The Woman With the Yellow Bike

A draft of short story I’m working on!

Emily Ramser

This is a draft of an excerpt of a short story I have been working on. Enjoy!


The bike looked like a scoop of banana pudding. It had white handles, a tan basket and yellow frame. Its tires were even white with the rims painted a happy pale yellow.

The woman walking alongside the bike had her scarf pulled up over her nose and mouth. The light tinge of her pink cheeks just barely peeked over the fabric. Her grey hat was pulled low over her ears and eyebrows.

Waiting until the woman gotten far enough of her that she wouldn’t hear, Jackie snorted. It wasn’t quite that cold. It was 18 degrees Fahrenheit not below negative 15 or something. She adjusted her own hat and kept walking.

The next morning the woman with the yellow bike walked past again, dressed in the same outfit. The only difference this time…

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Published at Cultural Weekly: “Pat Berryhill: Through An Artist’s Eye”

Emily Ramser

Check out my newest article up at Cultural Weekly! It looks at Winston-Salem artist and poet, Pat Berryhill. I talked with her about her work and inspirations. A phenomenal artist, she is beginning a new project via Art-o-Mat. To learn more, read here. Consider leaving a comment and potentially subscribing. It’s a pretty cool magazine, and it’s free. Double bonus.

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The green and white towel is yours.
The blue one’s mine
The sleeveless shirts are yours,
but I like to wear them sometimes.
My side of the room is a mess
because I don’t actually live here,
though we like to pretend that I do,
and while you’re at work,
I catalogue your books,
heat up leftovers,  play with your dog,
drink too much Dr. Pepper,
and wonder if one day
I’ll be the home,
you’re coming home to.

Prompt: The Remote is Gone!

Emily Ramser

It was cold enough that my nipples could slice stale bread, which was ridiculous. Who in the world makes gas fireplaces that rely on a remote control?

Whoever built this house does apparently.

What’s wrong with a good old fashioned wood burning fire? Why did we have to get all technical and fancy? I mean really, does a fireplace need a remote?

I tugged the blankets tighter around myself, shivering. It had to be at least in the teens outside. Maybe lower. I was wearing tights under my jeans, a tank top, a long sleeve shirt, a sweater and a jacket over that, and I was still cold. That’s including the fuzzy socks, boots, and my orange and red hand-knit hat with ear flaps.

I shivered again. I had found a blanket in one of the cupboards that had been left behind by the previous owners of the house and…

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