Sophia Gavasheli

“The Pruning of Emily Matheson” by Sophia Gavasheli

We all saw Emily Matheson get murdered.It was one of those days when the sun came out after a heavy rain, and the clocks slowed down because everyone had canceled their plans to go yachting and golfing. The air was heavy with heat, sucking the sound out of the world so all we could hear was the tsk tsk of the sprinklers as they arced back and forth across already drenched lawns. We lounged on our porches, gulping iced tea, shifting every so often to release the heat’s pressure, neither hot nor uncomfortable enough to go back inside. Und...

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“To Kill a Dog” by Sophia Gavasheli

Submitted to Contest #211

Kidnapping your neighbor’s dog in the middle of the night when you suffered from arthritic knees was probably not a good idea, but Brian was doing it anyway. The muggy air clung to his skin like a wet bathing suit as he stood couched in the shadows of his house, cloth sack in hand. He’d already purchased some chloroform; all he had to do was kidnap Fifi like Paris kidnapping Helen of Troy. He would stuff Fifi into a sack, and voila, all his problems would disappear. Brian couldn't help grinning at the thought of a world without Fifi.  ...

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“American Bread” by Sophia Gavasheli

Submitted to Contest #208

When I immigrated to America, the thing I hated most about it was the bread. Or rather, the lack of good bread. Stores only sold sandwich bread, pumped full of preservatives, added sugars, and artificial flavoring. What I wouldn't have given for a hot slice of Georgian tonis puri on my waitressing shifts at the 16th Street Diner. As I served customers their meals in plastic baskets lined with checkered paper, wiped down the cracked formica tables, or swept potato chips off the floor, I would fantasize about a crispy, slightly salty, yea...

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“Samshoblo” by Sophia Gavasheli

Submitted to Contest #206

TW: death. I learned of my father’s death on a Sunday morning, while building a Lego pirate ship with my daughter.  The house felt as sterile as a hospital that morning, sickly white light filtering through the windows, Cecilia’s giggling echoing around the freshly painted walls. We were sprawled on the cool tiled floor, bright Legos scattered all around us. I smiled at my daughter as I read the instructions and she grabbed plastic bricks, clicking them into place with a grin.  Cici was putting the finishing touches on the hull of...

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“Paper Planes” by Sophia Gavasheli

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #205

What is it like to fly, I wonder? The rusted metal of the bridge groans and creaks as cars hurtle over it. Standing by one of the stout lamp posts fixed to the railing, I stare at the gritty concrete, not wanting to look over the edge. The wind howls and moans under the bridge. Pedestrians rush past me, yelling into their phones and cursing as they spill coffee over their starched white shirts.  Everything is moving, pushing, and pulling against the tides of life. Except for me.  My skin stretches and cracks over my knuckles as ...

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“Mark Reinvents the Wheel” by Sophia Gavasheli

Submitted to Contest #204

When his boss told him there was no need to reinvent the wheel, Mark did it anyway, because his boss liked people who went the extra mile, and Mark wanted to please his boss. Unfortunately, no one liked his wheel, on the account that it had already been invented. So, Mark had googled “backward communities,” hoping to find a place where his wheel would be helpful, and found Eastrock, Wyoming. Now here he was, about to unveil his life-changing invention to the gathered villagers. They were an odd lot, dressed in worn animal hides and carrying...

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“Cleansing” by Sophia Gavasheli

Submitted to Contest #203

Every Sunday, we watch someone die.This Sunday, as usual, every seat in the arena is filled because all residents of the Community are required to attend the Cleansing. I fidget in my hard plastic seat, muscles tense, eyes on the pedestal at the center of the arena where the Governor should appear any moment. Next to me, my best friend Alena slouches in her seat, eyes flickering across the thousands of people in their seats. As if death doesn’t hang over us like a veil, suffocating every soul. It’s definitely hanging over my dad, who lo...

