Daniela Alejandra
Bio
Life's a journey and I don't have map.
I long to create worlds like the ones I would read about under the blankets late at night.
Magical realism.
Stories (14/0)
Fallout
Corporal Solis tightened his cracked leather belt with stiff fingers, the ragged material of his gloves interfering as if to aggravate him on purpose. He slid to the last notch, noticing it still felt loose. He picked up his backpack and rifle, and struggled to his feet.
By Daniela Alejandra3 months ago in Fiction
Journal Excerpt
I will never forget my first journal, a small spiral notebook with a hot pink cover and pages. The word "Barbie" printed on the front. I must have been about seven or eight years old, but how I loved to fill the pages with details about the latest Disney movie I had watched, or the little thoughts I'd have before bedtime. I specifically remember an entry about watching the Little Mermaid II, and recounting all the details as if I were conversating with my little pink journal.
By Daniela Alejandra4 months ago in Motivation
- Top Story - December 2023
A Flock of QuestionsTop Story - December 2023
It always occurred when least expected. As the moon stalked me home on late car rides. When I sat under my favorite tree contemplating the cracks in the ground caused by the months of drought. While I bent down to tie my shoe.
By Daniela Alejandra5 months ago in Psyche
- Top Story - February 2022
Which Character from Disney's Encanto Are You? Top Story - February 2022
“SEVEN FOOT FRAME, RATS ALONG HIS BACK!” I sing this line at the top of my lungs at least six times a day since I listen to Disney’s Encanto soundtrack whenever I’m cooking or doing dishes. The count would be higher, but I never wake up in time to cook breakfast. Less dishes for me to clean. Anyways, now that you have this banger stuck in your head let’s come talk about Bruno and the rest of the Madrigals.
By Daniela Alejandra2 years ago in Humans
Mo'
The rafters of the modest home groaned softly, almost in perfect harmony with the groans of the woman pulling on the shawl hanging from them. Her black hair was damp, sticking to her neck and shoulders due to the perspiration oozing from every pore. Her small frame awkwardly cradled a full-term pregnancy belly that ballooned out as she squatted in the hammock, bracing herself for the next contraction and pushing as hard as she could. She squeezed so tightly that her normally smooth face was suddenly marred by wrinkles as her facial muscles contracted with the rest of her body, her efforts fruitless.
By Daniela Alejandra2 years ago in Fiction
A Letter To My Childhood Bully
Dear You, I thought I had forgotten about you, along with all the memories created by my anxious nine-year-old mind, and yet a glance at your name from my peripheral vision was enough to startle me, like a doe caught in headlights. I hadn’t thought about you for over ten years, ever since the last time I saw you get off of the bus, and never return to our school to torment me again. I didn’t need memories of you, I was barely going to make it to my statistics test, so I shuffled past the name, trying to convince myself that it couldn’t be. I probably read it wrong anyway.
By Daniela Alejandra3 years ago in Humans
Dante, The DestRUFFer
The Starbucks drive through line crept slowly forward as I wiped away tears. I had driven over from the animal shelter in defeat as I had failed yet again to adopt a white German Shepherd dog. I had actively been trying to adopt one for over a year from various rescues. After no response from several, one who had already been adopted, and one who said no because “I lacked experience” (I guess you have to have a GSD before your first GSD, even though I had experience with other large breeds), I figured my only options were to scour the city shelters, or to look for a breeder. As I am a firm believer in adopt don’t shop, and as I also didn’t have $5,000 laying around, I opted for the first option.
By Daniela Alejandra3 years ago in Petlife
Masquerade Ball
Dr. Beckett silently surveyed the fading ink scrawled on a piece of parchment; it was one of many stacked tidily next to him on the leather seat of the car. The stack possessed the extensive medical secrets of a once well-respected family, respected to the point of veneration. The type of veneration that was bought by wealth, seduced by beauty, and celebrated with lavish masquerade balls where pining poets would sigh at the figures swathed in lace and silk. Figures that would later sway and twirl across their pages in moonlit stanzas written by zealous fingers. The ink would still be glistening on the parchment when impotence and dismay would grip the poets' hearts as they realized that their paths were never destined to intertwine with those of the dancing figures that belonged to the LeBlanc family tree. Or so it was told. Many generations had come and gone; the wealth had been squandered and the beauty had faded into a mist of mysterious maladies and afflictions.
By Daniela Alejandra3 years ago in Fiction
The Madonna of the Frozen Lake
On Sunday mornings, Detective Audrey Jones could be found sipping her morning coffee while reading the newspaper. It may seem strange that she would read a paper copy in the modern age of technology, but she enjoyed the texture of the paper between her fingers. She also liked to sniff them, before they reached their final destination at the bottom of her cat’s litter box. The scent of bacon, eggs, and pancake batter hovered in her kitchen as she poured water into her Keurig to prepare this particular Sunday’s brew. While the coffee pitter pattered into her favorite mug, she admired the view outside her kitchen window. In between the shadows cast by the snow laden pine trees, the rays of the morning sun gave the coating of snow in her backyard a rosy tint. Icicles dripped from the branches of the tree where they refracted the golden rays, causing them to glimmer and glow. “No need for a Christmas tree.” She murmured to her Russian Blue cat as he stretched lazily while ignoring her. Taking her breakfast platter and coffee to the table, she finally glanced at the newspaper. The bold headline read “The Madonna of the Frozen Lake” followed by a forensic facial reconstruction of a young woman who could have been used to adorn the stained-glass windows of any catholic church. Detective Jones snorted as she read the overly embellished story romanticizing the discovery of the woman’s remains. These journalists would stretch any truth if it meant more reads. From what she remembered of the crime scene; the body had been found in a dirty frozen pond off of a bumpy country backroad in the woods, not some frozen lake next to a castle worthy of a princess. Even in death, women weren’t allowed to be ugly.
By Daniela Alejandra3 years ago in Fiction