Wander Lost Stories

Everytime I see something that piques my interest, I click a picture and create a short story around it. I document those stories here.

[wanderloststories]

Soap box, New York. A man whose stench precedes him, drags himself to the street. His legs don't work, he hasn't showered and beads of sweat cover his face. He sits himself down and strips himself naked. With every piece of clothing he removes, he proclaims, "I do not trust your God. I do not trust your faith!" People dressed in fancy clothes walk around him. Some stop to listen, some take pictures. He keeps going. A police car swoops in blaring it's alarm loud on a stuffy Saturday afternoon. A police officer walks out and reads the man his rights. The mad man looks up, smiles his toothless smile saying still, in a baritone this time, "I do not trust your God." Paramedics arrive. The man is naked. The perimeter has been sealed off. The cameras still click, the people are amused. The man chants almost in a trance, "I do not trust your God." "I do not trust your faith." The paramedic approaches from the left, the police man approaches from the right. They apprehend him. They bind him. He is thrown into one of their cars. The crowd disperses. All that is left behind is a trail of blood and his tattered clothes. A rat sniffs the rags trying to find food. The world goes on. #wanderloststories #newyork #writernetwork #readersnetwork #stories #shortstories #tinytales #tales #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram #nycstories #nyc #metropolitanmuseumofart (at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CS5mab9Mnhi/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Wealth, Seattle. "Dad, can you buy me a boat?" "Of course son!" "Dad, can you buy me the lake?" "Of course son!" "Dad, can you buy me the city?" "Aah now you're just being greedy, how about if I buy you the tallest building?" "Okay, but I get to pick which one!" "Of course son. Once you do, we will name it after you and every man, woman and person in the city will remember your name. I will never let them forget." "I would love that dad." And the child beamed. The man looked at his son and beamed. "All I have ever wanted is for you to have everything. Everything that glitters, everything that shines, everything that your heart desires." "Dad, can you buy me the sun?" "Sure but first we will have to build a stairway to get to the sun." "You can build me that, can't you?" "Of course, son!" And the father proclaimed, "I will build my son a stairway to the sun!" And they laughed. A couple passing by were taken aback by his laughter. The one on the left said, "jeez, the homeless get crazier by the day!" The one on the right replied, "this one is special. Rumours say he lost his son to cancer." "Oh no!" "But judging by the crazy, I think he killed his son" "No... Why do you say so?" After a pause, the one on the right said, "Probably was cheaper than paying the bills!" The one on the left stared at the one on the right, aghast. The one on the right chuckled. "Too dark?" The one on the left shrugged and chuckled along. The couple walked away pleased with their dark humour. The poor homeless man kept shouting, "I will build a stairway to the sun!" His imaginary son cheering him on. Eventually the sun set. The man's screams subsided into whispers. The imaginary child was gone. And the funny couple treated themselves to oysters for dinner. Wealth meant different things to each of them. #shortstories #stories #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #write #read #tinytales #tales #storytime #gasworks #seattle #usa #wanderloststories #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CRAuWkvstuH/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Lair, Barcelona, Spain. Lovers and conquerors journeyed long and far to find the pyronymphs lair. But none could. The legend of a pyronymphs passion often drew the loneliest and the bravest. She offered a love like no other is what they said. For the passion of the pyronymph was intoxicating, the kind that was extremely rare. None but one had lived to tell the world. The pyronymph always hid in her lair, she wasn't easy to seek and wasn't easy to trust. She'd burn every man who came to her. All she saw was greed, all she sought was love. None wanted her, just the glory of conquering her. Long long ago she had fallen for a man who had promised her that he was different. He'd promised her that he too could explode like her. That they were made for each other, made of the same dynamite that decimates whatever it touches. She succumbed and fell in love. And together in their passions, they detonated setting fire to everything around them. She lost something that night. He left with the scars of glory, gone like the world around her, and took his promises with him. She was