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. 

  • No matter how many times he washed, he couldn’t get clean. His hands stayed stained with ink, blood, and dirt deep in the wrinkles of his hands, where not even the strongest of soaps could reach. Each stain held a memory. The salmon colored paint he used on the upstairs bathroom, the blood caked under…

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  • The visit hadn’t been expected. She was alone when she let the knife slip through her skin as a last resort. Just one well placed slice and they were there, her family members who had passed, watching her with the blade as if she were on display. “Honey,” her gram said, touching her arm with…

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  • “The end must justify the means,” the voices whispered as she traveled through the dark caves. The voices of her ancestors, calling her home as she traveled through the winding caves toward the altar. She had been chosen as the sacrifice to the gods that year, and she promised not to disappoint as all the…

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  • The photographs over the last year said more than she could ever put into mere words. When she had left, her brother was a little twerp, hellbent on tormenting her days. When she had returned, he was a young man, still a little imp, but better at understanding how things had changed. Her parents and…

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  • He rushed down to the cafeteria, his sneakers whining against the linoleum floors. Biscuits and gravy for lunch, and he couldn’t miss it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten them when warm and fresh, usually something tended to distract him in the busy hospital. “Doctor!” The harsh charge nurse called out as…

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  • Day Twenty: Quarter

    “Quarter if I shine your shoes, sir?” The boy was skinny, dirty, and covered in coal dust. Not quite old enough to work in the mines, but getting close. His jacket was too big around his shoulders, too worn to be his own. The business man looked down at his perfectly shined shoes. There was…

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  • Day Nineteen: Doubt

    Doubt surged through her as he made another excuse for being late. She had set up dinner, had timed it perfectly to when she knew he would be home after work. She had waited for him, but he had been two hours late coming home. They argued that night. He wouldn’t give her any explanation.…

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  • She stood at the foot of the bed, holding onto the railing for dear life as she looked over the wrecked body before her. She hadn’t expected the accident to be that bad, she hadn’t expected to find herself there, at the foot of his bed, hoping, praying, wishing for good news. “Tissue?” The doctor…

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  • Day Seventeen: Hour

    “If I’m not back in an hour, go on without me.” Forty-five minutes and she was starting to get antsy. The hour mark quickly approaching, she felt her mouth water, and not in any way that was appetizing. Her stomach turned, her heart raced. Fifteen minutes remained, but it felt like a lifetime and not…

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  • Day Sixteen: Undertake

    The task was monumental. Too much for one man to undertake. The fear pulsed through him, latched onto his own racing heart beat. “I’m going to kiss that nurse!” He thought to himself and in the flash of a moment, he grabbed her, a complete stranger, dipped her, and kissed her like his life depended…

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  • Most of us who call ourselves writers are often more than just writers. We have day jobs, hobbies, families, pets, and probably a thousand possibilities for distraction every second of every day. Sometimes, writing can seem impossible. This last month, I wrote for Camp NaNoWriMo and for the first two thirds of the month, I…

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  • Day Fifteen: Notice

    He worked for them for months before he gave them his two weeks notice. He had worked night shift for them, busted his hump to make sure things ran smoothly, rolled with the changes the best he could, though things changed a lot. He finally gave his two week notice because the higher ups refused…

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  • Squeezing lemons was easy. Squeezing the life from her eyes was a lot harder. Squeezing out a lie of why his sister couldn’t make it down to dinner was difficult. Squeezing through the bars of the jail cell was even more difficult. He was now a felon, but he could still lure women in with…

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  • Day Thirteen: Heir

    The house lay empty and barren after the billionaire died. He hadn’t had any children, had married too many women, but had never produced an heir. So many riches saved up, all lost to time, and looters and museums because there was no heir to claim them. He had treated his staff well, and gave…

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  • Day Twelve: Garbage

    Sitting in her studio, she looked over the garbage she had collected for her art piece. She hadn’t intended on using garbage, but there wasn’t much else she could use. Everything else was just too clean. As she looked over her finds, she realized they weren’t garbage at all. It just seemed that way to…

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  • Day Eleven: Protest

    The day her mother died, she dyed her hair pink in protest. Fate was cruel, taking her mother away when they were just starting to like each other again. Life was cruel, giving her most of her mother’s features. Now when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see a miniature version of her mother,…

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  • Day Ten: Upset

    The heat surged through her skin, her eyes squeezed tight as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She had worked too hard, studied for too long, achieved too much for all the credit to go to her husband. “No,” she said, once she had gathered herself and returned to the meeting. “My name is staying…

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  • Day Nine: Spend

    I’ll be out of the office this weekend. I’m spending time with family. Thanks!

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  • To create is to defy. To make in a world that only wishes to destroy is an act of defiance. To create in the world as it is now, is an act of courage and strength. To build instead of destroy, to give instead of taking away, is a privilege not many people have. The…

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  • They all sit, huddled around the small waiting room, waiting for news. In one room, their grandmother is fighting for her life after a fall and a broken hip. In another, their daughter is in labor with their first grandchild. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, or more imperfect. Both are in surgery now. A…

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