Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas
Bio
Her work blends personal essays, folklore-tinged storytelling, and emotional realism, often rooted in the West Texas landscape. She publishes fiction and nonfiction across Medium, Amazon KDP, and reader-driven platforms.
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Stories (11)
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ELEVEN
Marco made the reservation himself this year. He'd done it two weeks out, which was not like him — Giulia usually called, usually remembered, usually tucked the confirmation into his coat pocket with a note in her handwriting that said Saturday, don't forget, dress nice. This year he'd opened the app in the parking lot of the hardware store and done it before he could think about whether he should. Same table. Eight o'clock. The one by the window where the candle in the wine bottle threw light across her face in a way he had photographed once, years ago, on a phone he no longer owned.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas5 days ago in Fiction
What the Dark Does First
The porch light had been out for three weeks. Delia had written it on the notepad by the coffeepot — bulb, porch — and then she'd written it again when the first note got buried under Ray's truck-payment reminder and the vet appointment for a dog they'd had to put down in October and a list of things she'd needed from town that she'd eventually just done without. The bulb stayed dark. She stopped writing it down.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas5 days ago in Fiction
What We Say at the End of Things
The party for the Black family had been Connie Portillo's idea, and everyone agreed it was the right thing to do. The Black family had ranched the same four thousand acres east of Marfa for a hundred and twelve years, and now they were not going to ranch it anymore, and the least the town could do was send them off properly. Connie had used the phrase send off without appearing to hear herself use it. She'd booked the back room at Mando's, ordered two sheet cakes from Lowe's, and made a sign on poster board that said CONGRATULATIONS BLACK FAMILY — ON TO THE NEXT ADVENTURE.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas5 days ago in Fiction
The Hierarchy Will See You Now
That’s the order of things in a professional kitchen — the body files its complaints from the outside in, working toward the center, until eventually the center can’t hold. I noticed it first in my knuckles, the way they’d swell overnight and resist opening in the morning, stiff as old hinges. I ran them under hot water at the sink before a shift, waiting for them to remember what they were supposed to do. Then it moved to my wrists. Then deeper. By the time I understood what was happening, I had logged twenty-four years of service to a system that had never once asked how I was doing — only whether the line was ready.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas5 days ago in Humans
9:52
by Leslie L. Stevens 9:52 PM. Jessica bounced into the kitchen like she owned it. Ponytail swinging, sneakers squeaking, still high off sixty bucks in tips and a full week of crushing it. Her tables were clean. Her section was empty. Her stomach was growling.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texasabout a month ago in Fiction
The Girl in the Car
I was eight when I saw myself in the back of a stranger's car. Not a girl who looked like me. Me. It was a Marfa afternoon. The kind where heat makes the air thick and time stops mattering. Sally and I were running through the sprinkler, burning ourselves on hot concrete, bored and perfect.
By Leslie L. Stevens Writer | Marfa, Texas2 months ago in Horror
