Harlow Jones

“Dani's Way Home” by Harlow Jones

Trigger warning: mental health, substance abuse Despite her instinct to cry for help, she ignored it. That piece of paper weighed her down like a backpack full of rocks. “EVICTION NOTICE.” As her boyfriend cursed out management, her heart sank. With shaking knees, she fell to the floor. She had nowhere else to go and no money to her name. Just then, she heard her phone ring, muffled by her purse. She scattered and searched until she found it. But once she saw me calling, she froze. While trying to figure out when she last saw me, she let ...

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“Ice in the Desert” by Harlow Jones

Despite the heat engulfing them, she was determined to bring her ice sculpture to the desert. Returning to her hometown, she imagined a school for the next generation of sculptors, where she could share her beloved art form. “Boss, this won’t work.” “Not with that attitude.” Surrounded by sand and cacti, they lifted the sculpted phoenix from the truck. After lots of grunts and straining, they set down the masterpiece in front of the unfiltered sun. “Boss --” “Don’t start.” She ran back to their wheeled freezer and dragged out their gen...

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“Feebletown” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #135

Although they knocked five times, all I did was sweat and tremble. We hadn’t had a visitor in over six years. In the town of Feebletown, people never knocked on doors. Since what happened to Freda, nobody has done nothing. Oh, Lord. The stranger just asked if anyone was home. From my place on the floor, I peered over the couch and squinted through the space between the blinds, hard enough to cause a headache. Why would someone ever need such a large backpack? “Hello?” The stranger called again. With one eye open, I prayed for them to leav...

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“To Survive” by Harlow Jones

As long as I’m alive, I won’t ever know true comfort. For as long as I remember, I’ve always felt on alert, always searching for something trying to hurt me. Whether sharpening sticks or sleeping for no more than thirty minutes, I can’t let my guard down. I won’t let nothing get me. Wait. Shush. I hear something. With the sound of a mouse, she grabbed her bow and an arrow. She knew closing her eyes helped her hear better, but she wouldn’t dare go blind. With a rustle of leaves, she froze. Her breathing grew shallow, as if she was hiding in...

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“Paging Detective Reynolds” by Harlow Jones

With a killer to catch, Tiff forgot it was Valentine’s Day. Sauntering around the suspect’s home, she noted the tagged evidence and made her way to the bedroom. Seafoam green ceramic pieces were scattered on the shag carpet. A smashed light bulb, and a lamp shade across the room. Wardrobe drawers sat ajar with shirts and pants hanging over the edge. Remembering her training days, she maneuvered to the closet, light on her feet. Once there, she scanned the shelves of shoes: Reebok sneakers and slouch boots. Tiff preferred loafers. She looked...

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“Love and War” by Harlow Jones

As the generals took their seats, she stifled a frown because she could never get away with playing footsie underneath this football field of a table. On either side of her, her advisors puffed out their chest, so she pinched her leg to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Once she saw him across from her, the game changed. He wore the cuff links she sent him and grew out his beard like she recommended. Clearing her throat served two purposes: to slow down her libido and to commence their treaty negotiations. “Good day, gentlemen,” she addre...

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“To Get a Name Again” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #130

I'd love to make friends, but I'm not allowed to. None of us are. We’re all the same now. First, it was the clothes and then the hair. If it wasn’t for physical differences and DNA, then we’d be a homogenous mixture. Soon enough we’ll be “as strong as steel.” But I’ve got plans. It’s illegal to have a best friend. Regardless, mine’s the one with the freckles. I met them before the skin bleaching. I’d be whipped if someone in blue found out I called them Freckles. Names are illegal too. I never say their name out loud. I’m smart. I used to ...

