There is a storybook. All of us are in it.
Here are some tales.
Hello
Category: Flash
Self-sick
https://heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/self-sick-by-eirene-gentle
Have you ever ridden a bike into a lake? It’s not difficult, you just keep going. The bike feels grass and gravel but doesn’t know what to do with water. We’re like that, feeling until we don’t know what to feel. But I don’t tell the girl this.
I’d like to tell her
https://heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/id-like-to-tell-her-by-eirene-gentle
I hate you with the whole of my mouth, she said and I want to tell her to save it.
Time gets suddenly fed up
https://yoursuddenflash.blogspot.com/2026/07/time-finally-gets-fed-up.html?m=1
Time used to shrug it off. The defamation, bargaining and fear but it’s sick of the lies. Time doesn’t march or stand still. It hasn’t stopped, not even once. It’s had enough of blame.
Two stories
We’re the only things that burn and Independence Day, published in Does it have pockets
https://www.doesithavepockets.com/fiction/eirene-gentle-2
My brother had a firefly that danced on a pin. I don’t know where he found it. He pulled me from my bed to show me, down the small hall to the left, three normal steps for him, giant ones for me. His lamp splashed like chocolate coins in gold crinkly paper that disappeared when he flicked it off. My feet itched from cold. I was about to whine when something tiny bounced on his little wood desk.
The end
https://www.claudineliterary.com/eirenegentle
They kept an old lady in the attic and no one cared except it wasn’t an old lady it was a grown woman and they figured she deserved it except it wasn’t a grown woman it was a young girl and they got flustered but it wasn’t their business except it wasn’t a girl it was a young boy…
Talking to Replica before police bust in
Where falling stars land
The last time we sent a billionaire to space was a nightmare. It’s possible they’re beginning to catch on.
https://dogthroat.com/post/where-falling-stars-land-by-eirene-gentle
Drift past the point of explosion
Summer wheeled into fall, everything off the rails. Dara bounced on her bed making wishes like a kid. She toppled mid-leap and poured half through the window. She swore it was an accident. Her dark hair smelled of freesia as I carried her cracked and screaming to the couch down the hall.
https://fishbarrelreview.wordpress.com/2026/02/10/eirene-gentle/
The house burnt down before we lit a candle
https://www.frazzledlit.com/p/the-house-burnt-down-before-we-lit
The stringy air smelled of plum and snapped like gum. Arguments between Dad and Cat sharpened, switchblading even their silences. A pebble lodged in me, I felt the roundness as I did what I was told, mama making sure of it with a bony finger gun poking that part of my back that makes me freeze up. I hate that part though physiologically it doesn’t exist. ‘There’s nothing there,’ Cat said over and over, but Cat doesn’t understand the process of petrification.