A robin, hopping around a mushroom, seemed unconcerned with food for the moment, more interested in the little shade that had sprung from the earth. The lip was high enough off the ground that she could fit underneath, and this concept seemed fresh and new. She jumped from the sun to the shade and back into the sun, unsure what she liked most.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing there?” The man was trying to disguise the contempt of his voice in big avuncular tones. Amy appreciated the effort, but he was still a feral pig coming straight for her.

“Just watching,” she replied. He wanted to know what she was watching, but the man’s bounding enthusiasm had startled the bird, who was gone. Amy didn’t know enough about mushrooms to pretend she was noting a rare species, and said nothing.

“You’re on my property, so I’d appreciate if you finished up your business and went home.” He wobbled away, through the grass, leaving piles of powdered mushroom in his wake.

The party was a few houses down. College students pecked at each other against every hard surface. Their bodies were pressed together, one hand apiece free for red cups of cheap, available beer, which they sipped alternating with faces.

“Well look who it is!”

“Where’d you come from?”

All her friends were so young. After the initial surprise of seeing her, they put a drink in her hand and went back to their own peer group.

“Let me introduce you. This is Amy. She’s an artist.” The student looked from Amy’s feet to her chest and walked away, shrugging.

Amy sat outside, in the grass recently watered with beer and vomit. “Why don’t you come out more often?” someone said.

#agoraphobia, #artist, #birds, #introvert, #microfiction, #party, #quiet, #social-anxiety, #social-phobia


He had his computer at the coffeeshop not because he worked better in public. Later, he would have to erase everything and start again, all these stray thoughts infecting his own, but he couldn’t be at home anymore today. Those walls felt like obscurity. These were mediocre walls, covered in quirky animals and newspaper clippings, but they were public. He could learn from these walls.

A young man did a double-take as he passed by. Trojan looked up a few times and saw him looking over, checking his phone, and looking over again. The attention was unsettling, and he had to ignore it. He wrote a line of poetry.

bent over ocean wave held at ten thirty

Lately, he was always putting numbers in things. Most of his documents started with “ten thousand” before he figured out what he was saying. Seemingly, he wanted to say something important.

“It is you,” he heard. The young man was next to him, and was looking down closely. “You’re Armando Truck. I saw you at a reading in college.”

Trojan was not Armando, and rather disliked his work, all washed out with mothers and sex, but he saw no need to contradict. He shook the young man’s hand, and spoke with an ordinary amount of friendliness.

The young man sat down. He began talking about his girlfriend, how she didn’t seem to pay attention to him anymore, how he was just going through the motions in life, that he’d never really believed in anything. Trojan wasn’t sure if he should comment, if he was listening, if he was meant to be there.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Trojan said, and the man stood up and hugged him.

“That’s so true.”

#agorophoba, #artist, #fandom, #microfiction, #public, #validation, #writer


Hello. Here is a link.


It is a story with some inconsistencies. I’m not quite satisfied with it, and I keep changing it. Sorry for the ambiguity.


(And if someone can tell me how to post Twine stories natively in WordPress, I want to hear that explanation)

#artist, #better-2, #inconsistent, #interactive-fiction-2, #long, #pit, #self-loathing, #stories-in-parts