Sloan Glover
Bio
Writing is my pure passion and through it anything can be imagined.
Stories (6)
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Eden
It was a solemn drive, the over-air-conditioned cold blowing Eden back into her cat carrier. It was a dark night, the occasional street light illuminating Mia’s short pixie-cut. She had cut it into a sorry haircut during a mental breakdown in her senior year. Seeing the disaster, she booked an appointment the next day and kept the style for all of college. Eden, her cat, was older but still maintained her frosted hair and sapphire eyes. It was hard for her to see her lifelong friend deteriorate as she had herself in high school. She made a turn on the road to the treeline, her headlights yellow. She thought back again to the time when Eden had been able to anchor her in her ripping world. It broke her heart to leave Eden behind. Now on their first month back, she was bringing Eden to the vet.
By Sloan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
Eli
Her hair was the color of autumn, an eye-catching sight in the bare hospital room. She was dressed in plain clothing, her milk-colored shift and apron deprived of any color. She sat in the corner barely blending in, her lips reciting the Lord’s Prayer as she had for the last hours. Reciting her eyes fixed on the small child who was buried under clean sheets. His head was as fiery as hers. He slept peacefully, face freckled and his breath shallow. Her mind wandered from the stripped room to the full and lush fields of grain, he was between the corn stalks, frolicking laughter following him as he peeled the cornstocks, making husk mustaches. He’d tap his plushy legs to the hymn at church, refusing to go with the little kids although he was nearly 6 years. She’d grin when he’d try to sit with the women at church, he’d become solemn, nodding his head to every word, but eventually, he'd go along. She remembered when he began to fall ill, she’d stop seeing him laugh.
By Sloan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
What Eyes See
I loved the color of his eyes, they were deep green, like the rolling hills of Ireland. His hair was always windswept, black spirals that nearly touched his forehead. I used to watch from afar as he laughed with his friends or stared endlessly out a window until he was slapped back into attention by Mateo. Mateo, my cousin, would always tousle my hair and call me “niña”. I would just laugh, silently fuming, walking away with my head down.
By Sloan Glover4 years ago in Horror
Trees We Lay Amongst
It was a large orchard; the pear trees scraped against the sky and velvet white petals blanketed the ground. In February, petals took to the wind and traveled towards his house, crevicing themselves in his windowsill, slowly rotting as February turned into May. May would ripen the pears, gold and green teardrops heavy on the tree's limbs. The pear trees grew in rows, blurred rows. Their long branches reached to greet the sky, to kiss the searing California sun. But now the steady trunks of the trees were reduced to black and withered bark, scorched by fire. A thinned charred pear orchard.
By Sloan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
Amber
She could still smell the sweat on his skin and feel his heated hands, but her memory had begun to soften and warp them. Her hands wrapped around the railing pleasantly, her abdomen tensing, her champagne chiffon dress bunched. The sunset was dying, colors draped over each other, creating a shimmery mirage that refracted on frothing seawater. Her eyes took in the coast in new beauty and awe each time, it cracked up and down baring blinding white nothing. She had always liked how exposed it was, her mind could wander seeing naked beach and peeled sky. The sky was translucent, a thin lace of sapphire-colored clouds coated it now. In the distance she could see fermenting storm clouds, they always lingered over the other island. She rubbed her neck unaware, the freckled skin had grown loose and pampered. Brushing over a lean chain her eyes focused on the distant island again, the pendant quivered. It was miles and worlds away, death and sadness lingered on the island and she’d never forget when the world changed. Her eyes elevated back to the shore, from the wiggling grass to the tumultuous drop of barbed rocks and then to the stoned shore, nothing could make her remember him more.
By Sloan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
Trees We Lay Amongst
It was a large orchard; the pear trees scraped against the sky and velvet white petals blanketed the ground. In February, petals took to the wind and traveled towards his house, crevicing themselves in his windowsill, slowly rotting as February turned into May. May would ripen the pears, gold and green teardrops heavy on the tree's limbs. The pear trees grew in rows, blurred rows. Their long branches reached to greet the sky, to kiss the searing California sun. Now the steady trunks of the trees were reduced to black and withered bark, scorched by fire. A thinned charred pear orchard.
By Sloan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
