Lunch Ticket
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Issues Archive
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Genre Archive
      • Creative Nonfiction
      • Essays
      • Fiction
      • Flash Prose
      • Interviews
      • Lunch Specials
      • Poetry
      • Translation
      • Visual Art
      • Writing for Young People
  • About
    • Mission Statement
    • Lunch Ticket Staff
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Achievements
    • Community
    • Contact
  • Weekly Content
    • Friday Lunch Blog
    • Midnight Snack
    • Amuse-Bouche
    • School Lunch
  • Contests
    • Diana Woods Award in CNF
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
    • Gabo Prize in Translation
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
    • Twitter Poetry Contest
      • 2021 Winners
      • 2020 Winners
      • 2019 Winners
  • Submissions
  • Search
  • Menu Menu
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

Burdens

February 9, 2020/ Dakota Morgan

[fiction]

The biscotti slipped first, falling to the floor through the space of her forearm. Next went the cheese, then the crackers. Agitated, she dropped the rest of the assorted bags and packaging and breathed deeply. She knelt down to restack the boxes, starting with the largest and utilizing every angle of her arms and torso to balance each.

“It’s just like a puzzle,” she told herself.

She closed the pantry, brushed her shoulder along the light switch, and followed the thin trail of light coming from her bedroom. She felt the impact of a sudden thud on the bottoms of her feet. She attempted to catch the falling picture frames and paintings that lined the walls. Fearful of a noise complaint, she picked up her pace and stormed to her room. She tossed the food aimlessly into her room and shut the door. The food slid by the shark’s mouth. It was slamming its head on the floor.

“Hey, hey!” she screamed, holding up her hands.

The shark and its eyes moved to her. The upper part of its body lifted slightly. She pointed to the various bags of chips and sliced meat lying around the shark. The shark just stared.

“Right there,” she said. “Just look down!”

She knelt down and picked a crumb cake off the floor, keeping her eyes on the shark. Though it had yet to show signs of aggression, she remained skittish. At the very least, it stared at her too much.

*     *     *

One night, the shark stared at her while she read. It was past 1 a.m. She caved and stared back at the shark, breaking her promise to ignore it. She thought she had cracked the code that night and mastered the beast beside her. She saw a pupil floating inside an iridescent blue iris, like her own. For the first time, she couldn’t look away from its eyes.

“I haven’t seen eyes like yours,” she said to the shark. “Is it the saltwater that does that?”

She moved in for a closer look, placing both hands on the shark and resting her left ear on its side. Its dorsal fin extended high next to her head. She could hear the shark’s heartbeat. It was muffled, encapsulated by a seashell and beating faster as she lingered. The shark thrashed its body around her room, destroying a few possessions before she tossed a handful of gummy worms into its mouth. It silenced and remained still for the night.

*     *     *

She unwrapped the crumb cake and pretended to eat it.

“Yum,” she said, rubbing her stomach and smiling. “See, you can eat this.”

She waved the crumb cake in front of the shark. Its eyes followed, and it dragged itself forward. She tossed the cake into the air, flinching when the shark lunged its massive head. It swallowed the cake without chewing, then took notice of the other snacks on the floor.

“Ugh, thank god,” she said. “Have fun.”

The shark indulged while she quietly left the room. As she made her way to the kitchen, a piece of broken glass pierced her right foot. Her feet slid around in the sea of shattered picture frames and glass until she found her balance.

“Unbelievable,” she said, hopping on one leg to the light switch.

The glass had lodged itself deep. She used a butter knife to pry the exposed glass out. Once there was enough space to grab it with her fingertips, she yanked it. A swell of blood draped the floor. She limped to the kitchen and blotted her foot with a paper towel. It turned red immediately, so she grabbed the entire roll and wrapped it to the bottom of her foot with duct tape. Her cat jumped from the handlebars of her treadmill and crept over.

“New shoe, Bean!” she said, trying to reason with herself.

The cat took note of the blood and debris and tried to sniff it. She pushed it away. A dotted bloodline stretched from the kitchen to the hallway. She shuffled through the pictures on the floor. Some lay face down in drops of blood, while others emerged unscathed.

“Well, I hated this one anyway,” she said, periodically.

It didn’t hurt her to toss out the ruined pictures. She cleared the floor and scrubbed away the last of the blood marks, using her “shoe” to wipe away the excess. Her walls now consisted of the following: an aerial shot of Dubai, a photo of her parents at their wedding, two paintings she bought in Dubai, and a picture of Bean. Of the pictures, none of them included herself, though the corner of her hand is visible next to Bean.

She paused to admire her work, studying each frame and its position to the one beside it. It all had to align, or she would start over. This took twenty minutes, but it finally made sense.

“We just need more of you on the wall,” she said to Bean as he coiled between her feet, biting the roll of paper towels.

