E.K. Daniels

Joined March 2021

213 stories

Bio

Writer, watercolorist, and regular at the restaurant at the end of the universe. Twitter @inkladen

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Stories (213)

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Eltanin in Weligian
The town was hungry. Famine had reached its shores, and its people were in desperate need of nourishment. The moon shone down upon the muddy streets, casting shadows on the ground from the few dried crops that remained. The corn was the last to survive, leaving only landscapes of parched stalks in its wake. Weligian was desperate for relief.
By E.K. Daniels3 years ago in Fiction
Monologues with Ghosts
Monologues with ghosts inside my head, Memories resurrected from the dead, Dreaded whispers into the pillow on the bed haunt my dreams like a distant ship
By E.K. Daniels3 years ago in Poets
Heliotropism
**Author's Note: This poem was inspired by a courageous Ukrainian woman's words to Russian soldiers. You can view her story here. Sunflowers are sign of solidarity. They will always grow towards the light (heli0tropism). **
By E.K. Daniels3 years ago in Poets
In the Land of Milk and Honey
Cold toes hold hands beneath the covers as smoke furls in the furnace. Cavernous woes crevassed with caress, Redress wrongs done in the mind’s fiction.
By E.K. Daniels3 years ago in Poets
Mission Unknown
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. This would be unfortunate for Turing, but thankfully, he didn’t know as much yet. Or if he did know, he didn’t seem to care. He was delightfully unaware of his future existential predicament, and for the moment was preoccupied with a speck of dust on the floor that was disrupting the symmetry on the rug beneath his feet.
By E.K. Daniels3 years ago in Fiction
Destiny: Planet Nine
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I'm not sure this is where I am, but my intuition circuits suggest as much...
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Fiction
Caesarean
It was Caesarean. Fitting. Twenty-three stabs to the skin for undermining the body politic. Translucent skin like paper tigers.
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Poets
Your eyes, like marcona almonds
Your eyes, like marcona almonds. A Spanish delicacy, Round and sweet, But could crumble like polvorónes. * I relish the honey-colored gaze from across the table.
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Poets
The Economy of the Body
This body is not my home. It is a barren husk. A field ravaged for its crops. * I did not ask for this: Full breasts and a cavern for plunder,
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Poets
Like a Phoenix From the Ashes
"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." I will never forget that night.
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Fiction
Teach a Woman to Fish
I should consider myself lucky. Some people grow up never knowing a parent, or both parents. Some still, end up getting to know only to have them unjustly ripped from their childlike hands many years too soon. I have two dads. Or had, anyway. I’m now back to the normal ‘one’. But things don’t, nor have they ever felt, normal. Like the half of U.S. households whose children witness the divorce of their parents, I am yet another statistic.
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Families
Gazpacho’s Sister Salmorejo Is the Quintessential Summer Dish
For everything there is a season, and to me, food is no different. Each winter conjures memories of rich soups, the fall, warm scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, and spring, the smells of freshly risen Easter bread. But summer has always been my favourite season for food. When I was younger, summer was heralded by the taste of water fresh from the garden hose, and sticky-sweet creamsicles—when I had the good fortune to scrounge up enough change from between the couch cushions.
By E.K. Daniels4 years ago in Feast