Chantae Harding
Bio
Time to be honest and cut the crap. I love to write! I always have. I lost that for a while. I am here to grow, learn, and experience my own writing process. If you don't like my writing that's ok. I'm still learning.
Stories (15/0)
The Interview
I pull into a parking lot space outside a dull grey building. I sit transfixed my eyes roving over the other cars. Why am I even here? I pull a bottle of perfume from my jockbox. I drown myself as if I can mask the scent of sadness in my soul. I push my door open flinching at the protest. Then I am seized by panic, slamming the door shut not bothering with the lock I rush the glass door. So like a mirror I can see the panic in my eyes. I pause to take a deep breath, then I pull the door to me and step past it. A chiming announces my presence, too loud to joyful. A head pop out of a door to my left. “Hi! You must be here for an interview. Go ahead and sit, we are just wrapping thing up. Oh yeah, also please fill out one of the papers on the table,” her voice is high pitched almost grating. She returns to what must be her office shutting the door. I stand for a second dazed. Then shaking myself back to reality I drop onto one of the twin leather couches.
By Chantae Harding10 months ago in Psyche
Sound Track of My Life
As I sit down to write this I don’t even really don’t know where to begin. I am supposed to share with your songs that were milestones in my life. To give you the soundtrack of my world. To me it’s the melding of metal, rock, pop, and mostly country that came first from the dashboard radios of my parents’ cars as we would make the drive back and forth from Spokane to Montana, Montana to Spokane, for the switching of me. Later it became tapes, CDs, and eventually the mp3 players and iPod’s that took over my teen years.
By Chantae Harding11 months ago in Beat
Enter Sandman
A window curtain flutters on a night breeze. The window is open to let the cool spring air permeate the room. The night is bright so when the man passes on the outside of the window you can see his shadow, like dead night against the flower pattern. The little girl asleep in her bed will never know about the nighttime prowler.
By Chantae Harding12 months ago in Fiction
Hot Tub Traitor
I sit in the restaurant. I am dumbfounded by the fact that my ex is sitting across the table from me. At a family event. I hadn’t even introduced him to half of the people in the room. Oh and, we had dated for a year. I look at my father feeling sad, angry, and betrayed. A look of genuine concern flickers across his face as he looks at me.
By Chantae Harding12 months ago in Journal
