Zae Johnson
Bio
Hi! I'm a young writer in the process of writing a trilogy. I write fiction, non-fiction, and stories based on my life experiences. I write to entertain so I hope you enjoy all of my work!!!
Stories (22/0)
The Train
The screech comes from above us, louder than anything you could've ever imagined. We hear it 4 times a day, 7 days a week. It's the train. It crawls above our home and scratches my ears until they bleed. The sound of the monster is the main cause of death in the place I call "The Dungeon". People stab out their eyes, others' too. The pain never ends, and neither does the flow of blood. It is a incessant fountain.
By Zae Johnson12 months ago in Poets
False Hope
I tell myself over and over not to worry, that my grandma will be just fine. But the doctor says she has 5 days to live and can't have any visitors. I pray that God will keep her safe. Even though I believe in God, I'm still a kid who questions everything, so it's baffling to be praying to someone I can't see. He has shown me miracles in the past, I hope He shows me another.
By Zae Johnson12 months ago in Poets
Identity Theft
I liked him first, then you took him away. Talked trash about me to my friends, they became yours. I was out of school, sick, and you moved to my seat. No one looks at me the same, now you're the favored one. They might as well call you Zae, cause you stole my identity.
By Zae Johnson12 months ago in Fiction
10 Years
A typical question older teens and adults are asked; "where do you see yourself in 10 years?" Usually, it takes people a while to come up with an answer, especially when they don't even know what they're going to eat for dinner or when they plan on being in the exact same spot in 10 years (which would be an embarrassing response to give). And when they do finally scrape together a somewhat decent response, it's the same old BS. "I want to live a better life, maybe buy a big house," "I plan on getting my mom her dream car", "I want to apologize to this person or that." But who ever does what they say they're going to? We're a bunch of hypocrites. Even me.
By Zae Johnsonabout a year ago in Poets
It Wasn't Healthy
"It wasn't healthy". Those are the words I've needed to hear for 9 months, the words I keep forgetting. It's so easy to romanticize relationships you're no longer in and so easy to forget all the bad things that they did to you. I realize that now. And I realize that I've known this for how long now and yet I still get sad. Why do I get sad? Sure, I loved him, I know that, and I think he loved me too but like I said, it wasn't healthy. (So why does it matter how I felt about him? Why does it still tear me apart to think about his hand in mine?) Not for me. Not for him. We're coming up on a year and I'm still asked "What happened?" or "How is he?" or "Are you guys still friends?" But my question is, why can't the past be left there? Why can't we let the peace settle? Why does it have to be disturbed? I want to leave him behind, I do, but I'm struggling. I need help. God please help me, I can't do this on my own and that's what I am; on my own. This whole thing has separated me from the ones I love. It's made me question every decision I've ever made. But most importantly, I question the whole "thing", why did I do it? I knew he was a bad idea, I knew I'd regret it. I've definitely learned my lesson, or have I? Am I looking for him in my current friends? In my crushes? In all my relationships? I went through all of it, all the pain and all the suffering, and for what, for a mob of unanswered questions? He is a recurring theme that I'm tired of writing about. He is a season that I want to change. A school year that has lasted too long, I want my break. I need my break. He is a weed that won't die, he's suffocated me, and now I'm a lawn being infiltrated by something so ugly and hateful. I am a flower who can't bloom because I've been robbed of my warmth, of my sunlight by a dark stormy cloud. To live I need the cloud to drift off in the distance and yet it's still so close. I struggle to survive day to day.
By Zae Johnsonabout a year ago in Confessions
The Fire (Part 2)
It was 12pm in Domino’s. Recently, we’d been assigned to try out some new “shrimp bites.” as the head chef, of course I tried. Odd for a pizza place, I know. Ideas make money, even if they’re crazy, I guess. But instead, they’d burned, crackled, and exploded in a shrimpy mess, lighting the deep, wooden walls of the place on fire. The cooking knives had clattered to the floor as the flames licked at the floor, igniting the manager’s desk and the cutting boards. The air tight door had shut on itself, locking me inside as I was the last one left in the deep, abyssal cooking room. I sit in this lost darkness, lit by the flames of sin, as I give up my resolve to escape here, death in this sad pizzeria. I grab the hot knife from the floor, examining my sweaty face in the glare of the knife dripped with deep red jam from desert experiments. Maybe it’s guilt I feel, maybe tragedy. Maybe it’s because it’s not actually jam on the knife. Usually, I’d have someone else here with me. But instead, they burn parallel to me in the singe of fire. I wonder if this endless inferno, fear, and heat I feel consuming me is what she felt when she died in that fire I trapped her in. I wonder if this is revenge.
By Zae Johnsonabout a year ago in Poets
The Fire (Part 1)
It started with a spark. Everything escalated from there. From a spark to a flame it began to lick at my desk. The proof of ownership set ablaze. It was supposed to be a new beginning, but for a fresh start everything must first be erased. We had just bought the Domino’s. It had gone bankrupt 15 years ago. The space was going to be turned into an aquarium. Squids, turtles, fish, you name it, we have it. At least that was the goal but now my desk is screaming, smoking, never getting to live the life it should’ve had. But maybe it wasn’t the desk screaming, maybe it was her. The one who took it all from me. The life I should’ve had. Now I’ll take it all from her. The searing truth pierced through me like a knife as I stood outside my office, watching the fire that I started. I killed her.
By Zae Johnsonabout a year ago in Poets
Don't Let Them In (Part 2)
(End of Part 1) Against my better judgment, I let Elijah in. He convinced me that he wasn't one of them, that he wasn't going to hurt me, that he was kind and trustworthy. Something about his demeanor pulled me in, my wariness settled down. I felt safe with him. I finally let myself go after being so cautious all these years. Never letting anybody in. I just hope that I won't regret this decision in the near future…
By Zae Johnsonabout a year ago in Fiction
