Jarrel Jefferson

“Asylum” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #243

From the beginning, my favorite place to visit in the Neuroscape was the Asylum, a caged room where the other mes and I go the fight one another. The caged room stands at some street corner where it’s always night, illuminated by the orange glow of a streetlamp and sometimes plagued by heavy rain. When signing up to participate, the wait time to enter the cage typically lasts one to two weeks, depending on the number of mes looking to take part. The longer the wait time, the more likely a me will resort to dirty or barbaric tactics while fig...

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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 tr...

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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. k...

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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 ...

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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 ...

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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.  ...

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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, Bu...

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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 was...

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“Cherry Syrup Mania” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #208

tw: violence, murder of unicorns, suicide There she is, standing still amongst a sea of unicorns passing her on the street like a steady current, her mind scrambled from an unexpected journey to this strangle land. She stands there, wide-eyed like she was forcefully awakened from a dream where she was a ballerina or elementary school teacher or something equally palatable. In actuality she is Mar...

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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 gun...

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“Stepdad” by Jarrel Jefferson

What’s good, y’all? Welcome back to my channel. My ankle is still chained to a pillar in my stepdad’s basement. This video is sponsored by Tillamook original beef jerky, which is what he’s been feeding me this week. I’m on my last bag of these, so I have to make them stretch because I’m not sure when he’ll feed me again. But this shit smacks, so go grab you a back from your local Walmart or wherever food can be purchased...

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“The Bomb” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #199

I plant a bomb, for old time’s sake. It’s a rather large one, under the stage where the honky-tonk band plays songs that make everyone two-step. In less than thirty minutes it will detonate, killing everyone in the Red River Saloon. Unless you stop me like you always do.  More people are gathered on the dance floor than at the bar. Good. Gives me room to sit and enjoy a drink. I need to kill time until you show up...

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“NPC's” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #196

We are static characters. We are pixilated snails leaving trails of slime for no one to follow. We want someone to come along and acknowledge our existence. We want to be used for her needs, to provide her with experiences that will enhance her journey, this beautiful stranger. We live in some town or city or country with a name unimportant to you, where it is suggested that things are happening. That foods are being purchased even though the supermarket clerk stands mute and ignored and lonely. That buildings are being built even though ...

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“Dry Lips” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #194

I told Samantha I’d eat my hat if she could convince our parents, who’ve been divorced for twenty-two years, to get back together. I said this jokingly, thinking that her vow to undo Mom and Dad’s divorce, the thing that her and I agreed scared us worse than anything, was also a joke. But she was serious. Last month our parents got married—or remarried, I guess—and during the ceremony I could feel Samantha staring...

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“Brooke and Pontchartrain” by Jarrel Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #187

A man kicks down a door in slow motion. He wears all black under a black trench coat, and shades purely for the aesthetic. It is after midnight. You hear a guitar riff to set the tone. You see neon lights from the ceiling to set the mood—flashing green and purple that flirts with the room. From his hip, the man lifts his weapon: a fluffy, orange cat wearing a black spiky collar. More guit...

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