The Show Tell Project

For Seymour's Fat Lady

Tag: Literature

End of “Hypochondraway” Story

by fyarlgiles


Lizzie gawked in horror as bloody tears wandered down my face.

” Oh my! Don’t worry, mam. You are just having an abnormal reaction to the- -oh dear.”

Her eyebrows crinkled as she tried to resist a frown. Her broken wincing face got smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see it at all anymore. I could feel my body losing itself, becoming more and more empty every minute, with every intense suck of the machine. All that blackness was seeping out forming small puddles of me on the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. Into the cracks between the tiles. Lizzie’s voice swooped in: “I can’t! I can’t! Everything is leaking out! It’s everywhere, she’s everywhere!”.

I fell back and stared at the snowy white ceiling. “You’ll soon be forgotten”,it said brightly.

by Angie Hoover- Hillhouse

More about Meaghan and Angie

by fyarlgiles

We are best friends! And partners (in business, not in oral pleasure)


IMG_0027IMG_0410IMG_0170 3

Meaghan works for the Australian Consulate (where she met Thor, but will not allow Angie to post a photo) and Angie works at a Community College as a Writing Tutor and Student Instructor. She doesn’t understand that this is a sort of boring fact and frequently discusses argument structure at parties…. effectively scaring away all the interesting people.

We love these things!

Screen Shot 2013-06-16 at 8.41.50 PM

and these things:

Screen Shot 2013-06-16 at 8.41.55 PM

We think art is incredible and we love to share it and discuss it with each other and you.

Swallowed by the Dragon by Angie

by fyarlgiles

“Swallowed by the Dragon” Excerpt by Angie Hoover
I churned with the black in the belly of this beast. Swaying in bile as thick and dark as the oil of the Earth. After some time, I stopped swimming and sank. How peaceful it felt to stop clawing at the walls of her stomach. staying afloat was not worth the struggle. I would drop into her deep. I’d get smaller and smaller and then I would melt. I’d be liquid in liquid. Blood in blood.


Artwork by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

This came to me like a comforting memory. I don’t know what that says about me. I almost feel like it is a complete work because it has such a clear beginning and end in my own mind.

See more of Angie’s posts here:

A Woman Made Cold Short Story

by fyarlgiles

She had endured a life seated in unparalleled heartbreak. She was not born hard; she was a woman made cold by circumstance.


She walked up to the door… her black leather heels digging deep into the softening oak beneath her. She didn’t knock. Her steps were authoritative without being obnoxiously loud.  She seemed emotionless but if you looked hard enough you would see that her compassion ran deep. She had endured a life seated in unparalleled heartbreak. She was not born hard; she was a woman made cold by circumstance.

Excerpt from “A Woman Made Cold” original short story

by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

This story is still unfinished. It comes to me in pieces that may or may not ever fit together, but I suppose that is the nature of inspiration.

Untitled Artwork by Vanessa Cate 

Opening to “Hypochondraway”

by fyarlgiles

There is a bloody rot in this place. It breathes beneath the floors. It lurks in the shadowy vents stalking the weak- hunting for meat until all the sick are swallowed whole. The thick smell of it made my vision go grey.

I’d been here as a child when it was a normal crumpled hospital for normal crumpled cirhossis patients and gangrenous feet. Thoughts of cancer crept into my ear, reminding me that there are poisons in this world that I can taste as clearly as the salt that rides on an ocean breeze.  I wasn’t completely cured yet. Dark, unpleasant thoughts often swelled up in my head leaving no room for cupcake recipes or oven cleaning tips. Today’s Hypochondraway treatment would fix all that though. From now on, ALL my daydreams would be happy and light like lemon meringue.

Excerpt from unfinished science fiction story titled “Hypochondraway” 

 The concept of this fragment is inspired by  a  series of psychosomatic fainting spells I had. The imagery, which I will expand on in later posts,  is taken from a dream I often have where I am sitting in the waiting room of a hospital in the early 1970s. Everything is yellow, linoleum, and humming with the sound of indifferent machinery.

by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse