About Me
I am a nonbinary writer currently located in Honolulu interested in working on narrative design. I am especially focused on the queer experience, increasing positive representation, and expanding storytelling in RPGs. I have several published short stories and was the recipient of the Ernest Hemingway Undergraduate Fiction Reward in conjunction with my degree in Creative Writing in May 2023.
Fiction
The Luthier
The luthier's apprentice was a small, unassuming thing. They scurried about the shop, arms full of wood or tools or varnish or whatever the master violin maker might have asked for, curled over their cargo in order to take up the least space possible. They spoke softly and rarely turned their gaze away from the floor.
Coffee
We meet in the early hours of the day, bleary-eyed and yawning. I am coming into the library to start my day and you are leaving at the end of yours. We have our Intro to Biology lecture together, so I wave. You take out one headphone.
Piano
The little boy plunks out a slow rendition of “Mary Had A Little Lamb” on the pristine white keys of the piano in the lobby. It’s one of the first songs he was taught to play and sometimes he longs for the simplicity of it. These days, all he plays are technical practice etudes or endless repeats of the pieces selected by his teacher for competitions. He sighs as he plays, swinging his feet.
Keep the Water Out of my Eyes
I come home to a house shrouded in darkness. My partner’s car is in the driveway, so I know they’re home, but none of the lights are on. Faintly, I hear the shower running.
Bruises
She counts down the minutes until the work day ends, praying they will somehow squeeze a few extra seconds in the spaces between each changing number.
Grayscale
It began with us.
Sarah Elizabeth May and Jaime Robin Hart, June 8th at 3 pm, you may kiss the bride.
It ended with us, too.
Sarah and Jaime May-Hart, November 17th at 12:42 pm, the silence of pens on paper.
Sarah Elizabeth May and Jaime Robin Hart, June 8th at 3 pm, you may kiss the bride.
It ended with us, too.
Sarah and Jaime May-Hart, November 17th at 12:42 pm, the silence of pens on paper.
Soy Milk
The man and the child face each other down in the middle of the kitchen. It’s late. The child is clutching a crochet blanket to his chest. The man has work in the morning.
Strangers
I first see her walking towards me on the sidewalk, just a stranger on a crowded street. Her hair is twisted into an elaborate updo and her eyeliner is sharp.