She carried an apple with her as she stepped onto the balcony. She was hoping the shark wouldn’t need her again for some time. She looked over the edge to see the street. The roaring of the city kept steady below, while she watched and detached from it all. She lit a cigarette and watched her smoke cloud hover over the street. The lights inside a fifth-floor apartment in the building across from hers turned on. She made out the silhouette of a pelican perched on the edge of the apartment’s balcony. A young woman appeared on the balcony, carrying a steel bucket. The pelican flapped its wings and repeatedly snapped its beak closed. The sounds echoed between the buildings, drowning out the noises from below. The woman pulled three dead fish from the bucket and tossed each to the pelican before walking back inside. It waddled over to the bucket and continued to eat the remaining chum. The feathers that it lost during the heated moment had floated their way down to the street. She heard someone yell that it was snowing.

Dakota Morgan is originally from the tiny town of Chocowinity, NC. In 2019, he graduated from the University of North Carolina Wilmington with a BFA in creative writing and a certificate in publishing. He enjoys writing screenplays, short stories, and poetry. When not hugging trees or overthinking, he is probably somewhere drinking wine and laughing at a tasteless joke.

Amuse-Bouche Archive

  • 2022
  • 2021
  • 2020
  • 2019
  • 2018
  • 2017
  • 2016
  • 2015
  • 2014
  • 2013

Friday Lunch Blog

Friday Lunch! A serving of contemporary essays published every Friday.

Today’s course:

Where/When

May 20, 2022/in Blog / Gillian Shure
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/national-cancer-institute-BxXgTQEw1M4-unsplash-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Gillian Shure https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Gillian Shure2022-05-20 11:55:562022-05-20 09:02:47Where/When

Diagnosed at Sixty – My ADHD Journey

April 22, 2022/in Blog / Kait Leonard
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/pexels-tara-winstead-8378728-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Kait Leonard https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Kait Leonard2022-04-22 17:37:172022-04-22 22:35:30Diagnosed at Sixty – My ADHD Journey

Why Video Game Preservation Matters

April 15, 2022/in Blog / Nicholas Galvez
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/yhvdvrkpjob1dvtswdfi5fy195xhoy9hbfrsydeeqbb5gcpbchqlljpxybfr_408748_uj7j.jpg 800 1600 Nicholas Galvez https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Nicholas Galvez2022-04-15 11:36:442022-05-24 13:15:07Why Video Game Preservation Matters

More Friday Lunch Blog »

Midnight Snack

A destination for all your late night obsessions.

Tonight’s bites:

QVC-land

May 6, 2022/in Midnight Snack / D. E. Hardy
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Diana-Hardy_QVC_Feature_Photo.png 533 800 D. E. Hardy https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png D. E. Hardy2022-05-06 23:45:322022-05-06 19:25:59QVC-land

Escape Artists at the End of the World

April 29, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Lisa Levy
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/waldemar-brandt-eIOPDU3Fkwk-unsplash-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Lisa Levy https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Lisa Levy2022-04-29 23:49:582022-04-29 20:27:32Escape Artists at the End of the World

The House in the Middle

April 15, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Megan Vasquez
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/alec-douglas-iuC9fvq63J8-unsplash-scaled.jpg 2560 1707 Megan Vasquez https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Megan Vasquez2022-04-15 23:45:322022-04-15 08:32:48The House in the Middle

More coming soon!

School Lunch

An occasional Wednesday series dishing up today’s best youth writers.

Today’s slice:

I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

May 12, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Brendan Nurczyk
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/SL-Insta-Brendan-Nurczyk-2.png 1500 1500 Brendan Nurczyk https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Brendan Nurczyk2021-05-12 10:18:392022-02-01 13:24:05I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

A Communal Announcement

April 28, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Isabella Dail
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-FB-Isabella-Dail.png 788 940 Isabella Dail https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Isabella Dail2021-04-28 11:34:132021-04-28 11:34:13A Communal Announcement

Seventeen

April 14, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Abigail E. Calimaran
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-Insta-Abigail-E.-Calimaran.png 1080 1080 Abigail E. Calimaran https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Abigail E. Calimaran2021-04-14 11:22:062021-04-14 11:22:06Seventeen

More School Lunch »

Word From the Editor

Here at Lunch Ticket, 2021 represents ten years of our literary journal. 2021 marks the start of a new decade, one I can only hope will stand as tall and iconic in the history of our publication as the jazz age in America. What we’ve put together this fall is what I call and will fondly remember as our “Roaring 20th Issue”.

More from the current editor »
Current Issue »

Connect With Us

lunchticket on facebooklunchticket on instalunchticket on twitter
Submit to Lunch Ticket

A literary and art journal
from the MFA community at
Antioch University Los Angeles.

Get Your Ticket

We’ll keep you fed with great new writing, insightful interviews, and thought-provoking art, and promise with all our hearts never to share your info with anyone else.

Newsletter Signup
Copyright © 2021 LunchTicket.org. All Rights Reserved. Web design and development by GoodWebWorks.
Scroll to top