Harlow Jones

“Izzy's Assignment” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #65

“Oh my god,” Izzy scolded the hot glue gun. “Why isn’t this working?” She threw down the gun onto the thinning carpet of her ancient dormitory. As the glue remained solid, she sobbed into her hands. Gasps and sniffles were the only sounds filling the space, all her roommates having already left for their own Halloween festivities. Here was Izzy: puffy face crying over not-yet-constructed cat ears.  “And, like, no one’s here to help me!” She whimpered to whichever god would pity her, and some spiritual being must’ve been attentive becau...

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“A New Muse” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #64

As a phantom, it is rather hard to find satisfying ways to waste one’s days. I spent the entirety of the 60s and 70s learning to dance. Jazz, tap, disco, Irish, rumba, cha cha, foxtrot, waltz, polka, swing. You can tell how desperate I was insisting on learning all those partner dances despite not finding a fellow ghost I would’ve been willing to partner with. As the 80s were consumed by crochet, the 90s were exhausted by my fleeting love for bird watching. God, the 90s were wretched. What a waste of a decade! Now, however many years later,...

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“A Bewitched Pile of Paper” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #63

Today was a long, bad, terrible, horrible, horrific, miserable day. Tom from accounting was late finishing his report. Patrick from IT spilled his coffee on her blouse, and traffic made her commute home three times longer than it needed to be. But now she was finally home. She was back to her oasis, her safe haven, her refuge. She opened the door with a smile. “I’m home!” she declared. But her smile did not last more than one second. The twenty piles of leaves in the living room were nowhere near as impressive as the five trees in the kitch...

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“Her Boyfriend's Brother” by Harlow Jones

Ana didn’t know what was better: the first sip of her brunch-time mimosa or the coastal sunshine tanning her on the quaint, art-deco patio. With her second sip, she promised herself she would never live in the Midwest. The sun there could never be this good. A lake could never be an ocean. “Alright, see ya.” Brendan put down his phone. Ana was lucky to be with him. He excelled at fulfilling her second most important love language: receiving gifts. However, her new jewelry collection couldn’t compensate for her single most important love lan...

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“The Victorian Imposter” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #61

“How long has she been at this?” Taylor asked her mother Paula. “At least an hour and a half,” she replied.  “Jesus. And for how many days now?” “28.” The both of them sighed at the site of their daughter and sister Lucy dressed in traditional Victorian garb while digging through the side of a hill, the site of a cold case murder from 1999. “Bloody hell!” shouted Lucy, the Indianapolis native. “Oh,” Taylor started. “She has a British accent now?” “Yeah, it started last week,” her mother replied.  “Bollocks!” Lucy stomped her...

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“Day 1,247” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #60

“Welcome to Day 1,247,” a voice billows through an invisible speaker. “It’s a new day,” I say through gritted teeth. I take the same three steps to grab the same backpack that sits in the same corner of the same room where I have started every day for the last 1,246 days. You see, 1,247 days ago, an almighty force which still remains unnamed announced to all of us humans of the world that it would destroy the concept of time. Everyone thought this was just another crazed cult leader thinking he was God. We were wrong. This force actually ...

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“A Cake” by Harlow Jones

Submitted to Contest #59

One, two, three, four, fi – “The skies are pretty crowded today, huh?” I look up to find this chubby man with desperate eyes looking back at me. Desperate eyes were the new norm nowadays. Even I looked desperate. However, this man still insisted on wearing his happy contact lenses like a therapist required to ensure her client that he isn’t crazy. This poor man, too dumb to realize that nothing can distort the desperation woven into his wrinkles. “It’s crowded up their today, huh?” He pointed upward, assuming I was deaf or as dumb as him....

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