left with piles and piles of ashes, her lair destroyed, her spirit devastated. Claimed like a prize, he stole a piece of her heart and sold it to the man with the heaviest pile of gold. She sat on her ashes, nursing her soul. She rebuilt, she recovered, she learned. She built a stronger more obscure lair and thicker skin. She would stab her scar and remind herself that he had been the ember that burned her, that their union was a catastrophic explosion that left her with nothing. The world however remembered the explosion in all its glory. Years later, the explosion became a celebration. A festival where people light up everything that explodes and dance under the sparks. This is how the world celebrated the man who conquered the pyronymph. She watches these celebrations every year from her lair. While the world celebrates, the pyronymph stabs her scar, she remembers her lessons. People dance. The pyronymph simmers. The man revels in glory. #aroundtheworld #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #read #readersnetwork #readersofinstagram #stories #tales #travelstories #spain #barcelona #write #euro (at Barcelona, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFYbEmrM4r2/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Iron maiden, Brugge, Belgium. "She looks so innocent!" Exclaimed one of the tourist. Alina turned around and said, "she does, doesn't she?" Her group of tourists nodded in agreement and huddled around her. Alina transformed her face into a somber expression, she looked around into their eyes, dropped her voice into a baritone whisper and said, "don't be fooled, for this here is the cruel iron maiden. There are many legends as to her origin, but a common theme across all of them. She entices you with her innocence, invites you into her bosom and embraces you to your death. The medival torture device that has captured the modern world's imagination, for it kills slowly and simply but effectively! Beware of the punishment of Iron Maiden" She was met with an applause and she took a bow. "Reminds me of my ex-wife", claimed the old man with a pink face. The men laughed, the women mumbled and Alina smiled the same smile she reserved for every time someone cracked this joke. The group left, she was tipped well and she bade them farewell. She bundled up her tips and walked back into the museum. As the official tour guide she had privileges at the museum. She walked back to the iron maiden and looked at her in awe. An innocent face with death inside. She'd always been curious about what was inside. Slowly she walked over and stepped inside the iron maiden. She barely fit. "Clearly, I am taller than medival folks" she joked to herself. She ran her fingers across the spikes, thinking of all the people they had pierced. There was so much death in such a tiny space. Her fingers pricked on one and a drop of blood fell on the floor. As the droplet hit the floor, Alina felt something move. A gush of wind, the sound of old iron turning and an eerie laughter of a sinister old woman. Alina was frozen inside, petrified. Slowly the maiden embraced Alina to her death. It wasn't just punishment that the iron maiden sought, she also found pleasure in pain. #wander_lost_stories #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #read #readersnetwork #readersofinstagram #write #stories #shortstory #tales #tinytales #bruge #belgium #aroundtheworld #europe #ironmaiden #wanderloststories #storytime (at Brugge, Belgium) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFgVHceMqEK/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Controller, Milan, Italy. "A normal day starts with a routine, I follow this routine religiously. But there is no origin, there is no end, just a journey that I am walking on. My life almost feels like it is missing a dimension, I can only move forward. If I mess up, I can't turn around, I go all the way back and I start over. I am in a constant state of deja-vu. Like I have walked on this path before, that I have jumped on this wall before, I have climbed these stairs, I have crossed this stream and I have fought these monsters before. I cannot explain, there is a music that plays in my head which tells me what's to come. Even when I sense danger, I cannot stop. I just keep moving forward. I must not mess up. There is someone at the other end waiting for me. I cannot fail, take the power, fight the enemy, run forward." His brother looked at him and said sympathetically, "But big brother why does this upset you?" Big brother said, "because I am in a constant state of running to something that I cannot see. I don't know my purpose, I just fight. I collect rewards on the way and I fight enemies, but I don't know why. I don't want to but I continue to kill. Only because they stand in my way. And I cannot turn around, you know because if I