Category Archives: Jen Rose

Friendly Conversation by Jen Rose

Lexi jumped at a sudden vibration at her hip and took two slow, hesitant breaths. Just her phone… and nerves. Carefully, soundlessly, she extracted it from her pocket, pulled her coat around it to block the light, and peered at the text message glowing on her screen.

< Hey! Where are you? >

She bit her lip, pressed herself closer to the dark wall, and tapped out a reply.

< Work >

It wasn’t a lie. And a little friendly conversation with her “subject” couldn’t hurt.

< Coffee shop’s open this late? >


< Other job. You? >

< Working late. As usual. >

< I can tell ;) Bet you’re sitting at your desk texting me instead of working >

< lol! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were watching me. >

She peeked through the vent into the office below. All she could see was his back… copper hair and white shirt. Strings of code spread across his monitor. He shut it down. She watched him gather his things and walk out of the room, still typing away as the door shut behind him. Another buzz.

< So… what’s your other job? >

< It’s complicated. Gotta get back to it >

< K. Call me later. Love ya. >


< You too. Good night. >

Finally. She sighed, shoved the phone back into her pocket, removed the grate from the vent. Guilt would have to wait. This system wasn’t going to hack itself.

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Instant Information by Jen Rose

I forgot how to wait
Some time ago
So in bursts I watch the world.
Tiny scraps of thought
Shot into fiberoptic threads
Transmission to the eyes
Of those who care to look.

Friends and acquaintances
And a stranger or two(hundred)
Tick through a timeline.
Refresh, compulsive.
Never miss a beat.
In tune, first to know
Of road trips and broken arms and earthquakes.

It’s a matter of convenience.

But is it too much to ask sometimes
For a cup of coffee
And a little more than 140 characters?

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Untitled by Jen Rose

Every day is the same. I rip open a pouch of freeze dried goodness and stare out the window. Darkness. Stars. Just another day on my ship.

I float across the room to take a look at my crew neatly tucked in their pods, deep in cryo-sleep. I fold myself into a sitting position, and stare at them.

They’ll sleep for three years while we travel. I’ll keep watch, keep ship… study my own sanity while we fly.

I’m especially watching this one kid… it’s his first flight. How he got picked for something like this, I’ll never know. Maybe ‘cause he’s bright. Genius, they say. Might even be a captain someday, even have my job if I lose my mind on this flight.

When I asked why he signed up for this planet colonization project, he said this was the future. Said he had nothin’ to lose. Wanted to make history.

And I remembered when I was a kid, fascinated and thrilled like that. I went to this space camp where they strapped me to the insides of spinning wheels. I tumbled and twisted and tried not to throw up. I built a rocket and shot it, watched it disappear into the clouds, thinking “That’ll be me someday.”

Ready for adventure. Ready to leave the planet. See if there’s anything better out there.

I force down another bite.

Truth is, I miss my family, my friends.

I miss gravity.

They don’t prepare you for that in space camp.

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Shift by Jen Rose

“You’re the worst vegetarian ever.” She sipped red wine with a smirk, her eyes following the waiter that carried their order away. A salad for her. Steak for him.
“People change. The iron’s good for me.”
“Then maybe you should be drinking this.”
His blood wasn’t the only thing anemic. Every question, comment, sly grin or teasing glance from his dinner companion dragged only weak replies from him. She’d always left him speechless, but this was different, like meeting her all over again.
He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to study her, watch for a telling twitch, a darkening of the eyes… anything to confirm the truth.
Her glass trembled as she set it on the table. She dipped her head forward, dark, unkempt curls masking her expression.
“So…” He tried to start a conversation. The words braced themselves.
“So?” She raised an eyebrow, but her face was unreadable.
He huffed, closed his eyes, laughed a little. “This is awkward.”
“Tell me about it.”
He turned and studied a distant table, finally taking a sip of his own drink.
“Oh, I get it now.”
He looked her way again. Her brown eyes were emphatic, dark, but sparkling. Almost comforting.
She leaned forward and grinned. “You got that steak to distract me if I shift and try to rip your head off?”
She leaned back, laughed, and was her old self again. “Good idea.”
He smiled. Werewolf or not, the sound of her laugh made the danger worthwhile.

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