Genevieve Taylor

“Of a Captive Angel” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #92

Oh, look, there he is. Sebastian Bloom. He’s staring at you, waiting.  Sebastian Bloom, downturned mouth and blond lashes. Sebastian Bloom, coattails long and grey. Sebastian Bloom, prematurely silver hair falling over key lime eyes.  You have just woken up. The world is fresh, still dewey, sticky, leaving cobwebs between your fingers as you open your hands. The world is curved lines and long-legged water bug wonderings on your wet lips.  Who called you here? But it is Sebastian, of course.  He clears his throat. “It...

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“The House on the Cliff” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #67

Midnight As the bells in the church below the cliff sang midnight in a melancholy choir, the world smelled of lime zest and metal, and a dark-masked villian slipped away unnoticed.  One Grandfather O’Brien found the body as he went up to bed, his eyes red from exhaustion and his brain dizzy with pipe smoke. His feet slid in the blood, but he barely screamed as he looked down. Zooey had always been his least favorite grandchild anyways.  She lay across stairs, the long train of her dress spread out beside her, soaked deep red,...

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“Penny, Asha, and Dying Love” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #60

“You know, when this whole thing started, and I mean way back, at the very beginning, when most of it was just rumors and small little accidents blown out of proportion, I Googled the actual definition of an apocalypse,” Penny tucked her hair behind her ear, her dark roots now as long as the bleached section, “And it’s actually ‘an event involving destruction or damage on an awesome or catastrophic scale.’” Asha didn’t turn to her, staring up at the hazy orange sky, straining to see the moon through the smoke, “Okay, and?” “I’m just saying...

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“The Princess and the Newcomer” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #56

Millie The boy had brown hair and brown eyes, his slim body swimming in his grey shirt. I looked at him through the gleaming blonde shroud of my hair. Alejandra watched him from the other end of the table, chin tipped up and crown tilted sideways on her head. Her small pink mouth was pinched with distaste.  No one spoke as he slowly made his way to his seat, sliding the chair back and sitting without meeting anyone’s eyes. He picked at his nails, dropping the torn off ends onto the carpet below his chair. My eyes flicked to Julian, bu...

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“The Ouija Board” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #53

Phoebe leaned over the table, forearms pressed to the wood, to whisper to Maxon, “Don’t tell Julia, because I know it was hard for her to find this place, and I definitely need the vacation, but this house is creepy.”  Maxon widened his eyes, leaning towards her, “I know. The ceiling creaks so much, and I swear I heard someone knock on my door and, like, rattle the doorknob at three a.m. this morning, but neither of you were up.”  “Wait, really? I-” “Hey guys,” Julia pushed open the bedroom door with her toe, a large brown box w...

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“The Memorial” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #52

The way the streets are packed full of people sweating in the summer sun reminds me of the battlefield, where we had been pushed so close together that when a soldier fell, their corpse landed on whoever was next to them. I’ve had trouble with crowds since then, but I am here today by necessity.  Today is the memorial.  It was Marcia’s idea to honor the dead, and she planned the whole thing, picking the venue, the caterers, even the flowers. That was before we realized her wound was infected, before she started rotting from the i...

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“In Which Rudolf Chooses to Die” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #50

The table is long and laden with ornate silver platters of food. There are oysters nestled in beds of gleaming ice, warm loaves of fragrant herb bread, and plates of dainty bacon-wrapped dates. Tall, thin candles flicker between the dishes. A towering croquembouche looms in the center of the table, threads of golden caramel gleaming in the candlelight.  No one is eating.  The guests seated around the table, all dressed in heavy, richly colored velvets, watch the man at the head. He stands on his chair, hands on his hips, chin tip...

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“Keene and the Locksmith” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #42

We must have made a strange picture, the group of us, huddled on the edge of the cliff, the wind in our hair. But no one was watching, and we weren’t thinking about our appearances. We had bigger things to worry about.  “Guys, we have to do something.” Charlotte crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one foot. “This can’t point back to us.” Milo, for once not cracking a joke, stared down at the two bodies at our feet. There was blood everywhere; we were standing in a puddle of it, and all our shoes were colored deep red. “Well the...

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“The Well” by Genevieve Taylor

“Mary, Mary, come out! Please!” Panting after her run to the house, Evie bangs against the front door with the side of her fist. She hears shifting footsteps inside, hears Mary’s voice shouting to someone, probably her mother. The door opens, and Mary leans against the doorframe. Her short hair is coming out of the small ponytail at the base of her neck. When she sees Evie, something flickers in her eyes, but she quickly hides it behind a smirk. “Yes? Why are you here?”  Swaying slightly on her feet, Evie wrings her hands. “Imogen fell ...

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“Diary from the Bear Apocalypse” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #36

Day 146Dear Diary,  It’s too loud down here, but not the kind of loud we had at home. At home, there were cars honking and people shouting, and their cacophony would lull me into sleep. Here, there is only the hum of the generator. Really, it shouldn’t bother me. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.  Evangeline doesn’t seem to mind it. She’s sleeping next to me, and I’m afraid to move too much in case I wake her up.  I found this notebook when Marcus was out, and he doesn’t know I have it, though I’m sure he’ll find out soon....

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“Stella and Ruby” by Genevieve Taylor

Submitted to Contest #29

Stella and Ruby were the best of friends. Everyone knew it. At five, they learned to fly together, their bony still-growing wings struggling to beat as they jumped from low tree branches onto the ground with their small hands, sticky from pilfered candies and sap, linked between them. It took them weeks, but they came out strong and soaring with matching scrapes on their knees and their cheeks appled up with glee.  Once they learned how to write, they passed so many notes in class that their teachers gave up trying to stop them. By the ...

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