After Therapy (Sabine)

Photo by Brian Jiz on

After therapy, I follow Dr. Sims’ advice and take myself out on a date.

“Ask yourself why you choose to live in fantasy,” her words echo.

When the waiter comes to take my order, he asks if anyone will be joining.

I consider saying yes, but more pathetic than eating at a restaurant alone is being stood up by a date who doesn’t exist. And it doesn’t cure my ADHD—attention-deficit/hyperactive daydreaming.

Okay, that’s not a real diagnosis, but it was enough to get me an appointment with Dr. Sims.

And, as the waiter sits across from me, possibly…a date?

© 2023 Nortina Simmons

Previous: Back in Therapy (Hannah)

It’s StoryADay May! I’m not promising that I will write a story every day this month, but I’m going to try. Today’s prompt is simply to write a 100-word story. I had another story in mind for my Therapy Sessions series, but that one is much longer than 100 words. Maybe I’ll post it tomorrow or at a later date. For now, say hello to our newest character, Sabine!

Bloganuary Day 24

A Loving Meal: A 100-Word Story

Photo by Leonardo Luz on

“I cooked you something.”

He stares at me as though I’ve just said I ran over the neighbor’s cat.

“Why do you look so nervous? Have a seat. Relax.”

Doesn’t he know I cook to show my love?

I sit him down in a chair in front of a plate of sweet and spicy chicken.

Although, I also cook to show my anger—a trait I inherited from my mother, whose final meal for my father sent him to the morgue with shards of glass lodged in his throat.

But I’m not that angry, my love. Not today.

“Bon appétit.”

© 2023 Nortina Simmons

Bloganuary Day 5

Welcome to Bloganuary Day 5! I’ve officially surpassed how far I got last year! Woo!

Today’s prompt is What brings you joy in life?

I could write a long drawn-out post about what brings me joy, or I could simply show you.

These last three years have been rough for me, but there are two things that will always brighten my day and make me smile: the innocence of children and writing stories.

So here’s a story about an innocent child and his not-so-innocent mommy. Enjoy. 😀

Continue reading “Bloganuary Day 5”

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | S2 Ep 3 | Death in Death Valley

Photo by Ali Karimiboroujeni on

I’m not imagining the man in black. He’s wearing a long coat and wide-brim hat—entirely too hot for a walk in Death Valley.

When Brian tells me there’s nothing there, at risk of looking crazy, I approach the man that only I can see. His face is hidden in shadow.

He tells me his name is Death.

“Will you kill me, Mr. Death?”

He shakes his head. “I only deliver souls.”

“Then who?” But before he can answer, I feel Brian’s fingers around my neck.

The man lifts his hat, and I see the face of my father.

© 2022 Nortina Simmons

This story was originally written in response to a Morning Inspiration prompt, but it reminds me too much of one of my favorite The Twilight Zone episodes, “The Hitchhiker,” not to include it in this year’s marathon! I told you there would be reruns. 😉

I saw mommy blowing Santa Claus

Who spiked the eggnog? I’ll never tell. But it’s just what we need to liven the party, even if it’s only the two of us.

“You’re all I want anyway.” You slur your words, dancing loosely while holding the martini glass above your head.

“Is that so?”

You nod and curl your tongue around the straight end of a candy cane. Such a tease.

“I’ve been naughty.”

“You deserve a lump of coal.”

I slip out of my suspenders, and you drop to your knees, but then a tiny voice behind me says, “Mommy, what are you doing with Santa?”

© 2022 Nortina Simmons

Miniature doubles

gingerbread house cookies on white surface

Rosie thinks I’ve lost my mind. It’s possible the strong smell of ginger and molasses in the air has gone to my head…has me hallucinating things.

But I swear there are people inside the gingerbread homes. And not little gingerbread men either, but actual people.

“Did you notice all the houses are exact replicas of our neighborhood?” I say.

“Hmm, you’re right! The attention to detail is impeccable!”

“Right down to the shadows in the isomalt windows.” I peer inside a house that looks like ours, swallow my heart when I see a face that resembles my own staring back.

© 2022 Nortina Simmons

Mirage or escape

brown wooden opened door shed

When the door to my freedom finally opened, the blinding light fooled me into believing it was only a dream. I remained in the cool, wet corner of my stone prison until nightfall.

The ocean’s breeze lures me from my sleep, and I discover the door is still open.

I can barely stand to my feet—my legs, my back, weak from nonuse. I don’t know how long I was trapped, why he took me captive if he was only going to leave me to rot.

But I won’t stay to find out. Gaining balance, I run for my escape.

© 2022 Nortina Simmons

Casting out demons

His dog is possessed. Sounds crazy—demons possessing pets—but if it can happen to pigs, it can happen to anyone.

“Your reasoning.” My sister sighs. “Not everything in the bible should be believed.”

I squint at her. “That sounds like something a devil would say.”

“God, now I’m possessed?”

Actually yes. It stands behind her as a looming shadow. but if I tell her, that’s another 72-hour psych hold.

So I silently pray and cast it into the black cat by her feet.

Tonight, it’ll have an accident. Over the cliff and into the sea. Just like the pigs.

© 2022 Nortina Simmons

Pit stop

gasoline station during nighttime

Mama told me never to stop at gas stations at night, but I’ve been driving for hours, it’s the first sign of civilization in miles, and I really, really have to pee.

“In and out,” I encourage myself as I wiggle in place until my bladder calms down. Then I dash inside, hurry past what I presume is the attendant behind the front counter, and into the bathroom at the back of the store.

Immediately I’m greeted by a knife to the throat.

“I didn’t see anything!” I shriek. My mind is on the warm sensation spreading down my leg.

© 2022 Nortina Simmons

The hitchhiker

He just needed a lift into town, and I couldn’t bear to drive another minute on that dark, lonely highway with only the radio static to keep me company, so I let him in.

“Not many women pick up hitchhikers in the middle of the night.”

“Will I regret it?”

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but what’s your story?”

I often laughed at people who told complete strangers their life’s story, but if he was going to kill me, or do worse—because there are worse things than dying—I figured someone should know why.

“I murdered my husband.”

© 2022 Nortina Simmons