Sara Wilson
Bio
I love Ugly Things.
I try and be active AND interactive.
I write... whatever I feel.
Sometimes it's happy.. sometimes it isn't. But it's real. And it's me.
Stories (163)
Filter by community
Mirrors in the Mojave. Content Warning.
Barstow at 3:15 p.m. was basically the surface of the sun. It was the kind of heat that made the asphalt feel squishy and the air taste like burnt rubber. You never really got used to it. No matter how long you lived there, you always complained. Today was no different as the five kids trudged down the sidewalk like a pack of exhausted animals making their way home from Barstow Middle School.
By Sara Wilsonabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
"For Your Convenience"
So, I have this thing where I'm a little unhinged from time to time. I went from having zero filter as a child to not speaking up at all in my teens and early twenties. I think I'm starting to find a balance, but occasionally, I pop off and don't know how to say things "nicely"... I guess.
By Sara Wilson4 days ago in The Swamp
Unstoppable
There's a moment in every woman's life when she realizes she's done shrinking. Done apologizing. Done carrying the weight of expectations that were never hers to begin with. That moment.... that spark... is where transformation begins. It's where the world's attempts to drown her only teach her how to breathe deeper. It's where every push against her becomes the force that launches her higher.
By Sara Wilson8 days ago in Poets
Becca. Top Story - March 2026.
"Everything is so... flat." Denille said stupidly as she looked around her new neighborhood. She looked around at the muted desert where even the smallest sign of life seemed to have given up. The plant life was shrubs that were half cooked by the heat and where there should have been a lawn, a mess of white rocks laid glistening in the sun. Even the sky looked stretched thin, like the sun had ironed it smooth. She’d moved from Riverside, where at least there were hills, but here in Barstow, everything felt baked and brittle.
By Sara Wilson10 days ago in Fiction
The Potty Stick
Elijah woke up before the sun, which was strange, because Eli was only two and usually only woke up when something loud or bright or sticky told him to. But this morning his eyes popped open all by themselves. His room was still dark-blue and soft, with Super Mario everywhere. There was a poster of Mario jumping on the wall, little Mario's racing on his blanket, and even a Mario smiling from the nightlight like a tiny glowing coin. Nothing about his room looked different... but something felt different.
By Sara Wilson14 days ago in Fiction
