Christina Ziroli

“Hummingbird Cake” by Christina Ziroli

Grandma Birdy’s favorite thing to eat in the world was hummingbird cake. Homemade, not from a box, and the pecans had to be toasted. That was the most important part. If you put raw pecans on top, she wouldn’t eat even a bite.  Cassady got the ingredients out, one by one - eggs, cake flour, crushed pineapple, vanilla, and everything else - and lined everything up on her kitchen island. Almost immediately her heart took her back to a place in time when Grandma Birdy was teaching a 12-year-old Cassady to make her very first hummingbird ...

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“Before and After Maria” by Christina Ziroli

The chocolate isn't even good, Robert thought to himself. They manufacture these stupid hearts with the lowest-quality chocolate they can make...like with the stupid Easter chocolate bunnies. Why not make the product actually taste good? 'Slike eating sickly sweet cardboard with the watery ooey gooey stuff in the middle. I mean, if they made a quality product, I guess then they'd have to charge more. Who knows the real reason... But Valentine's Day is a wash anyway. A made up capitalist holiday, Robert concluded to himself as he moved past t...

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“Resuming” by Christina Ziroli

Submitted to Contest #58

My sister, dad and I hadn’t been alone together since my mom passed away six months ago. Like, we’d see each other in passing in the kitchen when we were grabbing breakfast, getting ready to go our separate ways in the morning. Or, we’d pass by each other in the hallway, one of us on the way to the bathroom, one of us on the way to the living room. But we didn’t have movie nights anymore, all piled up on pillows on the floor with popcorn and chocolate and Hulu streaming all night. We used to do that every Friday night, and we’d take turns ...

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“Just a Little Piddle” by Christina Ziroli

Submitted to Contest #57

My great uncle peed on a cat whose tail was on fire.  In this town, that’s what having the last name Holland reminds people of. I see it in the new bank teller’s face when I swipe my card to make a deposit.  “Ava Holland? You wouldn’t perchance be related to-” I cut off the chipper box dyed blonde with the Maybelline Scarlet Flame lipstick smudged on her front teeth.  “Henry Holland. HH. Yep, he was a great uncle.” I wait for the onslaught of weird secondhand hero worship to engulf me, and I’m not disappointed. Or, I mea...

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“Writing Wendy” by Christina Ziroli

Submitted to Contest #57

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Like, it's actually really, really macabre, what's happening here. I know that. But now I'm telling you, dear reader. Here's my story. The story about how I, Elodie Stone, stumbled accidentally into fame, ripping the knees of my jeans in the process. The story about how it's all a hoax. I'm coming clean.Let's back up for a minute. I come from a normal suburban home on the outskirts of Augusta, Georgia. My father is an accountant, and my mother is a stay-at-home mom. She's always been a PTA mom, a killer ba...

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