don't kill them I will die. And if I die my journey stops and then..." "... You have to start it all over again." Completed the younger brother. "And what a terrible life that is. Even death cannot help me escape. One journey, one direction and no reason why! Yet it keeps repeating and I cannot breakfree." The younger brother suggested, "what if you stopped?" "But I dont think I can!" "What if you tried?" "I have, I failed. I had to start again." "What if I went in your place?" "I think you do." The younger brother looked perplexed. There was a moment of silence shared between them. Mario put his arm around Luigi, "there is no answer, there is no escape, we have no control, just someone holding the controller." Art work by Piero Lissoni #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #write #read #readersnetwork #readersofinstagram #stories #shortstories #tales #tinytales #travelstory #aroundtheworld #milan #italy #mario #luigi #mariobros (at University of Milano) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFlluS9Mn-x/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Window, Wicklow, Ireland. One fine day, as lightening struck, time stood still for a few seconds. A window opened and a young boy fell into an unknown space. A young girl, who often came to play there, watched him. Bewildered and afraid she poked him with her stick and asked, "who are you?" The boy looked up, his eyes strange, black with a tiny white pupils in between, stared back at her and he smiled baring his crooked teeth. Afraid, the girl stepped back, "who are you? Tell me or I will scream." But the boy stood up and looked around in wonder. He'd never seen this world, he'd only known his. He ran around, touching the stones, feeling the grass and staring up at the sky. The girl amused by his wonder, eased up and asked, "do you understand me?" The boy stopped and looked at her. He picked up a colourful stone and handed it to her. Hesitant, she accepted and smiled back. "So, you're new around here?" He looked at her and she thought he understood. She picked up a stone and handed it to him. He took it and jumped around ecstatically. The girl was perplexed. He ran upto her and extended his hand, she hesitated and put her hand forward. He grabbed it and swung her around. She laughed, he giggled and they danced around. Lightening struck again, time stood still, the window opened and the boy pulled the girl towards him in an embrace. They stood facing each other. His eyes black where hers were white, hers white where his were black. They then jumped through the window. Gone, disappeared. The rocks remained. She was never found. They thought she died. Lightening never struck twice, time never stopped. The window never opened again. She was stuck in another time. #wanderloststories #writernetwork #readersnetwork #write #read #writersofinstagram #readersofinstagram #wicklow #ireland #stories #shortstory #tales #tinytales #aroundtheworld #tales #yinyang #windows #storytime (at Wicklow, Ireland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFtQ9DesLCH/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Jump, Sydney, Australia. He stood on the ledge staring at the wild ocean beneath his feet. It was almost as if he was at war with an invisible force. His thoughts were violent and his heart was pounding. In that turmoil, all of a sudden, he found a moment of peace. His face changed, he calmed down. He took a deep breath and jumped. And when someone jumps from a height like that into water like that, they don't die, they disappear. A few minutes ago, right before he had jumped, he had been walking on the bridge, alone, lost and with a note in his hand. A note that he'd stuck on the bridge right before he had jumped, a note that said, "life may seem random, but it's all just a vicious loop. The worst part is you do not know if your breaking the loop or initiating it." An hour before he'd been walking on the bridge he was running far away from something. His breath was fast and his eyes were wild with fear. A commoner on the street would have described his as a man overcome with madness. Half a day ago, before he decided to run from his reality, this man was sitting at a bar with a beautiful woman, sharing a drink, hoping to get lucky. She said she would let him on a secret that only a few knew. He wanted to hear it. She leaned into his ears and whispered, "no matter what you do, you're in the loop. Tonight, you will jump off a bridge." He had laughed in her face the first time she had said it but he'd ran from her the last time she said it. He hadn't stayed to hear her raspy laughter. 