Illustrated fiction post..

Sorry I've been so notably absent, so much to do after the Design Week shows so without further ado!...
A eargerly awaited illustrated fiction post from Julia F Green.. here it is..
Just a note.. I'm thinking of combining these cool illustrated fiction post into a zine, what do you all think about that good idea? Id appreciate your thoughts.. :)

Est


When Clarice turned the corner, she said shit. Somehow, overnight, two cranes had appeared in the middle of the block of 20th Street she walked down each day to get to work. As everyone in New York knew, cranes were falling out of the sky and to walk under one was to look God in the eye and tell him to go fuck himself. That dude was not going to laugh that one off. Kaboom, and they’re digging for your wallet in five feet of rubble.

She could have turned back—she could have gone back to 6th Avenue, walked up or down a block, over to 7th and then cut back to 20th. But what a waste of fucking time that would be. Who lives in New York and walks around in circles just to avoid danger? Clarice murmured the only prayer she remembered from her mandatory early childhood church attendance, opened her umbrella to the clear blue sky, and strode toward her destiny.

Stewardesses Illustrated fiction post by Julia F Green.

She never said anything when she flew, just put her tray table in the upright and locked position as instructed and closed her eyes during takeoff, which she’d done even when she was a stewardess, back when they were still called stewardesses. She smirked to herself. It was nicer now—they didn’t make the women wear four-inch heels or put their hair up, and they hired men, though most of them, it turned out, were fruits. It was good, she told herself, that the world had undergone these sorts of changes, but there were days when she missed the ruby red lipstick, the hairsprayed beehives, the icy cocktails in the left hand of a man who reached for her with his right.

Her granddaughter says “that’s ----ed up” but her granddaughter also doesn’t brush her hair or own a pair of pantyhose. It wasn’t that she was against equality, she just argued that life held more mystery and charm in those days. Her granddaughter argued that all that mystery and charm was fake, and prevented people from pursuing their true goals and dreams. She took this to mean that she was supposed to have wanted something besides her career in the air, but she never did. She earned her own money, she married a pilot, they had beautiful children, who brought her grandchildren, some grateful, some not.

The plane sped up, preparing to nose its way into the stratosphere. She reached for her granddaughter’s hand and pressed it between her own as they shot into the sky.