Melissa Ingoldsby
Stories (1314)
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I write for people who are like me
I write characters and stories that are hard to write (for me). It’s exhausting to write happy people. It’s exhausting to write people fighting their way out of depression. It’s hard to move out of bed sometimes and open my eyes—-but I do it because that’s what thriving through pain is—-moving step by step each day to get by. To do each task and care for your family. I find it difficult to do anything sometimes, but I take deep breaths, and I do it. I try to do it well—-or least finish it to completion. This worldwide pandemic and the way everything feels slow and terrifying and unending—-it is hard to feel safe. But, with my friends and family, I can. Writing is my safeguard to keep me grounded as well.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Confessions
Breathless
A companion piece to this: ——————————— I never thought I was meant to have true love. I just thought I was meant to be stuck in nightmares—-where my parents just watch me suffer and say almost nothing——where I get stuck in these crazy situations where I feel trapped. I know my parents care. They are just so oblivious and selfish.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Filthy
Cigarette Freeze
“Why are you smoking? You don’t smoke,” I say to myself. You don’t smoke. Your father smokes. You don’t smoke, I repeat, looking into my pristine mirror that I cleaned meticulously for ten minutes. No streaks, just smoke. “I don’t smoke,” I say, and I blow the Marlboro’s burning taste out from my chapped lips. I just came from a funeral. And my mom gave me his cigarettes. My father’s last pack. My father always said he’d quit. He said he’d always stop. Half a pack a day. Just a few a day. “You don’t even smoke!” I whisper, the tendrils of gray whispering sweet suffering and tender hearted memories. He quit drinking, but he still smoked.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Fiction
The night of the chocolate cake crumbling before us
“I just watched this sad movie,” Selene started, taking off their work clothes, and changing into pajamas. The pajamas had Joshua trees on them. Selene loved Joshua trees—-they said it looked like a human that had stood out in the hot desert, arms outstretched—-and had slowly turned into the beautiful wispy branches. “It was so sad. It made my stomach hurt—-I wanted to cry. I couldn’t.”
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Humans
I can’t remember that one movie but I remember every other time (cause there are a lot of times)
Movie theaters. Popcorn. Soda. Loud speakers setting up the soundscapes. The corny pop music they’d play with the advertising logos before the movie trailers. Milk duds. Sticky floors.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Psyche
I am the shark
I am the shark, sinking and bullying. I am the shark and I smell your fear. I am the shark and I sense your breath and your blood pumping in the salty ocean waves. I am the shark and I love your smile it looks like mine. I am the shark because I mirror the moon and the green reflection of the water. I am the shark, I see all in darkness—-my black eyes are not dull as they have a tapetum lucidum. I do not like yellow or contrasting colors—-stay away from me if you wear them. I am the shark but I do not want to fight with you. I am the shark but I can’t stop my insides from biting a dancing limb near the surface. I’m the shark. I see red water, I go to it. I’m the shark. I’m tired of chasing you, too. I’m the shark but I let the remora hitch a ride with me.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Poets