24 hours ago, before his rendezvous with the woman, when the sun rose and the day had just begun, he'd woken up from a really strange dream, a dream where he had jumped off a bridge into a dark abyss and he woke up feeling like he'd been choking. "Wow, was that all just a dream!" #wander_lost_stories #write #read #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #stories #shortstories #tinytales #tales #travelstories #sydney #australia #aroundtheworld #wanderloststories #bridges #darlingharboursydney #loop #dreams #jumps #strangestories (at Darling Harbour, Sydney) https://www.instagram.com/p/CF04nxMMMsP/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Anticipation, Venice Beach, Los Angeles, Usa. Daisy and Desmond were meeting each other for the first time. After months of texting and chatting, video calls and phone calls, they sat a feet apart from one another. Daisy stared into the foamy hearts in her latte while Desmond stared at the bottom hinge of the door that led to the coffee shop. It creaked everytime someone walked in. Daisy had spend 5 hours on a flight from Chicago, spent numerous hours online finding the perfect dress and wore her most expensive perfume because she was convinced she was meeting the love of her life. Desmond had pulled out his Sunday church suit, greased his hair and spent a week's wages to buy Daisy a bunch of exotic daisies. He believed she would be his wife, the mother of his children and the partner to his life. They had chatted for hours, talking to each other, sharing their excitement to meet and their hopes and dreams for the future. They had planned the perfect rendezvous on the Venice beach, facing the most romantic art work that the beach had to offer. Desmond's grandfather had often told him stories of love on those streets. After months of romance that filled them with hope, the two sat one feet apart. The time, the place and the setting seemed right. All they needed was the chemistry and the spark. Instead there had been an uncomfortable silence. The coffees sat untouched. Nothing was said between them. In those shared moments, they knew. Daisy smiled awkwardly, Desmond smirked sheepishly. Reality had destroyed what anticipation had built up. For despite the magic, the hope, the anticipation, the people just weren't right. They were just two strangers meeting for the first time. #write #read #stories #shortstory #notalovestory #lovestory #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #story #tales #tinytales #wanderloststories #losangeles #venicebeach #usa #awkwarddates #dates (at Venice Beach) https://www.instagram.com/p/CI7ZP5wMmdQ/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Sludge, New York, USA. The little girl was really excited to step out of her home and jump around in the snow. She had bugged her mom, the entire day, about it. Her window fogged up when she stared outside to look at the park covered in snow. The little boy threw the pieces of ice onto the side and watched them shatter into a million pieces. His hands had grown numb from the cold. He ran back to his father who was breaking it with his shovel. The little girl flicked the snow off of every leaf and every side walk she could reach. Her mom shouted, "don't touch the snow, it's not very clean. You'll get your gloves dirty" The little boy kicked the ice shards into every corner on the side to see how far it would go. His dad screamed, "Boy, come here and do your job, play later! It's almost time for lunch and we have a lot to get through." The little boy and the little girl crossed paths and caught each other's eye. They were at the same park. She smiled and waved, he smiled back. She went about making snow castles and playing in the ice. The lockdown had been hard. No school, staying indoors and online took its toll. So the mom let her have her fun. He went about clearing shards of ice while his dad shoveled to clear the pathway. The lockdown had been hard. No school, his dad out of work and the holes in his gloves hurt his fingers. But his dad wanted to make rent this Christmas. #read #write #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #story #shortstory #tales #tinytales #storiesfromNewYork #newyork #newyorkstories #usa #lockdownstories #wanderloststories #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram #snowstories #snow #washingtonsquarepark (at Washington Square Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJDM70Gsl6t/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Friend, New York, USA. He hummed as he patted the final patch of snow on the snowman. He adjusted the hat and the carrot nose and once done, he sat down right next to it. "Hi friend, it's been a while! You look great" The snow man didn't say much. He continued, "I missed you last year, there was no snow so I couldn't bring you back. I hope you were okay by yourself." The icy wind wished and washed. The snowman stayed silent. "I know, I know, you're tough. You don't break that easy! But I gotta ask! I care about you! This year's been weird, hasn't it? Death, hopelessness