Andrea Corwin
Bio
🐘Wildlife 🧘♀️ 🖋️🈷️ 3rd°🥋 See nature through my eyes and photos.
Poetry, haiku, fiction, horror, life experiences. Written without A.I. © Andrea O. Corwin
bigcats4ever.bsky.social
Threads/ Instagram @andicorwin
Achievements (8)
Stories (483)
Filter by community
Concert Line
Trini and Marci got up in the middle of the night, determined to be first in line for tickets. A special concert was coming to their town for the first time, featuring numerous artists, including secret guest singers and guitarists. Laden with fleece blankets and beach chairs, the friends walked from the parking lot only to find they were not the first.
By Andrea Corwin 2 days ago in Fiction
Tony's Wedding Toast
"I’m toasting this couple, who met years ago. Lindsay was underage, so it’s good that Brent went off to graduate school. We know there’ve been ups and downs, quite a roller coaster, but love conquered all. Brent got down on one knee and placed that enormous emerald on Lindsay’s chubby finger. What? She had pregnancy fluid retention. I’m a jeweler; I’ll resize it, free. First, Lindsay Ceriddo is smart, funny, and sweet. So weird to attach Brent’s surname to Lindsay. Raise glasses! Second, Brent is an okay provider. Third, Baby Ceriddo, all the best to you when you pop out."
By Andrea Corwin 6 days ago in Fiction
The Truth Is Out There
My future is as uncertain as my past. I’ve pondered it for my entire life and still have few answers. The truth is out there - like the quote from the television show, The X-Files. They say to look within, but what can I find in an empty shell?
By Andrea Corwin 7 days ago in Fiction
My Favorite Number, 47, Should Be Yours Too
I am NUMBER 47 - don’t ever forget. I want to be 48 too, and my team is working on that. 47’s not my age. Lord, I am almost twice that number, and healthier than any before me. The BEST. That’s me. Donald J. Trump. I’m Number 47.
By Andrea Corwin 7 days ago in Writers
The Story Beneath The Story
People call me Bigfoot and other names and say that I smell horribly. They are afraid of me because I’m not human and have fur. I live where few people do, and the scent I give off is from my rich diet. We live in the wilderness, hiding from humans, and smell like the earth and trees. We rub the raw elk onto our fur and sometimes have nests with carcasses and excrement. Humans don’t find traces of our bodies because, when near death, our fur sheds and eagles take it away. We only die in the spring when wolf and bear cubs are emerging, and our bodies feed their young, while their parents consume our bones. There aren’t many of us left. We think humans stink, and we know when they are near. Human females smell better than males, but sometimes their acrid odor makes me sneeze; it seems to happen once every moon.
By Andrea Corwin 12 days ago in Fiction
Lunch, now
My brother’s widow Lunches with her youngest child Today, his birthday My brother died in September of 2024 at the age of 75. 2 massive hurricanes landed in Tampa, Florida. He became ill and was hospitalized at Tampa General Hospital. They released him, with pneumonia, as the city streets were flooding. A few days later, he was admitted to a different hospital, where he died. His birthday is March 9.
By Andrea Corwin 17 days ago in Poets
