Bre O’Brien
Bre O’Brien is the author of several fantasy novels and short stories. She focuses on the middle ground of writing, places where the medical meets the magical, the possible meets the impossible, and the real meets the unreal.
She’s been a longtime collector of unlikely book boyfriends- starting with Frodo Baggins when she was 10. In middle and high school, she wrote her crushes down on paper as the love interests with overly complicated names. Every night before going to bed, she’d tell herself a bedtime story of romantic couples and magical places to drift off to sleep.
As a recent graduate of Southern New Hampshire University with a bachelor’s in English and Creative Writing, and a current student in the MFA program at SNHU, she loves to find new ways to play with all aspects of story. She works as a nurse in a juvenile detention center where there is no shortage of stories.
Every story deserves to be told no matter how heartbreaking or strange.
Bre lives on the Central Coast of California with her husband where they spend every other weekend going on fun adventures throughout the state.
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I don’t know you, The way you face your fears, The way you face your accomplishments. I don’t know you, How you cope with disaster, How you maintain in the good times. I don’t know you, But you are me, And I want to know you. Come back soon.
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No one’s picking up the phone. It just keeps ringing and ringing, Throwing me further into despair. It flips to voicemail, But I’m not ready to talk. So I dial again, And again, And again. Just to hear your voice. I guess I need to save myself this time.
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Whenever I feel stuck, I remember that I can change. I don’t have to stay where I am, Continue to do what I can’t stand, Pretend to like those that don’t like me. Yes, sometimes I get low, And things get dark, But like the flowers that bloom Once winter has ended, I am not…
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These past few weeks, the entire month of February, has been strange for me. I had a tonsillectomy on the 31st of January and practically all of February was spent in bed recovering, or scrambling to get homework done as my semester for my bachelors program was winding down. Yes, I know, I’m excellent at…
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She keeps the dead plants in their pots to remind her that she’s still living. They’re dead and dried and curled up on themselves, but they remind her that even in the best conditions, things just die anyway. She looks at the dead plants on her window sill and remembers to live her life to…
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There’s an old man, Sitting at the bar, Crumpled up on a barstool. He turns to you, More full of drink, Than motivation, And hands you his card. “Penny for your thoughts?”, He asks with a crooked smile. You find that your head is empty.
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He uses Binoculars because he is afraid to touch her. He’s afraid to talk to her, to face her head on. He’s scared because he fears she will laugh at him, reject him, avoid him. He wants to talk to her, but the fear swallows him up whole. He finds that he likes watching her…
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Dear you, I drove by the park where we used to hang out after school. It’s been years, but the playground is still standing, the rust crawling up from the sand and eating away the paint. The benches are still there, cracking with age, splintering away more and more with each rain. The tree is…
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The list in her hands was old. The page crumpled up multiple times, as if shoved into a pocket or a fist several times. The names were scribbled in a quick scrawl, the red X’s across them a sign of something. “What is this?” She asked, gazing up from the list at the man in…
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He rolls the dice in his hands like they mean something to him, blows on them like they really are hot between his palms, says prayers in as many languages as he knows, as if he believes in all those higher powers. It still isn’t enough and he loses his gamble with Death. Not with…
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I thought I got away clean. No scars, No bruises, No pain, From the damage I caused. Too bad I was my own witness. Now all I feel is you.
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Gathering clouds above our heads look like rain. They hide the sun and make everything completely hazy. The people all around us bundle up. Scarves, hats, and jackets so thick so their tender skin is hidden from the cold. Their hearts are also hidden from one another. Will the clouds ever part and the sun…
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Get to know me, I know you can. I may look tough on the outside, Or bored, Or untouchable. On the inside, I am full of secrets. Just look past my hardcover To find the goodness inside.
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Sometimes rules are rigid, Hard lines, set in stone, that should not be crossed. Sometimes rules are limp, As easily arranged as wet noodles, Vague and malleable. Other times, Rules are set to keep us down, Keep us in place, Scared to fight for what we want. Those rules, More like guidelines, Should be crossed.…
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Nothing is ever free. Beware the offers, And the solicitations, And the sales pitches, To change your life forever. Beware the gifts, And the prizes, All to “better” yourself. They may all have free delivery, But you pay the price, With your individuality.
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Things used to be easier when letters were sent physically. Sure, it would take longer, and there might be the off chance it wasn’t delivered. But at the same time, you wouldn’t know if they had left your message unread. Somehow, the little red notification under every message I send is more painful the longer…
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It should have been easy. Calculate all the variables, all the things that could go wrong during their daring escape. Calculate when the guards would be patrolling that area of the museum. Calculate how many minutes it would take for them to disarm the security system for the modern arts wing, how long it would…
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The new guy wipes his hands on his pants to get rid of the sweat that coats his palms. He stares up at the faded sign above the doorway, takes a deep breath and jumps right in. He was hired to make things better for the company, and just from what he’s seen, they need…
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My bag is packed. It’s sitting by the door, waiting to be swept away, Whenever I feel that you and I are no longer compatible. So say something, Do something, To make me believe That I can stop running. Give me a reason to make a home In you, And unpack my baggage for good.
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When I open my diary from five years ago, it’s hard to believe that I lived that life and that that person was me. Five years ago, I thought I was happy, I thought I was whole, but I laugh now at how wrong I was. I laugh at how much growing I still had…