and these shitty masks. I swear I have never hated something that saves lives but smelling your own breath all day is a special kind of hell. Oh, by the way I went by Sara's grave yesterday. Left her some roses, the white ones like she liked em. I have been better about it. Gotta keep the wife happy, you know! Anywho, a new coffee place opened up. The lady at the counter was giving me some friendly smiles. She even made a heart in my coffee. I am telling you buddy, I still got it. Also, I am glad it snowed, I am glad you came and I am glad we could chat. I haven't talked in a while. Martha was getting worried about me. I was staring at the snow all night. I think she took the hint. So she got me here today! It's good to talk to a friend, you know! " A passerby on the street stopped and had been staring at the man and his snowman for a while. Eventually he screamed, "aren't you too old to be making snowmen?" A women dressed in scrubs and a name tag that read Martha emerged from the bench behind the bushes and asked the heckler to leave. She turned and said, "sorry Jon, carry on! Didn't mean to interrupt your time with your friend!" Jon waved back and smiled. He then turned to his snowman, "what a putz, eh! Bet I can kick his ass..." The wind wished and washed, the snowman stayed silent. Jon put his arm around the snowman and asked," so...you think I should ask the coffee lady out?" #write #read #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #story #shortstory #tales #tinytales #pandemicstories #newyork #snow #snowstories #snowmen #storiesfromNewYork #loneliness (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJIU8_MMu8C/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Words, New York. "I hate you" The words still echoed in Julia's head as she stood there listening to the chatter, the splash of the fountain and the slow jazz that played in the park. The sky looked like it was preparing for a vengeful storm, the dark blue announced the rainstorm that was about to hit the city. Still, she stood there hoping he'd show and not wanting him to show. It was difficult to give a name to what they had. She cared for him, he cared for her. They weren't lovers, they weren't friends. They had kissed and cuddled, fought and squabbled, rolled their eyes and held each other's hand. They were nothing and everything. She was lonely, he was lonely and they had been lonely together. She disliked him, he tolerated her yet they checked on each other. Their last time hadn't been great, he said things that were hurtful. She said things that were spiteful. And for an hour they'd sat next to each other in bitter silence. He'd broken it with, "there's no better way to say it, I hate you!" She felt her gut sink, her head spin and her heart burn. She let out some air and said, "alright." And she left. They usually met on Thursdays. She stood there hoping he wouldn't show, loathing herself for showing up. Their words still lingered. #read #write #readersnetwork #writersnetwork #story #tales #pandemicstories #quarantinestories #newyork #nyc #washingtonsquarepark #wanderloststories #tinytales #shortstory #quarantinestory #notalovestory #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram #nycstories #newyorkstories (at Washington Square Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJsVHDeML8k/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Treue (Loyalty), New York. A rope, a book and a gun. That's all he needed to serve his purpose. He woke up in the middle of the night, sneaked out of his bed and went to the woman first. She sat in her chair watching a loud show on her television. He shot her at the back of her head. The gun shot woke everyone and he heard footsteps coming towards him. He ran to the man's room. The man was seated at his table, passed out over a pile of papers. His glasses disheveled on his forehead. The gun man screamed, "wake up, moron!" And shot him through his nose. The blood splattered all over the gun man and he laughed a menacing laugh. He had locked himself inside the man's room and slowly he unwound the rope. Almost like a prayer he uttered, "I have served my purpose, I have served my Lord. I have killed the enemy and I am a free man. Power is restored, the superior survives, the inferior dies." He tied the rope around his neck and jumped out of the window, hanging himself, cracking his neck and dying. Eventually when they were able to enter the doctor's office, they found the psychiatrist shot dead. The gun man, his patient, hung menacingly on the side of the building. One investigator said to another, "It was a bloody experiment, the kind that messes with your brain. The man who died by the rope thought he was a savior. The man who was shot dead convinced him he was." The book lay on the floor, covered in blood and pieces of brain. It