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“Extreme Knitting” by Harlow Jones

We walked around a gray cinder-block warehouse. A group of women wearing sports bras, leggings, t-shirts, and sneakers passed by. Just like us, they toted around bags with knitting needles sticking out. Another clone held the door open for us. I muttered a thank-you, before confronting the gym’s interior. The mix of knitted tapestries and roller skates caught me off guard. “Sherry?” I whispered to my friend. “Yeah?” “What exactly is extreme knitting?” “Isn’t this so exciting?” She jumped up and down and ran over to a group of women. One ...

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“Mr. White Teeth in the Dining Room with the Ring” by Harlow Jones

“Delilah, you’re not going to believe this.” “John, I’m not even out of the door yet. Give me a second, before you slap me with whatever journalist insider scoop you’ve got.” “Delilah, this is a big one.” “John, I understand, but you must stop starting each sentence with my name. You remind me of my mom whenever she’s asking for money.” “Fine. Are you out the door now?” “No, John, I’m not. I’m fumbling to squeeze into a pair of stilettos.” “Hot date?” “No, I wish. Sophie is hosting a friends’ dinner.” “Sophie? Like Ryan’s Sophie?” “...

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“Yela and Hunch” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #127

“Yela?” A woman in black business slacks and teal silk top looked at me.“Yes?”“You can follow me.” So I did. We left the testing room of plain walls and hard chairs. As she introduced herself as a nameless director, she led me through wandering hallways. We had been walking through this maze for ten minutes, when we arrived at two wooden doors and she said, “Welcome to the Gut Camp!” I followed her past the gates four times my height and was greeted with a garden of trees, flowers, rocks, birds, butterflies, and ponds. Somehow when the doors...

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“The Campers” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #126

They had been out there for six days. Today was the start of their seventh. They had tents, grills, various sports balls, and a sun bathing station. I opened my curtains a bit more, sure to stand behind them. The park never looked so crowded. I grabbed my purse and jacket and rushed down the stairs. I yelled out to Mom that I was leaving for the market. I planned on baking a cake for Emily’s birthday. I opened the door and closed it behind me. No walls or windows stood between me and the campers. Everyone walking past stared at them. I woul...

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“4:56 p.m.” by Harlow Jones

She needed a new bandage. Her hand wrapped in red, with a belt squeezing. During the past hour, she shifted from watching the clock hands tick to monitoring how far the blood seeped through the towel and how light her head got. She swore to always buy her bagels pre-sliced. She counted eight crying babies, 23 ice packs, and 12 patients asking to speak to a manager. At least, she had a seat facing the only window. The sun’s descent for the day was just starting. Just then, the lights went out and flicked back on. If she had her eyes closed,...

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“Sophia” by Harlow Jones

She added the bags from Chanel and Dior to the mound in her closet and locked the doors. She placed the newest account statements in her desk drawer, growing the existing pile, and locked that as well. She dusted off her hands and sashayed to the kitchen. When pouring herself a cup of tea, she heard the front door open. Her husband and his mistress stumbled into the foyer. She looked on from down the hallway, with a cup and saucer in hand. The stranger had tunnel vision for Frederick, giggled, and bit her lip, while Sophia sipped on her drin...

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“Meltdown” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #123

He plopped onto the couch with a bowl of mac and cheese, resumed Stars War: Episode IV - A New Hope, and kicked his feet up onto the ottoman. While chewing his first spoonful of noodles, he squinted at her headlights filtering through the blinds. When she swung open the door and slammed it shut, he jumped in his seat and almost choked. Her steps thundered through their one-bedroom apartment. She zoomed by so quickly that he couldn’t even complain about her blocking the TV. Once he finished coughing, he said, “Hey, babe. You’re home late.” ...

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“Red Lights” by Harlow Jones

He hummed along to the radio and drummed on the steering wheel, while she stared out the passenger window. He loved this song a little bit more after they sang it together, driving home from the zoo. That was when he fell in love with her. He glanced at her, singing a little louder. He glanced again and turned up the music. Once the chorus hit, he was performing a concert to an audience of one. She didn’t flinch once, so he turned down the music and asked, “Babe, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” She kept her gaze through the window and continued b...

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