Yellow: wishful inkers issue 1

Issue 1: It’s a Kind of Magic
Do you believe in magic?
Six Inkers came together to bring you a magic themed anthology all about their interpretations of what magic is to them.
This issue is a compilation of short stories and flash fiction that will make you smile, cry and think.
Our featured writer, which we are calling the “Editor” for this issue is Audrey Ravine. Check out her Q & A at the back of this issue!
All proceeds from the sale of this issue will be going to the charity Titan Up, which provides scholarships for under-privileged high school graduates.

Wishful Inkers

Here is an exert from my Wishful Inkers Issue 1, based around the theme of magic. To read the full story, buy Issue 1 on our eBook page. Proceeds go to charity.


I remembered when my great-grandmother would gather a bundle of flowers from her garden and set them on the table then pull pudding cake out of the fridge on midsummer’s night. She’d tell the story of how she met great grandpa in the summer and how he was the Iceman, bringing blocks of ice in a truck before they had refrigerators. She’d make lemonade from scratch and put flowers in her hair. Everyone would be laughing, and Dad would actually have a beer while we sat in the lawn and named the stars. They would light a bonfire, my brother would play guitar. When they all settled into bed, great grandma would tuck Cali in…wrapping a yellow yarn around her wrist. “Invite the sun into your heart. Yellow attracts friends and repels foes. Like the bee to the marigold, aid while come to you,” she would say, before hugging her goodnight. “You are never alone.”
I looked at my wrist. Scars had faded from pink to white but were still there. I wore long sleeves in public, even in Texas heat, to avoid people asking questions. I went to my suitcase and pulled out a beaten up shoebox with the words “Private, Do Not Open or Else!” written in permanent marker on it. Under a handkerchief was a yellow yarn. I wrapped it around my wrist gingerly, covering the scars and rubbed the threads with my thumb, trying to recall the feeling of someone who loved you touching you. What did that feel like? I couldn’t remember. I fell on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The neighbors started screaming about the broken sink again. I rolled my eyes then rolled over to look at my favorite photo. It didn’t make me cry anymore, but tightness in my chest released a sigh. Would I ever be that happy again?
“I miss you,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I meant my brother or my dog or my grandma or my former self. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. The heat kept sweat on my brow and stifled any dreams that decided to visit. The room was solid darkness with an orange glow from the street outside the window. I rolled over for the millionth time, my pupils widened when I saw something shift in the shadows. I reached for my pocket knife.
I miss you too.
My ears started to ring, and my heart pounded against my ribs. I blinked, and the figure was gone. Slow, I stood up and stepped into the place where I swear to god I just saw the outline of a person. There was nothing. The clock on the floor said three o’clock in the morning. I had to sleep. I took deep breaths to calm down and put my knife down. I touched the yellow yarn again and wondered. I closed my eyes tight and tried to recall the days past, to feel that joy again.

Continued on ….

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