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“Why Do You Write?” by Sophia Gavasheli

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #186

Why do you write? The question bounces around in your brain, ricocheting off memories, imaginings, ideas, aches, desires, anxieties, and dreams, evading answers. It’s a question asked by colleges considering whether to accept you into their creative writing program. A question asked by professors trying to get your creative juices flowing. By parents worrying about how you’re paying your bills. By yourself wondering what the hell you’re doing with your life.  Why do you write? Usually, you answer questions by observing them like a lion...

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“A Narrator's Musings” by Sophia Gavasheli

“And then they lived happily ever… You know what? I can’t take this shit anymore. CUT!” yelled the narrator.“Uh, what now?” the princess scrunched her brows.The prince let go of the princess and stomped over to the narrator. “What the hell, man? I was just about to kiss her! Finish the story!”“And then? At least you get to hook up with her! No one cares about the narrator when the story finishes, so I’m just going to say, right here, right now. I’m the narrator, I’m important, and y’all need to respect me!”“You literally said that yesterday!...

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“Over and Over” by Sophia Gavasheli

TW: physical abuse, alcoholism, death The piquant salty scent of the ocean conjures memories for me, memories long forgotten in the dark recesses of my mind. Memories grayed from the march of time, grayed from barely seeing the light of my notice. The sea and sky are stormy today, green as pickles and gray as mold. The waves pound the shore with a thunder that rocks everything around me. A plastic water bottle bobs in the water, sinking into the water and then popping back up. Over and over. Sand crabs leave little Vs in the sand as they bur...

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“Sleep Tight” by Sophia Gavasheli

"Urnhhhh," I groan. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The alarm is still going. February 8. Monday. 7 AM. Awesome. How much did I actually sleep last night? I try to roll out of bed, but fail because I'm tangled in my sheets. My pillow is near my feet, and my bed covers are on the floor. Guess I'll have to update my notion of how much of a restless sleeper I am. Again. Getting dressed is a blur. At least my parents have already left for work. I'm so tired I can barely stand. My hair is sticking out all over the place, and I have deep shadows under...

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“An Apple a Day...” by Sophia Gavasheli

 Today is October 7th, a day for love and a day for death. The joyful screams of children suffuse the air of the Green Valley Apple Orchard. Families are filling little red wagons with freshly picked apples. It’s a bit late in the apple season, but that doesn’t stop me or any other people here from looking for the last unpicked treasures. Two white paper bags dangle from my hands as I wend my way through the rows of apple trees. The green leaves of the apple trees rustle in the wind, and a little chill worms its way through my desi...

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“2352 Elizabeth Avenue” by Sophia Gavasheli

Everyone on the street was out on their porches on Saturday morning when the U-Haul pulled up to 2352 Elizabeth Avenue. The unfortunate few who hadn’t depleted their savings accounts constructing fancy verandas peeked out of their windows or pretended to mow their already-manicured lawns. Mrs. Woods, the nosiest of them all, wheedled Mrs. Smith out of her poodle and paraded up and down Elizabeth Avenue with the borrowed poodle until the U-Haul was unpacked and driven away.  Mr. Harking, the recently late owner of 2352 Elizabeth Avenue a...

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“The Twisted Reality of the Afterlife” by Sophia Gavasheli

CW: suicide, substance abuse, swearing.I’m dead. You’re probably thinking, Yeah right. You’re just saying that to hook me in. What you’re really going to say is, “Dead because my parents found out that I’ve been sneaking chocolate from their secret stash.” But seriously. I am dead (although I have stolen chocolate from my parents).I’ll just tell you how I died before you ask. Cocaine overdose. Don’t feel sorry for me. It wasn’t entirely an accident. Remember, kids, don’t do drugs.On second thought, do feel sorry for me. Because now I’m stuck...

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“It is Time” by Sophia Gavasheli

TW: Death, blood.Your dead eyes, open still in agony, bore into my body, my soul. Your skin is as white as a winter sun, but unlike it, you are cold, cold as hoarfrost. My fingers freeze as I brush the dust off your body and adjust your clothes. You were buried under debris when I found you. Now you will be buried under dirt. You came from the earth, and now you will return to it. It is time. Even if it was not your time to die.The whoosh of the shovel is my song, its handle my tether to reality. Push in, lift up, let fly. The repetitive mot...

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