Sally The Salmon Novels & Stories

Sarah replied. Sister Gladys offered her a single nod and exited the room. When she was gone, Sarah stood awkwardly for a moment, watching the quietly women stare back at her in scrutiny. Then another one closest to her, sitting on the lower bunk, stood up and smiled warmly, breaking the weird silence much to her relief. "I'm Sister Anita, this is Sister Florence..." She gestured to the first woman who had approached her from the upper bunk, then she finally pointed at the last woman sitting on the last bunk bed. "...and that over there is Sister Yin." Sarah craned her neck to see the last woman, just noticing that the women were of different races. Anita was an African-American, Florence lo

But just then, her thoughts were cut off as a voice from behind her stated, “Maya, thank God he’s finally down. How are you?” Maya looked behind her and saw a familiar girl wearing that same outfit that the other flamingo dancers were wearing. Maya smiled, “Yeah, thank you, Sally, for helping me out.” The girl- Sally sighed out of relief as she removed her wig cap, her luscious chestnut brown hair fell down her face so elegantly, well, after all, she was a princess. Elegant is her true nature as a princess. Sally covered up herself with a silk bathrobe and said to Maya, “But I have to say, Maya, I was shocked when you messaged Oli and me on F******k that you were Russia. Speaking of which, w

Sally smiled as she looked at me. “No problem; I have been getting that a lot since I came here to New York.” “What are you from around here?” Fuck, Sally, leave the woman alone already. I swear you sound like a fucking love-sick puppy trying to get into her pants. “No, I live on an island called St. Helena. I am here on business.” I have heard that name before. Why does it sound familiar? “Oh, okay,anyway. Why don’t you give me your number? Maybe I could show you around.” Sally inquired, and I looked at her, confused. Why would she want a stranger's number?

The next morning, I realized the door was locked from the outside. Francis had taken Sally to the national spicy eating championship. This time, I didn't scream or fight as I had before. I sat quietly and opened his stream. Unlike the other contestants who were shoving food into their mouths like maniacs, Sally didn't look right. She stared at the pile of chilli peppers in front of her, one hand pressed to her stomach. Her face was pale, her lips trembling. "Sally, what are you doing?" Francis leaned in, his voice low. "Start eating. You're already behind."