Sondra Dellaripa

Short Stories and Life Events

  • Rapture and Ruin
    A slender thing, five inches long,lying silent, lying still, mocking me in idle stay,A useless specter, it waits in silence,reminding me of what I might not do. Yet in my grasp, it sparks awake,spilling joy, exhilaration, ecstasy even, and life.to lift me high,to make me feelweightless, invincible. But just as suddenly,it turns—a storm unraveling,leaving behind…
  • Grief So Much Like Fear.
    C.S. Lewis once wrote: “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.” I walk past her door. It is an obstinate reminder of the distance between…
  • An AI image of a woman in 1968 waking up hungover in her bed, in a sunny bedroom.
    Sunday Wake Up Call
    This short piece was inspired by the writers group Prompt of February 17th, 2025. Here is the prompt: Focus on writing one vivid scene without worrying about the bigger story. Pick a specific place and describe it in detail, including sights, sounds, and smells. Bring in one or two characters, describing how they look and…
  • A vegetables garden in bloom with the sun setting behind it
    Back to the Garden
    The insult stung. Not because it was true or particularly harmful, but because it was so unexpected. And Unjust. She rubs her arms, the prick of water rising to her nose. A fire of thoughts swirl through her mind, as she rode its angry smoke up and down. She desperately wants to run but was…
  • Random choices, shifting lanes.
    The following short story was prompted in a creative writing session by the leader with this direction: “Write a short scene or poem where a character experiences a strong emotion and expresses it through their body. Think about how they move. Do they pace in frustration, collapse in exhaustion, or tremble from adrenaline? How does…
  • an old cardboard box with the word Girl Scout printed on the side
    Cookie Sales and the Art of Self
    Franca stares at the looming pile of brown boxes on the stoop of her front door. “Girl Scout Cookies” is emblazoned across the sides of all thirteen boxes. She felt her breath suck deep into her chest. Or maybe that was her heart shriveling into itself. Either way, it has arrived. “Darling!” her mother’s shrill…
  • image is of the back of a womans head seated on a bus
    citySAVER
    The double decker squealed to a stop at the Brighton Community Pharmacy stop. Sofia grabbed her black sling bag with one hand – the oversized leather bag filled with flowers, still crisp despite their four-stop journey so far. Daylilies. He loved Daylilies. With her other hand, she grabs the arm of her three-year-old daughter Lulu….
  • Reflective ice on a pond, mountains in the background, with a purple, orange, yellow sunset
    Mirror Image
    Her kitten stood, stretched, its pink mouth gaping, sharp tiny white teeth chewing at the air. It turned slowly in a circle, then balled itself back up, snuggling deep into the frayed afghan on the battered hassock, its purring a soft, uneven rumble that filled the quiet room. Silvia shuffled across the thread bare Persian…