Cherry

author | filmmaker | editor | pool boy at the vampire mansion Writes Phrased & Confused More at eliakarra

[nellsdiam]

hello writeblr

Tumblr veteran here, but I've never shared my writing here before. Come say hi! I wanna talk to more writers!

Things I write: -sff/spec fic -surrealism -experimental fiction -comics -flash -poetry

Things I take:

-film photos -videos

I also edit for some very cool lit journals, so I'll be posting about submissions etc.

Feel free to jump in my asks, I need some enclosure enrichment

[nellsdiam]

Vova, September 2024

Canon AE-1/Ilford 400

[nellsdiam]

Reykjavik pier, 2021

Canon AE-1/Portra 400

[nellsdiam]

When the teacher asks me to say a few words about myself

[nellsdiam]

RIP Feyd-Rautha you would’ve loved Hatari

[wishuponastarion]

"oh sorry, i guess i was infodumping again" - sad, shy, apologetic

"you sly dog, you got me monologuing" - cool, strong, confident

[inabikari]

[nellsdiam]

Gas Station - Reykjavik

[lunadarkbloom]

Credit: @andrea.dautelle on Instagram 💚

[nellsdiam]

Finishing the reading year off strong with Die!Die!Die!

[nellsdiam]

Back to remind you that you have 12 days to submit to JAKE for the 00s nostalgia submission call, guest edited by yours truly! JAKE and I already have some awesome stories and were thirsty for morrreee

What to submit? Anything 00s related, from frosted tips and low-rise jeans to pop culture and public scandals, bike races with your friends, summer memories, mall adventures, and school gossip. I want it all!

[nellsdiam]

Hey writeblr, I am guest editing for JAKE, the punkest lit mag in the literary scene, and I want to read all your 00s pieces!!!

Things I’m looking for:

00s MTV. You got anything about Jackass? I want it.

Your Hot Topic adventures

MCR! MCR! MCR!

Fergie’s cartwheels on TODAY

Classic Paris, Nicole, Kim K etc moments

Anything that will remind me of the wonderful 00s

Subs open until Dec 24. Full guidelines here

[nellsdiam]

My Aunt, the Witch, Tells People Their Fortunes

Elia Karra - First published in Crow & Cross Keys

I want to see her again so I go to her house down by the shore, the one with the stained glass windows and the crooning wind chimes. I put on the eyes she likes the most, brown like the earth that grows her magnolias and crinkling at the corners. The hands I pick are of a sturdy firstborn daughter, thick-fingered and made for duty. Big for my bony wrists, but sometimes she makes me knead the dough for her bread and my real hands are too small, too faltering.

The smell of coffee greets me before she does, so strong I can almost taste the bitterness on my tongue. (It’s not the tongue she likes. This one is heavy and often refuses to speak.) On the bottom of the small, ceramic cup rests my fate. I come to her for this, and she gives it to me time and time again, though it never changes.

“Welcome,” she says, and it sounds like I missed you. It must be lonely out here.

I sit across from her and trace the lacey edge of the doily that’s spread over the table with my thumb. If she notices the nervous gesture, she doesn’t say it. She’s kind like that. Instead, she pushes the coffee cup towards me, and I take its little handle between two fingers. I drain it.

Today, it tastes like secrets, like things better left unspoken. It goes down my throat like tar.

She covers the cup with the saucer and turns it upside down. She lets the sludge drip and the scum sit, trace images on the white of the cup. When she flips it again, she tells me of the day I will step into this house and sit where she sits. She tells me of the moment the wildflowers will shroud my body, bloom in my throat, and burst out of my mouth. She tells me of my past as though I’m meant to remember it.

This again. This always.

I want to ask her what to do with all this sadness that nests in my guts. I want to say what did you do with it when you were left here? Where did you put it when you needed to rest? But she deals in prophecies, not truths.

When I am tired of listening to my fortune, she speaks about her own. When she is tired of that, she speaks about my mother as her sister, her sister as my mother, the destiny that she carries.

“So different from your own,” she says. It’s a good thing. I think.

We sit until the sun goes down and the wildflowers drown the room in cloying fragrance. I hold her gaze with the eyes she likes. I make her tea with my sturdy hands. My tongue is stubborn and doesn’t speak, but she forgives me.

I leave her only to come back tomorrow.

[nellsdiam]

Hey writeblr, I know you all have (several) celebrity crushes, and JAKE and L. M. Cole want to hear all about them! Send your celebrity crush stories, poems, musings, etc to JAKE.

Subs open 25/11-03/12.

[nellsdiam]

Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Could his kokoro go doki doki at a simple glance or a hint of a smile from you?

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

tired of being a person i want to be. an inconvenience.

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

splendiferous news!!!!!!

[nellsdiam]

All My Dentists Love My Teeth

Elia Karra

First published in Okay Donkey