was a popular book, we have all read it. A book that teaches supremacy and birthed a supremacist! A man who killed and died. All for his purpose, his alone. #newyork #moma #fascism #stories #tales #wanderloststories #read #write #shortstories #readersnetwork #writersnetwork #readersofinstagram #writersofonstagram #tinytalea #storg #nyc #storiesfromnewyork (at MoMA The Museum of Modern Art) https://www.instagram.com/p/CKiLbd1MWPf/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Spider's Web, New York. At the beginning, there was love, or so I thought. He'd hold my hand and his eyes would twinkle everytime I laughed. He'd never let go. I thought I'd found love. And I was lost in a beautiful world full of dreams. I should have woken up. It started small, the outbursts, the paranoia, the questions and then came the isolation. I stopped calling my friends, I stopped talking to family. It was just me and him. It was a phase, I thought. A lonely isolating phase. And before I knew it, it became a way of life. It wasn't one particular day, it wasn't one particular moment. It was timed. It was intricate. It was manipulative. It was intentional. I could never breathe again, I was suffocated. My voice was muffled to silence. My world reduced to him. Just him. This wasn't love. I was left with one desire, to escape. He only had one desire, me. And so we danced. Me struggling to leave, him strengthening his hold on me. The more I struggled, the tighter the ropes got. I thought I'd explode. And when you're so close to an explosion, your mind works in mysterious ways. You find strength to do things you'd never be capable of. He brought me to the park again, to celebrate togetherness. A prisoner allowed sun light to remember what she could never get. We stood by the railing. He was holding my hand, a little too firmly, almost as if he thought I'd run. I couldn't run. He wouldn't let me. The river looked beautiful, free and mighty. I jumped, he didn't let go. He fell in after me. I was finally free. He was finally dead. The fly escaped the web. #wanderloststories #read #write #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #writersofinstagram #readersofinstagran #read #write #stories #shortstory #tinytales #tales #nycstories #nyc #newyork #fiction #hudsonriver #storiesfromnewyork #storyreading (at Hudson River Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMddD8-MsXt/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Fairy tale, Sintra, Portugal. A girl was lost in the woods. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She cried for her mother, she cried for her father, no one came. She wandered along the woods. Tired she sat on a log. A man dressed in a knight's costume came. He had big blue eyes, a big bushy beard and a sword by his side. The girl was terrified. He said, "don't be afraid, I am your knight." She retreated. He advanced. He swung his hand around and candy appeared in his palms. The girl was famished, couldn't resist. She grabbed the candy and gulped it down. He smiled as he watched her swallow. And the girl fell into a slumber. The man whispered, "all your troubles will disappear." She woke up to a beautiful place, a place so tranquil that she could hear the leaves ruffle. She sat on a tiny castle in the middle of the lake, dressed in a princess cloak. At first she was amazed at this corner of heaven she had landed at. Then came panic. Where was she? Where was the weird man? How did she get here? How would she escape? She saw him staring back at her from the corner of the lake. He was laying on his belly, with his head in his palms, staring at his little princess and smiling. This time he was dressed as a dragon. She screamed, she cried. He just kept saying, "now we wait for the prince to rescue you from the dragon! That's how the fairy tale ends!" No prince came, just death. They found her body days later. A note next to her body simply said, "the fairy tale didn't work." A serial killer struck again. #wanderloststories #writernetwork #readersnetwork #write #read #stories #shortstory #tinytales #tales #story #serialkillers #portugal #lisbon #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram #aroundtheworld #travelstories #fiction #sintra #wander_lost_stories (at Sintra, Portugal) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMi-ut8srGE/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Celebration, Beacon, USA. Everytime the sun would come out, the mistress would walk up to the nanny and ask her to take the little children outside. The nanny would drop everything she was doing, walk up to the childrens bedroom and get them ready for a day out in the sun. The son would jump up and down in his bed and ask her about ice cream. The daughter would run to her room to pack her magnifying glass to catch the summer bugs. The maid would smile