Lizella's StoriesScuffed up fairy tales, magical realism & lots of suspense
Hi, I’m Lizella, and I write stories.
I’m especially partial to very short stories with dark or twisty endings. I love to rip apart old classics and put them back together with the seams showing and the stuffing peeking out. I regularly upend expectations. And I stealthily sneak magic into otherwise ordinary situations. Uh oh!
When I’m not dreaming up new ways to torture fairy princesses, I write business journalism under a different pseudonym and try to keep up with one husband, two kids, and four large dogs.
My stories on Medium
Beryl hauls her suitcase across the parking lot. It bangs against her leg with every step. Her tiny, wispy-haired mother follows, balancing two milk crates in her arms. Young men lean against their cars and watch them struggle. Their faces are expectant. Perhaps they are waiting for one or both to fall.
Content advisory: Sexual situations, possible triggers Harold Egan listens to the news as he drives to work. He can't believe yet another CEO was fired for sexual harassment. He remembers Ed from the gym, a paunchy, fifty-something guy with a loud voice and fiercely held opinions on capital gains.
I cursed as Alice skittered around a curve and tried to remember if I should brake or accelerate through a skid. Shelly, the old Shelly, would have loved this narrow, twisted route. She would have taken each wild, hairpin turn with a giggle and a scream.
Eleven-year-old Andie Clean stared out the window, admiring the Clean family graveyard. The headstones gleamed from loving, daily attention. The graves themselves - or, to be more precise, their occupants - nourished a riot of flowering plants. Empty plots lay waiting for Andie's grandmother, mother, father, and sister. And, of course, for Andie herself.
"I've never done this before." She giggles nervously, placing her bag on the floor. "I guess everyone says that." "It's OK to be nervous. I was nervous, too, when I started looking for women through Craigslist.
Another sleepless night. I can't stop thinking about the photos I found on my husband's phone. What I saw was depressingly predictable. A young girl. Naked. Bound in a variety of stress positions.