Scribo Scribere
A Literary Blog
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I am a writer based in New Jersey. I have a Bachelor’s degree from Harvard University and a Master’s degree from the University of Toronto. I have experience as a German to English translator, a technical writer, and a grant writer. In my writing, I explore myth, legend, and languages. This blog is devoted to my past and future writings. – Johanna Rodda
Category: Uncategorized
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Shining tower, rising high to the very house of god. Ivory white in mythical hue, there is none it hasn’t awed. Stone upon stone in herculean travail, built in Shinar the land, tower high of but one tongue, rising high, like statue stands. Cast down by the one above, knowing it had reached too high,…
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…and Atlas cried when he felt the full-blown sting of all the good and evil of this earth cramming itself into his infinite mind. So much was said in anger, even fear, that Atlas became very sad, and to such a degree that he wished not to hold up the earth anymore upon his shoulders.…
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The store is a sea of dresses. Red, green, blue, black, juniper, seafoam, taupe; long, short, plus size, petite, plain, sequined, with adorned bodices, with plush skirts reaching out, voluminous, being tried on by eager women: white, for weddings, or every color you can imagine for a dinner, or a party on New Year’s. I…
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As I looked down from heaven, I was saddened much to see (from a place where I could no longer affect the things that happen in the world) she refused to take her six pills a day, the god-given remedy for the kind of illness no one likes to mention. She would not take them…
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When I was being treated for anorexia at the health services at my college, they made me turn around on the scale during my appointments so I couldn’t see the number on it. I had no idea how much I weighed. My doctor’s office also didn’t have a mirror, so I couldn’t look at myself…
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The fireworks burst, to the delight of all, in gleaming shards, in patches of color, scattered in the sky, against the dark. And where light was once, there it will not be again. The light more spirit than substance. As if just impulse, upon a black night. As if not really something: as if streaks…
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She came into the cafe to meet the man she loved. Her hair coifed in a tight bun, her dress framing close her slim physique. Her makeup was on; a hint of blush lay on her cheeks, faint color of blood. Her nails were done: pink she chose, both on the nails of her hands…
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… with a backyard porch, and a dog waiting at the front door. Carefully I turned my ear, my tiny sister spouting to me hopes of what would be. A bright and fairy-tale future. … and a big space where I could ride my bike indoors, and a big pool with a big water slide.…
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In the ward, it’s “the McDonald’s counter.” But there are no juicy burgers here, no fries, no shake to boot. Here, the libations are the pills, little tablets in all the colors that be. The counter’s just waist-high, with no cover; you could jump clear over if you wanted. But who would want to do…
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In the wide café, where I sat and I sipped, I saw a man come in not at all like other men. No different was his shape. You would have known him as a man, whenever seen. But he was dressed in rags. Had a lean look about him, as if he were one more…
