced perfectly with the softness of his stare.

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Baby Girl

Shirley had given birth to a daughter, so she didn’t get to hold her right away. The team of doctors scooped the baby up and took her into the Implantation Room. As she already knew, her daughter had to get her Protection Chip. All females had to. It was for the greater good, they told them. This way, you’ll be safe, they told them. Shirley tried to feel comforted by that thought, but could simultaneously feel her own Protection Chip throbbing, deep within the pit of her stomach.

Her husband noticed her frowning and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be ok. Just standard procedure. We knew this would happen.”

“I know,” Shirley sighed and looked up at her husband, swallowing her tears.

“It’s better this way. Now she’ll be safe.”

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Vent

Vent

By Rosie Gonce

“Are you serious? I thought that it was on sale!” The old woman yelled, her wrinkled tattoos covered in dry skin. She wore a gray shirt that was as faded as the tattoos that covered her arms. The shirt said “Misfits” on it, with a sloppily painted skull.

“Well, it ain’t! So either buy it or get outta here!” The young man said, his dark stubble sprouting sporadically all over his face, along with his acne.

The old woman shook her head, rummaged through her backpack for a crumpled up thousand dollar bill. She smoothed it out, hiding her smile as she noticed the devil horns she had drawn on President Trump, with a Sharpie marker. She picked up the bill and then slammed it down on the counter with unexpected vigor and glared at the young man. He rolled his eyes.

“How many bags do you want?” He asked as he put the money in the register, and then put the bottle in a plastic bag. “Double? Triple? What?”

“None!” the old woman yelled. “There shouldn’t even be any bags! In my day there was a law banning bags! Do you know what they’ve done to our environment—”

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Dreams That We Dare To Dream

Dreams That We Dare To Dream

By Rosie Gonce

Scott had wanted to go to the other bar that was downtown so he sat in the backseat sulking. He was being dragged along to go “drinking and find some girls,” which always lead to a night of a lot of drinking and getting rejected in subtle, polite ways by every single girl at the bar. He wasn’t in the mood to pretend that wasn’t going to happen. He had wanted to go to the bar downtown where there was a pool table and a jukebox with some of his favorite bands in it, U2 and Radiohead, in particular. Where the music wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t even think. He looked down at his baggy clothes, which he had barely tried to color-coordinate. Brown pants, plaid button-up, dark brown jacket, with one missing button. He used his fingers to brush his stringy, straw-colored hair back behind his ears. He was wishing he had gotten a haircut.

“Dude! Scott! Get that stick outta your ass! We’re not going to that shitty bar! All the chicks there are old and haggard!” Jerry yelled into the rearview mirror back at Scott, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Jerry had blond, curly hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. He had a five o’clock shadow that made him look older than he was, and his clothes were slightly too tight on him, partially because he always struggled to find clothes that fit. He was built like a football player but was never interested in sports.

“Seriously, Scott!” Danny chimed in turning around from the front passenger seat to make sure Scott could see his annoyed look. “If we go to The Moon Room then we have a way higher probability of getting laid! Who cares if the music sucks! The chicks that go there are down to fuck!” Danny had gelled his hair special for tonight. His dark brown hair was always neatly buzzed on the sides and a little longer on the top to mold, what many referred to as a faux-hawk. He wore his usual “going-out gear,” which was a gray button up shirt with black slacks and shiny black shoes. His friends often teased him and said it looked like he was going for a job interview. “In a way, I am!” Danny would sometimes rebut.

“Yeah, they’re nasty girls,” Nathan said quietly as he sat next to Scott, looking out the window. Nathan was the smallest of the four friends and he often made it more noticeable with his body language. He slouched in his seat with his shoulders curved in and his face peeking out the window, like a curious animal. He had scruffy, light brown hair that he didn’t brush, that was just long enough the cover half his ears. He had a black hoodie on with some jeans and some all-black converse. This was dressing up for him.

Scott rolled his eyes and sighed loud enough so everyone could hear him. Jerry turned up a Green Day song and pushed on the gas more than was necessary. Danny lit a cigarette and started rolling down the window, catching Nathan’s attention who yelled over the music, “Danny, can I bum one of those?”

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The Phone Call

The Phone Call

by Rosie Gonce

“Hello, is this Samantha Harvey?”

Sam sighed and reluctantly said “Yes, it is.” emphasizing the annoyance in her tone. No one ever called her Samantha. It was an immediate sign that it was someone she did not want to talk to.

Telemarketer or bill collector? she wondered, trying to remember if there was a bill she had forgotten about.

Why are they calling so early?! The clock on her wall read 6:10 am.

“It says here that you are the ‘In case of emergency’ contact person for Nathaniel McDouglas.”

Sam’s heart sank. It sank the way it always did when someone mentioned Nathaniel.

“Well…Um…” Sam gulped.

This was awkward, she thought.

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