Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Confessions.
Why Life Is A Lot More Fun When We Stop Trying to Be Perfect
“Oh, my lord,” he said, “I forgot to shave my left leg!” That may not sound like a particularly remarkable announcement, but Jenny and I were sitting in a rented bus that took our high-class class to the beach on "Senior Cut Day" a few weeks before graduation, and her discovery shocked me.
By Sulav kandel5 years ago in Confessions
The Lost Love that Saved my Life
In my adolescence, I got crushes on people that I had only seen and interacted with a few times, but none of that prepared me for what I was about to experience. I met this guy who went to school with me through a similar extracurricular activity. He was a couple grades below me and typically I didn’t go for guys younger than me, so I didn’t pay him much attention. He knew my best friend really well, so as time went on I got more familiar with him.
By Penelope Williams5 years ago in Confessions
Turns Out I'm a Little Bent
A visit to the eye doctor had me laughing! I was there for yet another type of eye test. This is the fourth or fifth visit. I've lost track, the doctor just can't figure out what is wrong with my eye. The lovely technician looking at photos of the veins in my eyes says,
By Carolyn F. Chryst5 years ago in Confessions
Was I Dating a Narcissist?
A year ago, i was crying in my bed one day,it had been many days since i was crying at night, the reason was i haven't talked to my boyfriend since one week. We had a fight and we both kind of broke up, but i was missing him very badly. I was stopping myself from contacting him and thought it was not my fault and i should wait for few more days. A week passed like this and i didn't received a call or message from him. But i couldn't resist myself and called him up.
By Being she Blogs5 years ago in Confessions
My Boss Fell in Love With Me and Laid Me Off
Regret made me goofy. Sorrow gave me an enigmatic flavor. I was out of heart The existence of conscience makes the claws of regret sharp. And the stronger one, the deeper the other can penetrate a sensitive flesh. The depressing influence of this feeling creates the sensation of a jail in a living body. This emotion casts a grim look on life. The damp atmosphere that regret creates is suffocating. We need to learn how to dispel the smog from the past and at the same time to keep our hearts from being dried up.
By Olya Aman5 years ago in Confessions
I Am Not Her Negro
This was the scene. I had just watched the movie “I Am Not Your Negro” at the AMC Forum in Montreal. I quite liked it; many of the clips used to trace important moments in the life of the writer James Baldwin were material I had seen online or on TV programs too far back in my youth to forget them. What surprised me the most was the general premise of the movie: Baldwin intended to write a book based on the lives of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Medgar Evers. He knew all three men. He understood what they represented for black America and how they were molded and formed by their relationship to white America. And he saw that all three men wanted the same things: respect, opportunities, and hope for themselves, their communities, and their families. Those dreams would not always be granted in their lives, but it was earned in their deaths and the legacies they left to be discussed and debated. The moments when Baldwin’s own responses to their losses are shared by Samuel L. Jackson are very moving; some of the most powerful moments in the film have no visible action on the screen except his voice repeating Baldwin’s own deep feelings. And because of these moments, I considered the film a true success. The audience seemed to feel that way, too, although I could not measure all of the individual opinions next to mine. It was a movie I had to watch without being conscious of any after-credits discussion about its merits, problems, and what it was all meant. I never thought about what it meant. I thought about how I felt. I thought about James Baldwin. I thought that I had to see it again.
By Kendall Defoe 5 years ago in Confessions
Sunergy
I started working here in April 2018. I was hired as an inspection tech for $20/hourly. I thought this was great given my install and inspection experience. On day 1 I already found myself butting heads with my “supervisor” (not my hiring manager). This girl would add additional calls to my schedule with no knowledge or care of what jobs truly needed. She only demanded miracles out of me as she would say: “it HAS to be done today!”
By Blake Edward5 years ago in Confessions
My Inner Writer
I hate the word productive. It was the word my mom used to tell me she was disappointed in my choices. “I wasn’t using my time in a productive manner” or “You should learn to knit, because that would be more productive,” she would say. And so, I have a constant need to feel like I have spent my time wisely and a fear of wasting my time; fear of procrastinating or vegging out, yet I cringe and feel a visceral hatred when I think about being productive. Which is where creative writing, poetry, short stories, and epic DND campaigns, come into play. Writing allows my mind to be free, to wonder, and to create in a way that I feel is productive, without actively thinking I am trying to be so. I didn’t realize writing was such an outlet, until after graduating high school, then it stopped feeling like homework.
By Katherine MacKie5 years ago in Confessions
