Lori A. A.
Bio
Writer exploring identity, human behavior, and life between cultures. Sharing reflective essays and observations from an African living in Japan.
Achievements (1)
Stories (109)
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Memories Return Again and Again, Unfolding Like Fragrances from Tales Long Lived
On the morning the old house was to be sold, Elias found a cedar box tucked beneath the attic window. Dust hovered in the pale light like unsettled thoughts. The house had stood empty for three years, ever since his mother’s passing, and yet it still carried her presence, faint but insistent. He had come only to sort through the last of her things. Sign the papers. Lock the door.
By Lori A. A.8 days ago in Writers
THE EXTRA CHAIR
The first time the chair appeared, it was already set for dinner. Marianne noticed it when she brought the pot roast to the table. There were five place settings instead of four. Five forks aligned like silver ribs. Five water glasses catching the yellow light.
By Lori A. A.11 days ago in Fiction
THE QUIET RULE
(A family keeps one simple rule: never go into the basement after 9 p.m. But when something begins knocking from below - patient, deliberate, and alive - the real horror isn’t what’s waiting in the dark… it’s that everyone else has already accepted it.)
By Lori A. A.12 days ago in Fiction
THE SIREN THAT NEVER STOPS
The siren began on a Tuesday at 9:17 a.m. It was a clean, mechanical sound; steady, mid-pitched, not urgent enough to demand panic but too present to ignore. It rose above the hum of traffic and threaded itself through open office windows, bakery doors, classroom vents.
By Lori A. A.12 days ago in Fiction
The Quiet Violence of Merit
We like to believe in merit. We say the word as if it were a clean equation: work hard, get results. Study longer, rise higher. Try again, succeed eventually. Merit promises fairness without sentimentality. It offers order. It tells us that outcomes are earned.
By Lori A. A.12 days ago in Humans
