Emma Veronica

A Piece of Micro-Fiction: It was midnight.   She got up from her bed because she was hungry and Mom had made brownies that afternoon.   Her room was dark, but she could see the light from the hallway shine in from beneath her door.   She saw the light in the kitchen was off, so she would go downstairs to see if Grandpa had any snacks.   She definitely didn’t want to wake up Mom and Dad after the week they had.   Apparently Nana had gone to see Jesus but hadn’t come back yet.   She began the descent down the stairs to Grandpa’s apartment, step by step, blanket in hand.   The rickety wooden railing wobbled in her grasp.   She could see the shadowy living room come into view through the rails as she neared the bottom.   Nana’s rocking chair was still empty.   Grandpa was already in bed and she didn’t want to disturb him.   She tip-toed through the dining room on the creaky floor boards, past his bedroom door that was a...

This past Sunday at some bizarre hour of 1: something in the morning, I posted a status on Facebook saying goodbye to social media.  I know what you're thinking, but this will not be a rant about why I hate social media. I also know that I don't have to offer any explanation to justify why I left it all behind, but I feel that I should.  So here we go... Recently, I have simply been feeling quite discouraged.  Transitions are always difficult, but the transition into college has been especially hard for me.  I almost feel like an awkward middle schooler again.  A small girl who struggles to find her place in the world.  Everyone else seems to make friends so easily, and now I can look practically anywhere and see groups of people acting like they had known each other for their entire lives.  I have felt confused and alone. Some people may say I'm experiencing some kind of...

The Barn By Emma Campbell The aged barn sits on the same old hill with its green siding, once as bright as the spring grass, now chipped and worn away from years of weathering the storms.   Open the giant sliding doors and birds flutter from their nest to fly free to the warm south. Reveal the inner sanctuary and let the dirt and hay roll in with the wind.   A gust of musty air blows through the wide open space, abandoned after years of being forgotten. It now breathes in the harsh, cold air of winter that threatens to tear it apart like a long loathed enemy.   The timeworn floorboards lie crooked on the floor, tread upon by generations of feet.   The wooden beams, rotten through with all their knots showing, barely hold the rickety structure together.   Splinters and nails jut out like knives in all directions from the trim—once pure white, now faded gray.   Dust gathers in every cranny where the air has failed to breathe its way through.   Th...