Jarrel Jefferson

“(It's Hard to See) Beyond the Rain” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #288

tw: violent and graphic imageryHe thinks I’m asleep as he sneaks about the house. He forgets I can’t sleep through storms. I imagine the sky yelling at me over something I didn’t know I did. I never learned the sky’s language no matter how much weather channel I watch, but if I did I’d apologize to it for whatever I’ve done to make it rage.I stopped apologizing to him, however. A long time ago. He doesn’t care. I can hear the thumps from his footsteps and the snickers overflowing from his throat. I imagine his wide eyes and Cheshire smi...

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“The Long Holiday Nights” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #283

I had a thought: say, hypothetically, I die one day. In such a case, this would be my hell. I would be at work, wearing a red polo shirt and tight khaki pants, fulfilling someone’s never-ending online grocery order, while Christmas carols play over the loudspeakers. And moments before I pass out from exhaustion, my second to last thought would be if my ass still looks tone despite all the weight I lost over the past eight hours.  This thought warmed me, like a plush-loft blanket cocooning my body at two a.m. after walking five minutes f...

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“Governmental Defiance” by Jarrel Jefferson

tw: a woman shoots cannonballs out of her womb Jacob will die at the end of the story. For you, the reader, this is a spoiler, but for him, it’s a vague concept, one he’s spent a lifetime coming to grips with. Even now, as he pops open the trunk of his SUV, as he tosses in a suitcase, a carry-on, a pregnant wife, two daughters, and a Yorkie, he wonders if today will be extraordinarily special, special enough to be composed for (at most) ten people to read before some unforeseen tragedy claims his life, as what tends to happen to main charact...

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“Demon Apathy” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #270

tw: suicide, gore “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of feeding my kids disgusting vizkus for every meal,” said the TV mother. The first thing I noticed was the black fungi sprouting on top of her head through her hair. “I miss the good ol’ days when we could eat bacon, turkey, and yams. But now, all we got is vizkus. Worse of all, our children can’t get enough of the stuff.” She turned away from the camera. “Oh, Timmy! Shelby! Breakfast is ready.” She set two plates of plain vizkus on the kitchen table. A little boy and his sis...

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“Brooke and Jenson” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #265

The last place your parents would expect to find you is at a gas station, hiding your face behind a hood and sunglasses like some shady thug, while hiding a cat inside your hoodie. By now, they’ve probably contacted the school they enrolled you in late in the semester. Maybe Mom filed a missing person’s report while Dad insists on driving around the city in hopes of spotting you. They can’t seem to keep up with you anymore, not since the three of you traded the peaceful normalcy of New Orleans for the humid ghettos of Houston. While they’re ...

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“Synthetic Anatomic Beauty Kimiko Processing ” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #259

tw: sexual suggestions It took thirteen weeks to build Kimiko. During that time, I skipped out of family dinners. Every night my dad would ask if I wanted him to bring a plate of chicken and peas or lasagna to my room, and every night I had to remind him that food crumbs could mess up her sensors. This gave me the idea to program her to listen for commands instead of act independently, so she wouldn’t display a curiosity for Dad’s cooking.  “喜美子、あなたは私を愛していますか？” I asked her for the first time.“はい、ルカ。愛してます。” she answered exactly the way I...

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“Yvonne in Season” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #253

At a convenience store, I found the clerk curled up on her side within a large ice chest that sat along the right wall between the thirty-dollar tents and the fifteen-dollar lawn chairs. The ice chest held no ice, only her, motionless and glassy eyed under a blanket of yellow discount labels. “Excuse me,” I said. “Where can I find the stuffed animals?” She sprang up in her red collared shirt and black jeans. The discount labels fell around us like snowflakes. She forced a smile since I am a customer. At that moment she was very pretty to me,...

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“Cheap Fiction” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #239

trigger warning: depictions of sex, murder, and self harmI didn’t want to kill anyone this time around. I almost did a couple of days ago, while shopping for gummy worms and paper towels. I overheard a toddler screaming furiously when he and his mother passed by the candy aisle without stopping. I listened as the mother tried to bargain with the kid for several minutes before giving up and letting his tantrum carry on. That’s when I opened the journal I took everywhere with me, and wrote:The mother tried to ignore her toddler’s tyrannical cr...

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“The Cody Incident ” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #235

trigger warning: depictions of gruesome injury Penny screamed a blood-curdling scream when she saw that Cody broke both of his legs. Well, it was the combination of the sound of Cody’s legs snapping like planks followed by the sight of Cody collapsing on the ground, both legs from the shin down dangling from the rest of him, that set her over the edge. During their fourth grade P.E. kickball game, she watched Cody step up to the plate, eager to kick the ball over the playground fence. Penny played shortstop, engrossed in the exciting and c...

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“To Go Too Far For Sex” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #230

tw: gruesome death Mom always told me, “Don’t ever look towards the stars. That’s how your dad died.” So I’ve avoided staring at the night sky for years, even though Dad has been dead longer than I can remember, so I don’t think anything I do can kill him again.  It wasn’t until I entered adulthood when I started looking towards the stars for answers behind my mother’s back, only looking back down when she’d turn around. At first the stars gave me no answers, but then I realized that I had to ask it questions first, such as “How can ...

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“The Art of Lost Keys” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #225

I stare out the window at the overcast sky and the air looks like a prolonged orgasm. I haven’t left my apartment in thirty-seven hours, during which thoughts of me forgetting how to conversate with another human being fill me with a nameless dread. I need to break free from these walls.  I reach for the car keys I sometimes leave on my writing desk, but my fingertips shuffle around medical bills, and I listen to some of the pages flip flop to the floor. My keys aren’t under my sombrero, either. I think about where else I would leave th...

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“Pieces” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #220

I can remember vividly Isaac Torres and my house on fire. His face was blue. Everything was blue. It was after 6pm and the sun was taking off with all the day’s vibrant hues. There was a stark emptiness in Isaac’s expression, but I can’t seem to picture that particular detail, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, even though you know what it’s supposed to be based on the cover of the box it comes in.  His smile, though, I can recall at will; the smile of a welcoming presence, of a confidant without having to work for the distinctio...

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“Fried Chicken” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #214

The sun does not love you. If it did it would stay. It wouldn’t abandon you after three months. Three months of joy and freedom isn’t long enough for anyone. A person needs at least a lifetime of adventure and play and exploration to achieve self-actualization. Trapped in a prison camp, forced to study minerals and long division, who am I supposed to be beyond a statistic in a messed-up system I don’t fully understand.It's 7PM and I’m in the backyard behind my treehouse so no one can easily see me dig a grave for myself. My dog, Buddy, lies ...

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“A Story About Nothing” by Jarrel Jefferson

Kenny left the bathroom satisfied and at ease with the toilet flushing as background noise. When he walked into the living room of his studio apartment, he found Jamie twirling around the couch like a ballerina. She hummed “American Blonde” by Dreamgirl to herself. The 5 o’clock news played on the television, which talked about these blue loose-leaf papers with weird symbols posted all over the city.  “Did you wash your hands?” Jamie asked without looking at him. She balanced herself on one set of toes, bending forward, lifting the othe...

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“Tears For No One” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #205

“This place is perfect,” said Felix Radman. We were driving to through Tegucigalpa, the capital city of Honduras. I wasn’t recording him this time. “Thieves, gangs, prostitutes, beggars, murderers. Drugs—so much drugs. Most of our drugs are exported from here, did you know that?” Where we were, jobless people slummed in front of weak, rundown housing units. Locals stared at us. “Government corruption, people carrying guns, more people fleeing the country. We can’t count on police here, not if we get randomly attacked or something. This trip ...

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