To Flip a Three-Sided Coin

My name is Abby Sire. When I was a child, I was obsessed with the idea that I could write something down and through time and space, someone would read it and know what I was trying to say.

I’ve been writing ever since then. Terrible novels at first that helped me understand my voice and what exactly I am capable of. When I was in junior high I tried my hardest to impress every English teacher I could get my hands on. One created a prompt that was the basis for my novel To Flip a Three-Sided Coin; that there are voices inside every writer’s head. We were supposed to personify these voices and see how the interact with each other.

In high school I was raped. There’s really no easy way to descrbie how I survived but it started with the idea that if I was going to live past this, I needed my fears of how my past defined me to die. I wrote the three main characters to be personifications of my fears for the past, where I was in the present and fears for the future; Edie is my present, Florence is the future and Alice is the bitter resentment I felt for the past. Then I put them all together to see how they would react with the need for the past to die weaving through out.

I want to reach anyone who has ever thought they were alone. Really alone. Being in school after I accused another student of the assault, and eventually it ended in a restraining order, I had to find people who believed in me. Without a doubt. but still there was so much of me that didn’t believe I wasn’t to blame. And if I could help anyone else whoever doubted themselves while the world made it out to blame them.

I’d like to think that I’ve woven a moral as well as an intriguing about facing time three-fold. There are three parts and a prologue highlighting the Greek Fates at a total of 131,523 words.

In a perfect world I would like to inspire people to read again, to create again. I would love to be active on social media with ads to remind people of how enlightening the written word can be. Besides analyzing this for talent of marketing potential I would really appreciate any insight you have into my work. Please contact me at ladybugsy315@gmail.com

To Flip a Three-Sided Coin

It was the first time the two had wandered outside together. The wind embraced them then danced with red leaves over forgotten graves. The sun peeked through dying trees and Edie squinted. It was a good minute until Edie realized Alice had raced ahead, leaving Edie spinning her wheels in attempt to follow.

The shrieking of brakes sliced through the cool afternoon. Alice froze. She glared at the garish school bus that dared to trespass. With a roll of her eyes she scoffed and covered her mouth with her scarf while leaping towards the grave marker.

Edie watched the tykes scrambled out into the cemetery, their cries of life mocking the dead. “They are here for the historical reenactments,” Alice declared with disdain. Edie frowned as a chubby kid kicked the corner of a gravestone and proceeded to guide it with his foot as men and women dressed in costumes attempted to entertain the class.

Alice paused, kneeling in the rain drenched grass. Her hands slowly slid over the grooves chiseled in concrete. Between her fingers Edie struggled to make out, ‘Marjorie Whitaker’. Edie squeaked, “Who was she?” Silence. Her mysterious partner stood and demanded in a harsh whisper, “Who is she? you pitiable fool.” The guttural inflection spewed out of her plump lips and dallied on the wind.

Edie’s cheeks grew red, she had insulted Alice and whomever laid below. Mumbling curses Alice stormed away, weary of disturbances.

A sigh escaped Edie’s cold lips and part of her regretted inviting herself along. Without another thought, Edie spun her wheelchair, readying herself for the bumpy trail ahead when a chill like witches’ fingers fell down her spine. Edie sat, baking in the sun with her hand raised and finger-sized shadows striped her cheeks, her companion was a cold, blurred silhouette. The kind that frightened Edie as the lines between Alice and the pale light clashed, retreated into themselves and clashed again.

Before Edie could shout at the shifting shadow before her the boy terrorizing the gravestone dashed up the hill in jagged, agitated steps to corner his prey. His sneakers hit the cobblestone with shoelaces flopping when he yanked the tail of her coat. Edie could see tension rising in Alice’s frame.

“Miss? Miss Alice Whitaker? Is it really you? Weren’t you just visiting your. . .” The words were caught in his throat. With bright eyes the child looked up at her in a mixture of fear and awe. “What do you want?” She growled tucking herself tighter in the pea coat that seemed to consume her whole. “Is it true?” He inquired fidgeting with his hands and refused to meet her glare. His teacher soon rescued him by putting a hand on his shoulder, a preface to the chiding he would no doubt receive.

The teacher murmured apologies and the pair joined the group in the distance. Alice lit a cigarette, her hands shaking and her eyes wild. Wordless animosity composed Alice’s every move and dodging the impending hellfire Edie wheeled behind her as the breeze ushered them to the Happy Home.

Thanks again for your time! I look forward to your reply.