A.K. Anderson

“November 19th” by A.K. Anderson

The fire crackles in the weathered brick fireplace, although cackles is probably a better word. The orange and yellow flames lick the red bricks smoothly and loudly, as if they are laughing at my misery. The tattered hunter-green blanket, usually so comforting, tonight feels more like it’s strangling me than hugging as it used to. I pull an arm out of the emerald death trap and grab my mug of tea. The gray ceramic, flecked with indigo, is lopsided, the handle dented, the lip cracked. The imperfect mug has always been my favorite, the words o...

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“Out of the Aquarium” by A.K. Anderson

*this is a sequel to my short story “Aquarium”  “You’ve really read all those?” Jesse asks, gesturing to my bookshelf. In the two months he’s been treating me, we’ve become something like friends and I’ve grown to trust him. My new daily routine consists of what he calls “immunotherapy,” exposing my body to oxygen in minute quantities to try and reduce the allergen’s effect. So far, it’s going well–I haven’t gone into anaphylaxis once, and Jesse (as I've begun to call him) says that pretty soon I’ll be able to try leaving my room. “I’ve ha...

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“Sir Barry and Steve” by A.K. Anderson

Submitted to Contest #97

Sir Barry saddled up his noble Steve. You probably think that should say “noble steed,” but Sir Barry named his horse Steve so that’s correct.“Max, your food is here, honey.” My mom taps my shoulder, closing the magic window. Just that small touch draws out a whole world of pain. I don’t cry, though—Sir Barry didn’t cry even when he was stabbed. I put down my pencil and close my notebook, but Sir Barry’s story is more interesting than food, even when the food is grilled cheese.A nurse sets the plate on the tray where my notebook was. I reach...

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“Fix the Latch” by A.K. Anderson

Submitted to Contest #97

I heard a sound. A knock, but not a knock on the door. Just the soft clinking noise of someone tapping on glass. I knew what that meant. I quickly ran to the window over the sink, grinning when I saw Connor. He ran a hand through his curly black hair that matched mine. We always joked that we would never have to guess what our children looked like. At least, when it came to their hair color. He was 16, just a year older than me, and even though we were young we knew we would get married someday. It was written in the stars.He gave me a goofy...

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“Aquarium” by A.K. Anderson

Submitted to Contest #97

My name suits me. Narin. It means delicate or fragile, which is exactly what I am. My parents, in the few times I’ve spoken to them, insist that the meaning is purely coincidental. But I still wonder if they changed it after the surgery. I don’t remember my life before, so I have no way to tell.It’s been 13 years, to the day. 13 years of living in a glass prison. 13 years of feeling like a fish who is too big for her aquarium. 13 years of doctors with oxygen tanks and masks poking and prodding me, treating me like some formaldehyde-soaked sp...

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