Esmoore Shurpit
Bio
I like writing bad stories.
Stories (34)
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How Final Fantasy XV Saved Me
Warning: There will be game spoilers. Summer of 2017 I was twenty-two and had just finished my third year of design school. I had moved back home out of my residence hall and was thrown in the depression of not being able to score a summer job. Plagued by social anxiety I had interviewed for a retail position at Kohl’s and will never forget my interviewers face after I told him I didn’t have any questions about the position. His face dramatically dropped and that was when I knew I had messed up. I had walked out of the department store with sadness in my heart, and thought back to earlier that fall when I had junior review for my major and one of my reviewers told me I should always ask questions. I clearly hadn’t followed that important tidbit of advice (though after that fail I always made sure to have a question ready). I didn’t get the job, and didn’t have the heart to go through anymore interviews that summer.
By Esmoore Shurpit4 years ago in Gamers
Lost in the Rhythm of Machines. Top Story - September 2021.
The drone of mechanical tapping fills the back work room. Needle number nine of the Tajima embroidery machine embroiders the neck of a goose caricature on the front of a hat in 853 light brown, going at fifty stitches per minute. In between color changes the local radio talk show filters in from the stereo propped up on a shelf. The hosts end their morning segment before I press the green go button after the machine moves to needle four and begins tapping out the name of the shop the hats are for in a light silver (150).
By Esmoore Shurpit4 years ago in Journal
The Orchestrations of Life
The grass in our backyard was a blanket against our backs and a pillow to our heads. We gazed up at the sky finding shapes in the overhead clouds that were blooming in ever changing organic shapes as we searched for the familiar within them.
By Esmoore Shurpit4 years ago in Fiction
Follow the White Rabbit
“The world will come to an end in two years this day,” whispered the man. His words almost inaudible, yet the only sound that penetrated the gray open space. He was standing underneath a streetlight that was suspended in the middle of nowhere. His presence was merely a shadow, features unidentifiable except for his height which was around six feet and his eyes. His irises were a piercing shade of vibrant sapphire. After he relayed his message, he turned around and began walking towards a forest of thick trees that spawned up behind him. As he did so his body began morph, distorting with every movement as he suddenly transformed into a small white rabbit. The rabbit paused underneath its spotlight before staring back as if waiting for it to be followed. It took off as the sound of loud booms resonated through the atmosphere, ripping everything apart.
By Esmoore Shurpit5 years ago in Fiction
This one is for the Loners . Runner-Up in Melodic Milestone Playlist Challenge.
You are the black girl that sits alone during lunch time every day. You don't speak much, and not at all if you're not addressed. You don't know where you fit in, and don't know how you got to that point. Maybe it was easier that way, because it didn't feel like you were trying so hard to be someone you weren't. Along the way you lost yourself. Socially awkward and perplexed with overwhelming anxiety. You sit outside alone at lunch scribbling song lyrics and drawings in your Moleskine sketchbook hoping that time will pass by faster. You silently hope that your life will get better because at that moment, everything is shrouded in hopelessness. In your eyes is sadness, brown orbs begging for help. No one looks your way, so you translate the desperation in your drawings and written words. Your art and writing speak for you
By Esmoore Shurpit5 years ago in Beat
The Window Bird Chronicles. Top Story - May 2021.
I don't remember exactly when the outer window to my bathroom was broken, but I do remember the day. The North Carolina outer banks had been under a hurricane warning (possibly Hurricane Arthur), and strong winds and rain pounded the Sandhills. I had braved walking outside after hearing a loud noise that morning and saw that a tree behind our house had slumped over. There luckily wasn't any damage except for the broken window, and since it was an outer portion and there was still a screen and another glass portion we could put up, we didn't think much about it. Not too long after, there was a lot of rustling in the window area in the mornings. A bird had begun building a nest neatly in the corner of the small rectangular window area.
By Esmoore Shurpit5 years ago in Photography
How to Save a Life
Violet’s Apothecary was a quaint tearoom by day where patrons frequented elaborate afternoon teas. By night, for three days a week, it transformed into a posh restaurant that was always booked. Teacups were switched to wine or cocktail glasses, three-tiered dessert stands were replaced with dinner plates with artfully placed entrées. Decanters that housed wine took the place of teapots, and the usual sugar pots and cutlery were tucked away.
By Esmoore Shurpit5 years ago in Humans
The Time is Now
Morning always conjured up dread for Terre. It was the moment where she paused in front of the large window in her kitchen that overlooked the skyline of Viridian. The spread of vivid hues across the sky would always manage to assuage her somber mood. But that morning the colors were muted grays reflecting against the throng of skyscrapers as the sun loomed behind thick blossoming clouds.
By Esmoore Shurpit5 years ago in Humans