and pack them sandwiches with the jelly that they liked. At the park they would find a large tree, she would unfold the blanket and the kids would run around playing while she sat there in the shade. Sun often brought out the many nannies and the many kids in the neighborhood. While the children would run out into the sun, the nannies would find shade. Sitting under hers, the nanny would think about her home, about her own celebrations at home. For her it was never the sun, it was always the rain. Every time it rained, she'd go find her sister, they'd put on their oldest clothes and go out and jump in puddles, singing. They'd come back home dripping and giggling. Their mum would fry up everything she could find in celebration of the monsoon outside. The bugs would sing, the air would smell of wet earth and the rain drops would drown out all the sounds. And they would all sit around the table, in dry clothes and wet hair, with towels around their heads, stuffing their faces with food. The nanny smiles. "I want ice cream" the child screams. The nanny snaps out of it. She nods her head, holds his hand and walks to the ice cream truck. There's no monsoon here, just sunny days full of little children and tall trees with shades. #read #write #readersnetwork #writersnetwork #stories #shortstory #tinytales #tales #instagram #writers #readers #storytelling #newyork #upstate #beacon #newburghny #wanderloststories #aroundtheworld #home #celebration (at Newburgh, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CP2N9XNshUe/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Ode, Hamptons. To a bystander, the bench was ordinary. It overlooked the harbour in silence as the waves lapped at it's feet. But the bench housed many secrets. Secrets about the lovers that met at night, hiding from the world that wouldn't let them be together. Secrets about the old women who'd been best of friends and watched the twilight together for the past twenty years. Secrets about what emerged from the water late in the night when everyone slept. Secrets about the little girl who'd carved her dead dogs name on the arm rest and would leave a flower there everyday. Secrets about the sailors and their secret deeds that they never spoke of. Secrets about the boats that stood still and the boats that never returned. Secrets of the town, secrets of the ocean and secrets of the people. The bench stood through time, holding it dear. But to the bystander it was ordinary, something to forget. And yet the bench was an ode to all the secrets never told. #wanderloststories #read #write #readersnetwork #writernetwork #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram #stories #poems #storiesfromnewyork #hamptons #sagharbor #easthamptons #twilight #dusk #aroundtheworld #tales #tinytales (at Sag Harbor, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CNj7XTCMHVx/?igshid=jvnrmz10vt1m

[wanderloststories]

Spider's Web, New York. At the beginning, there was love, or so I thought. He'd hold my hand and his eyes would twinkle everytime I laughed. He'd never let go. I thought I'd found love. And I was lost in a beautiful world full of dreams. I should have woken up. It started small, the outbursts, the paranoia, the questions and then came the isolation. I stopped calling my friends, I stopped talking to family. It was just me and him. It was a phase, I thought. A lonely isolating phase. And before I knew it, it became a way of life. It wasn't one particular day, it wasn't one particular moment. It was timed. It was intricate. It was manipulative. It was intentional. I could never breathe again, I was suffocated. My voice was muffled to silence. My world reduced to him. Just him. This wasn't love. I was left with one desire, to escape. He only had one desire, me. And so we danced. Me struggling to leave, him strengthening his hold on me. The more I struggled, the tighter the ropes got. I thought I'd explode. And when you're so close to an explosion, your mind works in mysterious ways. You find strength to do things you'd never be capable of. He brought me to the park again, to celebrate togetherness. A prisoner allowed sun light to remember what she could never get. We stood by the railing. He was holding my hand, a little too firmly, almost as if he thought I'd run. I couldn't run. He wouldn't let me. The river looked beautiful, free and mighty. I jumped, he didn't let go. He fell in after me. I was finally free. He was finally dead. The fly escaped the web. #wanderloststories #read #write #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #writersofinstagram #readersofinstagran #read #write #stories #shortstory #tinytales #tales #nycstories #nyc #newyork #fiction #hudsonriver #storiesfromnewyork #storyreading (at Hudson River Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMddD8-MsXt/?igshid=1xivpu5ucgdmf